Page 45 of Downfall

I curl back into him, and we lay there in complete silence for a while. It’s clear tonight isn’t the night. I’ve ruined it, ruined the moment. But it needed to be said, needed to be spoken.

And in a way I’m relieved I’ve done it, that we finally said what we’re feeling instead of letting the lust do all the talking.

* * *

Doyou ever wake up and feel restless? Feel the burning need to do something, anything? That’s how I feel most days and today is no exception.

Except I’m Rose Capulet. I can’t doanything.My role is to be a wife. To smile. To simper. To maintain my perfect photoshoot ready image at all times. To spend my hours shopping, or eating with friends, and by my husband’s side each evening.

Only I don’t have any friends. Not really. Most of the women I hang around with are there for what they can get, what my family name can give them, and people like that can’t be trusted.

Sure I make polite conversation. Sure we sit around drinking coffee, discussing inane things with no consequence, but I know little of them and they know little of me. I don’t know what their wants are, what they dreamt of being growing up. I don’t know what they fear. I don’t know anything beyond the plastic exterior that they keep for appearances. That we all keep for appearances.

I sip my coffee as one of these women talks about the below par flowers at her cousin’s wedding. The other three women at the table pull the appropriate faces. We’re at the country club. I got in a good workout before day dreaming in the sauna and after replacing all my makeup and doing my hair, I’m now here, acting like a lady who lunches, and I guess that’s exactly what I am.

We look around at the sound of a commotion. This place is where people come to show off. To look their best. No one raises their voices. No one dares shatter that perfect illusion.

But as everyone in the bar falls silent he walks in, full of rage, his body practically shaking with it and his eyes set on me.

Paris.

I frown. He’s never not been composed enough to let such outburst show beyond our four walls. He’s not stupid. Even in Verona Bay and with who his family is, he’d be hard pushed to justify his brutality if it got out. Sometimes I wonder if I should just leak it. Get a maid to ‘sneak’ a photo to the press, but I’m not naïve enough to think there wouldn’t be consequences for me too.

“What the fuck is this?” He snarls loud enough for everyone to hear while he waves some paper in his hand like a flag.

I gulp as my stomach twists. As my fear lurches.

“Excuse me.” I murmur to the women sat with me, grabbing my bag, and cross the entire length with every pair of eyes tracing my every god damn step.

Paris snarls more as I look up at him. His hand snatches around my arm so tight I yelp and then he’s dragging me, actually dragging me, through the building and down the steps to his car.

He pushes me in, slams the door and gets round the other side. I think everyone’s faces are pressed against the window. I know they’re itching to know what the ‘perfect couple’s’ fight is about.

As soon as his door shuts he’s there, back in my face.

“What the fuck is this?” He waves that paper again like I’m some sort of psychic, like I’d be able to tell what it contains. “You have an IUD.”

I freeze. My body locks up. How the fuck did he find that out? How the hell did that happen? I paid so much money. I used a fake name. Hell, I even left this city to make sure it couldn’t be tracked back but if he’s discovered that, what else does he know?

“It’s true isn’t it?” He snaps. “You’ve been playing me. You’re not infertile at all.”

I shake my head slightly. Not because I’m admitting it but because I already know how this will end. With his fists to start and then soon, really soon, he’s going to have it taken out and get me pregnant.

My stomach twists. That old, gut wrenching wound rips through me and I have to clench my stomach to try to halt it from spreading. From consuming me entirely.

“You stupid fucking bitch.” He snarls screwing the paper up and shoving it into my face. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

There’s no partition between us and the driver. He’s just sat there, head forward, not reacting as this whole fight plays out.

“I don’t want your child.” I shout back. My anger suddenly roaring. I’m not just some vessel for him. I’m not just some slave to his wants.

“You think this is about you? You think any of this is about you?” He snaps. “Like I wanted to marry you? Like I even wanted to be with you?”

That stops me. I know he pretty much hates me now but six years ago it was different. He was the one pursuing me. He was the one practically begging my father for my hand. Waiting, even as I hid away.

Waiting a whole year till I was worn down enough by everything that had happened to consent to it.

“You dumb bitch.” He says. “I had to marry you. Calvin made that abundantly clear.”

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