Page 3 of Wicked Scandal

There’s a sort of peace I’ve found in social media. One I never thought was possible. Somehow, watching these other people live makes me feel like maybe one day I can find a way to do the same.

I catch myself smiling as I scroll through the last few days’ worth of videos, even though I’ve already watched them all a dozen times. There’s something about Wilder’s smile and zest for life that gives me hope. He’s nothing like his twin brother, Rome, who’s always raising hell at school. Wilder is different. He’s different from all of my students.

He’s a football star but doesn’t flaunt it. The girls all watch him with adoring eyes, but his face is always in a book or on his phone creating new content. He speaks like he wants to be taken seriously and raises his hand to answer most questions in my class. Something about him is just…different.

The more we worked together on his essay, the less Wilder felt like my student. Some days I felt like I had a new friend.

Troy never lets me have friends; he says he is the only one I should be focused on. But for a brief time with Wilder, things felt different. I felt different. For a moment, I had hope that my life was turning around for the better.

Except Troy crushed that hope tonight. I can’t help Wilder any longer. I fear what Troy might do to him. Even if it hurts, I have to put my walls back up and keep my distance. At least, in the real world, as Catherine Jenkins, I do.

CatEyes can be anyone she wants to be and talk to whomever she wants.

I type out a comment on his latest video, curious to see what his response is. Wilder always responds to his comments and he always says the sweetest things, even if he doesn’t know who’s on the other end of the words.

CatEyes: Good one! Can’t wait to see what you come up with next.

For the next few minutes, I escape the life I know. I’m metaphorically out of this house, away from him, and in a place of happiness.

Until I’m pulled back to reality.

“Dammit.” I hear Troy holler. “Get your ass out here, Catherine. I spilled my fucking drink.”

Just like that, I’m back in the closet, back in this house, and still married to that monstrous man.

Crawling out of my safe space, I put my phone back on my dresser, knowing it’s never safe on my person. I leave the closet—then the room—my heart thudding in my throat.

Slow, measured steps lead me down the polished wood hallway of our picture-perfect Victorian home. The walls are adorned with photos of mine and Troy's wedding, along with vibrant paintings. To the world, we’re in a happy marriage, madly in love. Yet, instead of these walls echoing with laughter and happiness, all that lingers is a somber, heavy silence.

When I reach the kitchen, I see Troy rubbing his shirt down with a kitchen towel. “What the hell took you so long?” he grumbles.

Head down, I approach the puddle of sweet tea at his feet. I was never a timid woman, but I have found that if I raise my eyes to Troy’s, he finds a way to make it a challenge. So, I do my best to be the obedient meek, adoring wife he needs until I can find a way to get out of here. “I’m sorry,” I say in a hushed tone. “I was just cleaning up.”

Troy tosses the towel in his hand to the puddle. “Good. Now you can clean this mess up, too. Had you not stacked the dishes so goddamn high, they wouldn’t have fallen over and spilled my drink.” There are no dishes on the counter so I have no idea what he could even be talking about. But it doesn’t matter. He knows and that’s it.

Gritting my teeth, I drop to my knees like a servant. Just as I grab the towel, Troy puts the sole of his shoe on my head, pushing until my face is lying in the cold puddle. My face and head hurt from the other injuries he caused tonight. The sweet taste of sugar seeps onto my tongue, my body trembling as my breaths grow tight.

“Troy, please,” I beg kindly when all I really want to do is reach up and grab him by the balls and make him be the one to have to beg for mercy. “Just let me clean this up so we can go to bed.”

Forcing pressure, my face grinds against the tiled floor. “You’re calling in tomorrow. I need you here. I want the entire house cleaned and a nice home-cooked meal on the table when I get home from work. We’re having company.”

“No,” I blurt out with my lips squished together like a fish. “I can’t miss work, Troy. You promised you’d never interfere with my job.”

Pushing a little harder, he leans down. “What can I say? Politicians lie and so do husbands. But you wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Catherine?”

I swallow hard, feeling a hard lump lodged in my throat. “No,” I answer him, because if I don’t, I know he’ll step harder on my head, and while I would be okay with dying right now, I’d prefer not to go down like this.

My heart hurts fiercely. My soul is wounded. My body battered. I’m not sure what I did to deserve a life like this, but I hope one day it all makes sense.

Tears stream down my face as a sob escapes. I can’t hold out any longer. I cry for the woman inside of me who knows this isn't right but has no idea how to stop it. I cry for others Troy has abused with his power. But most of all, I cry because as much as I want to live, I also want to die.

Life has never been fair to me. My parents didn't care that I existed and kept me in boarding schools year-round so they never had to deal with me. The last time I saw them was the day I graduated and they showed up just to pay the final bill and tell me they wouldn't be paying for my college.

That led to desperation, and a willingness to do anything in order to create a life for myself. I got into college and that was where I made the biggest mistake of my life.

I will never forget the sound of those three gunshots.

Suddenly, the pressure from my face is relieved and Troy crouches down beside me. He looks concerned, worried even. “Are you crying, Catherine?”

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