Page 4 of Room Service
ELISE
I close the front door behind me, leaning wearily against it as I kick off my shoes. I worked in a daze for the rest of the day, keeping myself busy to stop my mind from thinking about… well, everything. If I don’t think about it then I can keep pretending to be content with my lot. If I don’t think about it then I can’t get upset. And I certainly can’t be letting the image of the man from this morning infiltrate my mind—not any more than it has done so far, anyway.
“Where the hell have you been?” I hear Derrick, my husband, shout from the lounge. I already know that when I walk in he’ll be laying on the sofa with a couple of empty beer bottles on the coffee table in front of him. I take a few deep breaths, placing my workbag on the floor and shrugging off my coat before making my way down the short hallway of our house.
“Sorry, the bus was delayed,” I tell him when I walk in, to which he snorts. Sure enough, there he lays, beer bottle in one hand and the other down the front of his boxers as he scratches his nuts. Lovely. Just lovely.
“What’s for tea?” he asks.
“I’ll go and throw something together now,” I say, stifling a yawn.
“Don’t be too long, I’m starving,” he informs me, and I simply roll my eyes and walk to the kitchen. I try not to be in the same room as him for too long, other than our bedroom, of course, because I haven’t thought of an excuse that he will buy in regards to why I no longer need to sleep in the marital bed.
I open the fridge and see that we’re running low on supplies, so I’ll have to go shopping tomorrow after work. He won’t mind that, because any night I have to go shopping he’s guaranteed pizza, just because it’s quick and easy to do when I get in later than normal. I close the fridge door and move to the freezer. Things aren’t fairing much better in here, but I do have one portion of lasagne left, so I pull that out for him and grab the bag of chips to go with it. I gave up trying to make him eat healthy a long time ago. Considering he’s nearing forty-five, you’d think he would look after himself more, but no, that would require effort. And yes, he’s twenty years older than me, and I can only assume that my parents saw that as a golden ticket to having a better life. I’d like to think it was for my own sake that they convinced me to say ‘I do’, but I know it’s more for the pension pot they thought he was squirrelling away and the fact he had his own house and used to work as a successful investor—that is until he screwed up royally because his own arrogance refused to pull out of several deals that went pear-shaped and resulted in his downfall and his two year unemployment. I think he prefers the life of a slob, or he seems to, anyway.
With that downfall came my calling card. I had to get a job, any fucking job, to keep our heads above water. I didn’t work before that because I was at university, trying to get an art and design degree. I’ve always loved fashion, and I was so happy to be learning, designing, doing anything regarding my passion. So, when he got fired and he quickly showed that he had no intention of trying to get another job, I quit Uni and found the first job that I could. That was to become a maid, because I had zero qualifications from being a drop out and the bills needed to be paid. My pay has never gone very far, just covering the bills and necessities, but Derrick doesn’t care. I’ve tried talking to him about it several times, but he always pushes it to the side and dismisses me.
And when I went to my parents to talk to them about how much it hurt me to quit Uni and stay with a man that never suited me in the first place, they told me to suck it up and get on with it, in so many words. No sympathy, only disappointment, as if it had been my fault that he had lost thousands and thousands of pounds at the company he worked for.
That moment hurt more than I can ever explain. I almost grieved the loss of my parents then, because it was like they had died. The mother and father I thought I knew had gone, only to be replaced by two strangers. I allowed myself to hurt, and it took months for me to fully accept that they meant every word they said. I kept expecting them to change their minds, to come to me and apologise for pushing me to marry him in the first place, but there was nothing. No remorse, no emotion, nothing. And over time, I still let their guilt trips influence me, eat away at me, because I had always craved their approval. Until six months ago…
“Honestly, Elise, what are you doing with yourself?” my mum, Karen, says as I sit at her kitchen table, sipping the shitty coffee she’s put in front of me. “You think that being a maid is the best life can offer? You need to get your man in a better mood to get back out to work.”
I stare at her incredulously. Is she for real right now?
“I mean, when you married him, I thought that was it. All of our worries would be over. But no, you managed to mess that up too.”
My mouth drops open as I continue to stare at her.
“To think, after all of the effort we went to…”
My brows furrow at her words. What is she talking about? I rarely question my parents, because I’m just the good little daughter that does as she’s told, but this time, I can’t help myself as I say, “What do you mean? Effort for what?”
She whirls around to look at me, my mother, the woman who should love and protect her child no matter what, but all she does is look at me with that disappointment I’ve become accustomed to. “Honestly, Elise, do you think you got Derrick to marry you of your own accord? A man who had a good job and was willing to give you the world?”
“I’m not sure I’m following,” I tell her, because fuck, is she saying what I think she’s saying?
“We set it up, so you’d have a smoother road than we ever had. We made sure the marriage happened, and that we wouldn’t have to worry about our future. But now… now everything has gone to pot. And what for? For nothing, it seems.”
She speaks like what she’s just announced is no big deal, but it very much is. To me it is, anyway.
“Mother, are you saying that this was some kind of arranged marriage?”
“Don’t be so ridiculous. Of course not.”
“Then what the hell is it?” I question, feeling anger rising inside of me.
“Don’t speak like that to me, young lady. I’m your mother,” she scolds.
“Yes, you’re my mother, so you should only want the best for me,” I tell her, my voice getting a little louder.
“I do want what’s best for you—”
“But only so you can get the best for you and Dad too, right?” I say, cutting her off and standing from my chair, the shitty coffee forgotten about on the table. “You made it so that Derrick married me. You made it happen by fuelling me with guilt, guilt that I never should have felt. You encouraged me to marry a man that I never loved, and barely even liked. You have made me feel like a failure at every turn, and for what, Mother? What was the end goal for you?” I am raging. I’ve never been so angry at her.
“Watch your tone,” she warns me, but I don’t give a fuck about my tone right now, I’m too pissed at her.
“Tell me, what was the price for pimping out your only daughter to a man old enough to be her dad?” I say, my eyes narrowing as I refuse to back down.
