Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
“What were you doing down there on the weekend when I came down?”
I snicker. “You don’t wanna know.”
“Obviously, I do.”
“Dunking his head in water over and over as a punishment for trying to slit his wrists with a dog food can lid.”
Her eyes go wide. “And you think that makes me happy?”
“It’s brought me satisfaction.”
Her face contorts. She’s disgusted with me.
“And you’re planning to kill him?”
“He certainly can’t walk out of here now, can he?” I ask, softly.
She weaves her fingers into her beautiful curly locks on both sides of her head, distraught.
I run my hand up and down her back. “I have to go down there and deal with his injuries. Feed him. So, we’ll talk in a bit. Eat. Then we’ll talk some more?”
“I’m coming with you,” she declares, pulling away.
“No!” I snap. “He does not pollute your ears with his bullshit. He doesn’t look at you. You do not breathe the pungent air he pollutes.”
“I already did! And I’m coming down there! His words can’t hurt me anymore. Certainly not more than yours,” she shouts, lifting her dinner plate, cutlery, and bottle of water.
I grind my teeth while I follow her down the stairs. I expect her to put her plate and water bottle on the table near mine, but she carries it to the basement door instead, tucking the water bottle under her arm, then grabs the knob and flings the door hard, making it crash against the wall before she heads down the basement stairs.
“What are you doing with that plate?” I call down the stairs.
“You’re not giving him dog food, Killian!” she clips.
“He was gonna get cat food today, the fuckin’ pussy,” I mutter.
She glares over her shoulder at me and stumbles, nearly tumbling down the stairs, but catches herself by grasping the railing. The water bottle goes bouncing down the stairs, rolling a few feet away before stopping.
The lasagna has slid halfway across the plate but hasn’t spilled.
“Fuck’s sake, Violet. Careful!”
She stomps down the rest of the way.
Angry is better than crying, I think. She’s showing strength right now and that’s a lot better than seeing her in the fetal position with tears in her eyes. I don’t want her angry at me, but it feels slightly less shitty than seeing her cry. And maybe her getting out this aggression will be the first step in getting beyond this.
She’s waiting by the steel door with the lasagna and the bottle of water when I get there. And she’s staring at the door like it’s gonna bite her. I go to the cistern and behind the cover that’s leaned against the wall near it is the first aid bag, a case of water, and cases of dog and cat food.
I fish the keys out of my pocket and open the door, then hit the switch outside the door that floods the eight-by-eight space with light. He shields his eyes.
Violet gags. The smell is something I’ve, unfortunately, become accustomed to. I pull a face mask from the first aid bag and pass it to her with a container of Vicks VapoRub.
“Put some of that under your nostrils. It’ll act like a stink balm.”
She frowns, but follows my directions, then masks up. As she puts it on, she stares at the doorway with what I surmise is disgust. The smell. The situation. Me?
Iadanza squints at us and then laughs. “Hey, babe. Are my eyes failing me or is that really you? Were you here a few days ago or was that another dream?”
“You can’t send that cutlery in,” I say, ignoring him. “He can eat it with his fingers.”
She plonks down, sitting on the toolbox beside the door and sets the plate on her lap, then angrily saws into it.
He’s laughing. “What’s all this? Is she mad at you? Trouble in paradise?”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Shit-for-Brains.”
“We playin’ cards so you can decide how to hurt me this time? Or more coin tossing? You tell him about my trick coins, Vi? This is on you, you know. Yer fault.”
He sounds stronger today; no mumbling for the first time in a while. He’s rallied to pull some strength into his voice, which means he can take more punishment. Much more.
“Shut your fucking mouth. Do not address my wife. You hear me?”
“Hey, can Violet change my bandages? I miss your touch, babe. What fun are we in for tonight, hey, Kill? Please, tell me that me getting to fuck Violet is on the table. Is it?”
I backhand him and his head hits the wall.
“Killian!” she screams, “Stop it!”
He laughs some more while rubbing his head with his palm. “Ow.”
“He’s broken,” she whispers, staring at me with accusation.
“What’d you expect, Vi?” Raymond asks. “What month is it? How long have I been here?”
“It’s December,” she says.
“Aw, Christmas soon or did I miss it? When is New Year’s Eve?”