Page 115 of Depravity

Eggs, we had eggs for breakfast.

“Come sit at the table.” The other man says, the bald man from before. He gestures to the corner, and I realise they’re the ones I’m having dinner with.

I start to wheel myself towards my place, and then feel as my father takes the handles behind my back and helps.

The cutlery is so shiny. It’s polished silver, heavy too. I pick up the knife, taking the weight of it in my hand. Magnus’s cutlery was like this, heavy, expensive.

The other man sits down, and he places his hands together, his eyes fixed on my face while my father takes his seat beside him.

“Who are you?” I ask. No one’s even told me his name. What he’s even doing here.

“This is Xavier,” My father explains. “He’s a close friend of mine, and amongst other things, he’s very highly skilled in managing these sorts of situations.”

“What situations?” I frown.

“Your husband.” Xavier says pointedly.

My eyes dart between them. I can’t figure out what that means. “Is Conrad coming here?” I ask hopefully, and then I remember how they reacted the last time. How Ingrid slapped me. I don’t want to get slapped again. I don’t want them to hurt me.

My father sighs. But Xavier, Xavier leans in, studying me more.

“Do you miss your husband, Brynn?” He asks.

When I nod enthusiastically, my father scowls more, while he just chuckles. “Fuck, he did a number on her, didn’t he?” He mutters.

“What’s a number?” I reply. What does that mean? Is this a puzzle, like sudoku? I liked that. I liked those numbers.

He tilts his head up with a look that tells me he’s messing with me now. “It means he fucked you over. Fucked you up.” He states.

“Fucked.” I repeat. Yeah, he did fuck me. But that’s what husbands do, and good wives want that. Good wives should need that.

I feel a wave of something hit me at the memory of him. Between my thighs it suddenly feels so wet, so desperate. I want to rub them together, to try to ease the pressure but my legs don’t move.

“Brynn?” My father says, “Are you okay?”

I nod my head, even though I’m not. I’m so far from okay. It feels like sweat is pooling along my forehead. I feel so thirsty for something so much more satisfying than a mere drink.

As the door opens, I jolt in my chair. Ingrid glances at me, and then she and her friend start placing the food down.

It feels awkward, tense even. There’s something going on here, something my muddled mind can’t quite figure out.

My stomach grumbles loudly enough that my cheeks heat. I pick up my cutlery and dig in, practically wolfing down the beetroot and goat cheese starter.

Both my father and Xavier take their time eating theirs. I guess they actually had lunch, unlike me. I wonder if I’ll have the balls to request more food tomorrow, though I doubt it. I don’t want to rock the boat. I don’t want to cause trouble.

When I look up again, my father is staring at me, and for a second it feels so odd to look at him, to know who he was, to remember all the little entries my mother wrote about him.

“Why didn’t you come for us?” I blurt out.

He frowns, narrowing his eyes. “I had no idea she was pregnant. If I did, I would have made sure she married me.”

The way he says it, he doesn’t sound heartbroken, he sounds angry. Absolutely furious.

“But they wouldn’t let you.” I whisper.

He frowns more. “What?”

“I know what happened.” I state. “I found her diary, I read it.”

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