Page 8 of Chasing the Flame
When I make it to the kitchen, I turn on my playlist, searching for the right song to fit my mood. Placing my phone on the counter, Iswipe through several songs until I’m happy with my choice, dancing softly to the music that fills the room. It’s one of my favorites, a soft and sad melody that haunts me every time I listen to it.
Dancing my way to the refrigerator, I pull out all the ingredients, double checking to make sure I have everything I need. There’s some initial prep required, so I focus on that and organize the counter.
My fingers move quickly, preparing the chicken, peeling potatoes, and boiling water on the stove. I’m no stranger to cooking, and my love for it developed at an early age. I’ve always been told I’m a great cook…well. Until Luke, that is.
Thinking of Luke seems to dredge up the worst memories, uncertainty stopping me in my tracks. “Maybe I should’ve gone for something simpler,” I whisper, questioning every choice I’ve made in the last hour. A glance at the clock tells me I’m out of time and out of options. Luke will be here within the next 30 minutes.
So, I get back to work, turn the heat up on the pan, and decide to forgo the green beans altogether. Just as the clock strikes six, I place dinner on the table. As I’m rinsing the dishes I used to prepare for dinner, I hear music faintly and the wheels crossing pavement.
My heart drops to my ass, and I quickly clean off the kitchen counter and walk to the front door. Luke will be waiting for me.
When my bare feet hit the foyer, Luke strides through the door. Helooks pissed, and roughly loosens the tie he’s wearing, before dropping his briefcase by the front door. “Hi honey,” I murmur, reaching for his suit coat and placing it across my arm. “How was work?”
He grunts, tossing me a glare before eyeing me up and down. My skin crawls, awareness prickling down my spine. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
Heat floods my neck and face, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I give him a tight smile and ask, “Do you not like the dress? I wanted to look nice for dinner.” Luke snorts, shaking his head slightly. I try a different tactic, hoping to diffuse the situation before it gets worse. “You’ve been working so hard…I made your favorite.”
Fighting the growing fear clawing up my throat, I take a step toward him and place my free hand on his chest. “Why don’t you get settled at the table, and I’ll take this to the bedroom. I’ve got everything ready for you.”
For a moment, I think it’s working. I genuinely believe I’ve done a good job of calming him down. Then, he strikes fast as lightning, clamping a hand around my fingers. His grip is brutal and punishing as he crushes my fingers with his. I bite down on my lip, crying out when his grip tightens a fraction.
“Go change.Now,” he grits out, his eyes darkening in fury. “You look like a whore, your cleavage is on full display, and that dress barely covers your ass. I don’t like it and never want to see it again. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
I stare at him, mouth hanging wide open. He brings his free hand up and smacks me in the face. My head snaps back, the sting of his assault sending a wave of pain through my cheek. Floaters crowd my vision, the ringing in my ears filling the silence between us.
Before I can stop it, a whimper works its way up my throat. Luke grins wickedly, leaning toward me. His lips are a whisper across my ear, “My cousin will be back this coming week to start renovations on this old house. I expect to see more modest attire on you…” He pauses, sneering at me as his gaze travels the length of my body. “I don’t like the idea of random men ogling my wife.”
I nod, shaking my head furiously to show I understand his veiled threats. He releases me, and I absentmindedly rub my wrist, the discomfort already dissipating. “Good. I’m glad we understand eachother.” He says, striding toward the kitchen, before tossing a cursory glance over his shoulder in my direction.
I’m frozen to the spot, worry and confusion crashing through me like a torrent of fire. He stares at me for a heartbeat, a sinister smirk tugging his lips. “Have you heard any more noises today, love?”
The word love curdles in my stomach. I shake my head—a tiny, instinctive motion. No voice comes out. I’m not sure it would sound like mine if it did.
His smirk deepens. “Thought not. You do have a flair for the dramatic.”
He moves toward me, slow and deliberate. I brace myself, but he doesn’t strike. Instead, his hand glides across my lower back, possessive, like I’m property—his favorite play thing to ruin.
“I suppose it’s too much to ask for you to look halfway decent while you play house,” he murmurs, brushing past me.
The sting lands before I can flinch.
My skin still crawls from this morning. From waking up with the taste of sleep syrup still on my tongue and the sickening stickiness between my legs. I still don’t remember it. That almost makes it worse.
He took what he wanted. And I lay there, drugged and silent.
Now I stand here, wide awake, yet silenced all the same.
Luke disappears into the dining room, the sound of silverware clinking against china as he helps himself to the dinner I made. I hear him chew. Sip. The scrape of his fork.
“I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to be useful,” he calls out.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and walk toward the main bedroom with shaking legs. I quickly remove the cute sundress and toss it in my closet. Grabbing a plain cotton T-shirt dress, I tug it on, throwing on a pair of shorts underneath for good measure.
By the time I return to the table, he’s already halfway done eating. Satisfied by our power struggle.
That’s the safest version of him.
Moving toward the table, my mind flares with a fragile thought—Leave.
