1 • Shattered

<<<CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNING>>> This chapter contains scenes of domestic abuse and physical violence. Reader discretion advised. 

She sat quietly, exhausted but tense, in the dark living room. The TV was off and the room was quiet, somber, and still to fit her mood. The small lamp beside her emitted a soft glow, but the subdued light did little to ease her increasingly painful headache that was beginning to throb. 

She glanced at the clock again, its thundering ticks matching the knocking in her head. Eleven thirty-two. She scolded herself for hoping he would be home by now. But why would today be any different? The past three months had gone the same way in one big blur of loneliness.

Her glass of Malbec was just over halfway gone. The more she drank, the less patience she had. She tightened her fingers around the cool globe and opened her mouth, letting the warm liquid roll in, savoring the tannins coating her tongue before she swallowed it down.

Come on, do your job, she prayed to the wine. She inhaled its earthy, plum aroma like incensed smoke at an altar. Hopefully, she’ll get some kind of sleep tonight. In the stillness of her never-ending thoughts and doubts, she saw the headlights beam through the sheer curtains as his car pulled into the driveway, causing her heart to pound. As much as she detested him being gone this late, she dreaded the frustration she felt when he came home pretending nothing was wrong.

When the door opened, cheerful notes of his breathy whistling an upbeat tune slipped in before him, low so they wouldn't carry. She heard his keys drop into the bowl by the door as his tune transitioned to a hum. His bright mood cut through the heaviness of her dark one like a dagger straight to her heart. It was bitterly painful knowing he could be so carefree while her misery was left to fester unchecked.

He treaded lightly as he passed by the living room on his way to his study. It was clear he was attempting to come in unnoticed. Classic. But angry at him or not, his mere presence soothed the ache in her spirit. She preoccupied herself with a sip and watched him through the stained, distorted curve of her wine glass, and her movement must have startled him because he jumped a little and turned to look at her. 

"Oh, shit. Samantha?" he asked as he took in her appearance, sitting in an armchair across the room, holding her glass of wine.

Just like that, his good mood evaporated, and irritation compressed his features. He assumed she wouldn't notice, but she knew every intimate detail of his face and could decipher his thoughts and feelings with the slightest change in nuance or shadow.

"What are you doing?" he asked with an edge to his voice.

"Just having a nightcap, as I'm sure you have been." Samantha took a slow, deliberate drink with defiant eyes locked on him.

"And how much have you had to drink tonight?" he asked disapprovingly. Her glare made him uncomfortable.

A sharp laugh barked in her head. She was still on her first glass and resented his attitude, which implied excessive inebriation.

"Almost enough, Richard," Samantha's voice slid out dangerously silky with condescension. "Almost enough to not notice the dark, empty bedroom when I go upstairs. Almost enough so that I won't notice the cold bed when, or if, I go to sleep. Almost enough to not wonder..." She trailed off, hearing herself becoming increasingly heated with each line. She wouldn't beg for his attention, apologies, or accountability…  Or to be heard, or seen. Considered.

“Sam,” he began. He palmed his forehead as if at his wits’ end. She could hear the forced patience thick in his tone, as if he’d explained this a million times, and her resentment for him grew. “You know, with the merger, they’re breathing down everybody’s necks. I’m trying to secure our future here, and all I hear from you are selfish complaints! I’m busting my ass to make sure not only that I get to keep my job, but my portion of the company!”

“Richard, don’t start,” Samantha said wearily.

“No!” he seethed. “You already started it! I’m the one who supports you and buys everything you want, and like a child, you expect me to entertain you because you’re ‘bored’. You can’t even be grateful for what I provide for you. How many of your friends can say the same of their husbands? Oh, wait, you don’t have any anymore because you’re so damn miserable. You make everyone around you miserable, and no one wants to be around you!”

Samantha flinched, knowing the last lines held more truth than she cared to admit. She had let her friendships dwindle throughout the years as she focused on Richard and their marriage. As he continued, the agitation simmering in the air made the living room feel too small to contain it, and his aggressive steps toward her made it feel even smaller.

“In fact,” he dug out his wallet and threw several crisp hundred-dollar bills onto the floor. “Here, I’ll be the adult. This should entertain you tomorrow. I don’t care what you do with it, but I don’t want to hear from you when I return. You wonder why I’m never here? Because I’m tired of having to listen to your bullshit.”

Samantha let his tirade wash over her as she tightly gripped her glass; her white knuckles were the only indication of her anger. Her face was frozen and pale, veiled in compliance.

“Look at you,” he sneered as he leaned towards her, invading her space and curling his lip. “You’re nothing but a lazy drunk anymore.”

Keep your cool, she kept telling herself. If she said anything, she would just make it worse, but the more she tried to let it go, the more she couldn’t. It’s not worth it, it’s not worth it, it’s not… Fuck it.

“You know, Richard,” Samantha got up, dropping the glass in her haste with fury flashing in her eyes, forcing him a few steps back. “You wanted me to stay home, support you, and work for you, so I gave up my career. I cook your meals, if you care enough to be home for them. I do your laundry, I clean this house, I make sure the bills get paid! I even set your clothes out and wake you up and gather your shit for work in the mornings. I guess I’m lucky that you don’t expect me to wipe your ass while I’m at it! Please, an adult! You’re nothing but a spoiled man-child that needs a mommy to take care of you.”

Smack!

She never saw it coming. His hand came out of nowhere, and it took her a few moments to register what had just happened. At first, she was numb and disorientated, her ears ringing, but as the burn flared on her cheek, she realized what had happened. He. Hit. Her. It lit a flame that erupted from within her, enraged that he would dare.

“Why you, mother-” she said furiously as she cupped her left cheek, and he reached up, yanking her backwards by her hair.

 “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” he said in a dead voice. His eyes were cold and empty, as if the anger that raged had burned away the last of his humanity.