Page 24 of Repluse

“In the head. Ella’s got some mental health issues.”

My stomach drops. “No, no. Ella’s not sick.”

“Listen to me, Mila. You don’t know what’s been going on. We kept it from you. She’s not right, and Marcie’s been filling her head with all kinds of shit, and because she’s not well, Ella’s believing her nonsense.”

They know. They know she’s gay and this is how they’re dealing with it. I don’t have the capacity to think clearly enough, but I know I have to do something to help. If it’s possible, Scott will have Ella sectioned rather than let anyone find out his daughter’s gay. It’s the same reason Logan won’t come with me to the fertility doctor, because heaven forbid anyone in the town finds out a son of Scott Walsh can’t get his wife knocked up.

I feel weak and useless. I want to fight him, to scream, to demand he tells me where the girls have gone, but I’m bleeding from my nose, have a cut at my eye, a possible concussion, and I definitely have a broken wrist.

“I think my wrist is broken,” I whisper through my tears, feeling like an absolute fucking coward. Right now, I’ve let the girls down, but I need to get myself fixed up before I can regroupand help them out. How the fuck I’m going to do that, I have no idea.

Frankie and Sam instantly spring to mind. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I need to make another trip to the city. I need to see them. I need to escape the craziness that my once boring life has suddenly become.

“I’ll make some calls and see if we can get someone out here to get you fixed up.”

“It’s broken, I need to go to hospital.”

“No. Fuck, no. They’ll ask questions, then what? You gonna tell them what happened?”

“No, of course not,” I cry out as he squeezes my jaw between his thumb and index finger. “I’ll lie. I’ll tell them I fell, slipped over in the kitchen, hit my head on the cupboard, and landed on my wrist. I wouldn’t get your dad into trouble. I wouldn’t do that, I promise.” I do want my visit on record, though, just in case I need my injuries officially recorded for backup one day.

With his eyes darting all over my face, Logan lets out a long sigh. “Let’s get that blood cleaned off your face and I’ll take you to the hospital. But I’m warning you, Mila, one word out of place, and your mother is out of Saint McCarten’s.”

One last tear rolls down my cheek. I swipe it away with my good hand. “I swear to you, Logan, I won’t say a word to anyone,” I lie.

Logan takesme to our nearest private hospital with an emergency department, which is over two hours out of town. After X-rays and a CT scan, it’s confirmed I have two fractures in my wrist, a mild concussion, and I need a couple of stitches in the cut at the corner of my eye. Thankfully, there’s a plastic surgeon on site who’s able to do the stitches, which are so tiny they’re barely visible. After checking over the images of my wrist,the orthopaedic specialist decides I don’t need surgery. So, after having a made-to-measure cast fitted, I’m free to go.

It’s just after two in the afternoon, and we’re closer to our city apartment than we are to home. I have my phone and wallet with me, so I hit on an idea.

Leaning into Logan as we walk back to the car, I let out a loud yawn. “What a day. Shame we didn’t bring an overnight bag. We’re closer to the city than home. We could’ve stayed at the apartment for the night rather than driving all the way back.”

After unlocking the door and helping me into the car, Logan climbs in next to me. “I don’t know how long it’s gonna take Dad to get Ella the help she needs. I have to go back and keep an eye on things, but maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to drop you there. Maybe you could stay a while, spend some time with your mum, just until your face heals.”

He says all of this despite the hospital telling him I’m not to be left alone tonight because of the concussion, but I don’t remind him.

“Have you got stuff at the apartment? You’ve got toiletries, right? And spare clothes?” he questions. He wants me out the way and my injuries hidden so no one asks questions, and I’m more than happy to be gone. It means that, for now, I’m going to be no help to Ella, but there’s not much I’ll be able to do under the scrutiny of Logan and Scott if I go back to the house, either.

“Yeah, I have everything I need there, and I can do an online shop soon for groceries and anything else I need.”

“Maybe I could…”

“I also can’t drive with this wrist. If I go home, I’m going to have to get someone to drive me everywhere…” I interrupt whatever he was about to say, just to add another reason to keep me hidden. He’ll hate someone else driving me around, me being alone, going out places with someone in a car—a car he can’t track.

“If you’re sure you’re going to be okay, I’ll drop you at the apartment and head home.”

“I’m fine with it. Go home and help your dad with whatever crisis is going on there. I’m sure he needs you more than I do.”

He doesn’t even bother comingin; he just drops me across the road from the apartment building and drives off before I’ve even safely crossed to the other side.

My jaw’s clenched so tightly as I ride up in the lift, I’m giving myself a headache on top of the headache I already have. Once I let myself in, I make my way to the sofa and sit on the edge as I consider the day’s events. My father–in–law is a vile human, and my husband one hundred percent condones his behaviour. Until today, I was prepared to put up with their controlling, narcissistic, misogynistic behaviour. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve learned to ignore Scott’s constant, racist comments about me, and I shouldn’t have. Maybe if I’d have called him out more often, he wouldn’t have gotten so comfortable doing it. And where was my husband during all of this? Just standing around doing nothing.

Even today, watching his dad put his hands on his sister the way he did, and putting his hands on me, his wife, he still backed his father and blamed us.

Until this moment, I thought I was prepared to put up with anything to maintain the lifestyle I’ve schemed and plotted to achieve. Living out my fantasies with Frankie and Sam was supposed to be my last hurrah before becoming the wife my husband wanted me to be. I was going to give him the children he’s so desperate for. Now? Fuck that! I could never, would never bring children into their toxic world. I need to get out.

After today, I don’t care if I walk away with nothing. I’m well aware my calculating life choices have led me here. I’ve plotted and schemed to get where I am now, but the only person I reallyhurt along the way was poor Alice. Although, right now, I think I might’ve saved her from a life of utter misery.

I know many would be repulsed by what I did with Frankie and Sam last week, but honestly, I have zero regrets, and if my life is about to take the downward slope I’m expecting it to if I attempt to leave Logan, then I’m fucking ecstatic I did what I did.

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