Page 51 of Losing Control
Washed-out.
Miserable.
Fucked.
I have put on a good front, but when I am by myself, I can see the change.
My whole personality has changed, and inside my head I am at war.
My reflection stares back at me, hauntingly.
“You need to cheer the fuck up,” Michael says as he walks into the bathroom and stands behind me.
“I’m okay.”
“Well tell your face that.” His acid tongue has gotten worse over the last few days. It doesn’t matter how nice I am to him, he just picks at any little thing that he can. “Most women would be pleased to have just gotten engaged to a man that adores them.”
I can’t help the scoff that escapes my mouth and I instantly feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
“What was that?” Michael asks, stepping closer to me.
“Nothing.” Luckily, he doesn’t push the issue. I don’t have the strength in me to fight him right now.
“You have five minutes and then we need to leave,” he says, exiting the bathroom and leaving me in peace, if only for a few moments.
I apply some make-up, let out a deep sigh and go to the kitchen, where Michael is waiting for me. I can feel his eyes scrutinizing me as I pick up my handbag and hook it over my shoulder.
“You ready?” I ask, trying to sound more cheerful than I feel.
“Why have you got all of that slap on your face?” he asks.
“Pardon?”
“Go and take it off.”
“What?”
“You heard me, go and take it off. All of it.” This is the first time that he has commented on the way that my face looks. I have only used nude eyeshadow, mascara and a glittery, bronze eyeliner.
“But, why?”
“Do you think that I want other men looking at you and thinking that they can get in your knickers?” He looks and sounds outraged. Anyone would think that I had used a trowel to put my make-up on. “I’m not having you showing me up at work by rolling in looking like a fucking slag.”
“Michael,” I exclaim, already envisioning that I am going to pay for this supposed faux pas later on tonight.
“Don’t Michael me. Go. And. Take. It. Off,” he says each word slowly, dangerously.
“But it makes me feel better.” I can’t let him take another thing away from me, even if it does seem trivial.
“Well, it doesn’t make me feel better, and as my wife-to-be, that should be your only concern from here on out. Now, do as I say and don’t take too long about it.”
My shoulders droop and I place my handbag back on the table.
Nothing I say will appease him.
Nothing I do is ever right.
I make my way back to the bathroom and I start to take the make-up off. I don’t let myself cry, I think that I am too numb from everything to forge any kind of reaction.
