Page 97 of Endgame
E.
“Asshole,” I curse, though my chest tightens. I flatten my hand over my heart, where I ache the most, crumpling his note with the other.
Has this been his plan all along? To get me hooked on his sick games, then leave me?
I get up, throw away the offending piece of paper, and open the blinds. It strikes me that it isn’t really morning. Seems closer to late afternoon.
“You know what?” No one answers, obviously. “I’m getting out of here becauseIwant to leave the room.Me.”
Despite my heavy heart, I pick myself up, brush my teeth, and leave the room.
The expensive fabric of my nightgown falls delicately over my naked body, swaying with me as I walk down the silent halls.
The main floor is as quiet and peaceful as the second one. The last of the day’s warm light floods from the expansive windows, but there’s no other sign that the outer world exists either.
The staff is gone too. Same as yesterday, there’s no one in sight.
There’s just me and Everett, wherever he is.
I don’t search for my husband as I pad into the joint area of the living and dining room. I don’t wish to catch him here, wearing his loungewear or jeans and drinking coffee in his kitchen.
I do hope for it.
I hope for him, in the way that warms my heart and tears it up at the same time.
Let go, I’ve got you.
My fingers meet cool marble as I swipe them over the pristine kitchen island. Fresh fruit has been placed in a black ceramic bowl at the center. A full breakfast waits for me on the dining table, but no Everett.
I’m not hungry though. Not for food.
I close my eyes, leaning against one of the chairs to keep from falling.
This… This is where he sat. Where he watched me as my body went limp.
You’re no good to me dead, I think I heard him murmur as he carried me to bed. Warmth infused into his words. A touch of kindness.
It must’ve been a slip-up. Or my tired, stupid brain latched onto the idea of having a loving husband.
We shared a moment.
That moment was a lie. If it weren’t, he would’ve spent yesterday with me. He wouldn’t have been distant.
Footfalls from somewhere around the house reach my ears.
My face goes hot, then cold. My heart beats wildly as I listen for him.
As I wait for the inevitable.
Being zapped.
Nothing happens. No one’s coming for me.
The prisoner in a beautiful dress with nothing underneath. With a collar around her neck. A butt plug inside her.
These damn rings I’m wearing.
My stomach dips, my soul crushed under the weight of this loneliness.
