Page 10 of Breaking Storm

When I park in front of the doors, my butler, Gerard, comes out to greet us. Inside the house, I give Teagan a tour as she follows in silence, arms folded, and indifferent. On the second floor, I show her our bedroom. It’s all male based on the decor. A heavy wooden king-sized four-poster bed sits against the far side, facing a wall of windows and a door leading onto a balcony. Dark wood flooring runs throughout the house, and my bedroom colors are a mixture of off-white and cappuccino. The ensuite bathroom has a massive bathtub, a half stone wall shower, covering a third of a wall with rain showerheads, and a counter holding two earthenware bowls as sinks. On the other side of the bed is a large walk-in closet that accommodates two people.

Teagan drops her arms and asks, “Isn’t there another room I can stay in?”

“No.”

She points toward the hallway. “But we passed several rooms.”

I take towels out of a closet and open the balcony doors. “We’re married. You’ll sleep in here.”

Her hands run up and down her arms. “Where are my clothes? My things?”

“They’ll be sent over this week. For now…” I head into the walk-in closet to point out the clothes on her side. “… I’ve bought some things you can wear.” My chin ticks toward a dresser. “There are more in there.”

We stand, both avoiding eye contact, and I say, “Shower and come down for dinner.”

Without waiting for an answer, I close the bedroom door behind me and head to another bathroom to get clean.

Several hours later, Teagan comes down the stairs, no makeup, yoga pants, and a sweatshirt that falls to her knees. We sit in the formal dining area as Gerard comes in to serve the meal. He places a small salad to the side and a plate of baked potato and steak. I begin to eat while Teagan stares down at her plate. She hasn’t shown any signs of eating. My movements slow, inspecting her demeanor, and I demand her to eat.

At first, she ignores me and then picks up her fork, tightening around the handle. The next thing I know, the fork tines strike downward, and I move my hand in enough time, watching as it gouges into the wood. She yanks it out and advances on me. The fork is in the air, above my seat, and as she lowers it, I grab her wrists. Teagan puts all her strength into jabbing it into my neck. Her arms propel forward, twisting and turning her wrists to unlock my grip, and then she grows tired.

I say, “Drop the fork.”

She does so and I release her wrists. Straddling my legs and blowing out hard breaths, her right fingernails dig into my face, as she runs them down to my chin. There’s a sharp sting and burn, but I don’t stop her. I let her nails pierce my skin. Her claw-like markings rake downward, but it’s not enough. Teagan smacks the cheek she scratched and then the other. She chants, “I hate you,” while smacking each side of my face, knocking my head from side to side. Then she directs the anger at my chest. Fists pound against me. Awhyfollows each strike until she becomes exhausted.

She lowers her head, chest heaving, hair covering her face, and tears splatter onto my jeans. She drops her hands onto her thighs.

Without looking at me, she asks, “Why? Why did you do it?” Her eyes meet mine. “You violated me in the worst possible way, and you act as if nothing happened. You can’t even own up to it.” I stare at her, and her face reddens as she screams in my face, “Say it!”

“I assaulted you.”

Teagan’s shoulders tremble from sobbing, but she won’t let up. “Aren’t you sorry?”

My eyes rake across the room and then settle on her. “Will that change anything? Will it make it better?”

In a broken glass voice, eyes locked on mine, she whispers, “No, but it will make you human.”

I swallow the lump in my throat before saying, “Tea. I’m sorry I… I wish…” My brows dip low and I’m unable to finish the sentence.

Teagan places her hands on the armrests, lifts herself off me, bawling her eyes out as she leaves the room. I stare at the wall, enveloped by the magnitude of what had just happened. The hatred she feels for me. The idea of having to sleep beside her monster is probably unbearable. But she left me no choice. If she didn’t deny me sex, we could have avoided the whole situation. Teagan fought me every step of the way. This is how life is going to be with her. Battles of wins and losses. A sharp tongue and constant defiance. Last night is done and over with. We need to move forward, and in doing so, I’m going to have to put her in her place. This wasn’t how I pictured my life, and I’ll be damned if I let her dictate and attempt to humiliate me along the way.

Chapter 5

THE MORNING AFTER THE WEDDING, we leave the hotel and drive to Joey’s house, which is mine, except it isn’t. I’ll become a ghost trapped between the walls. His attempt at a tour of the house falls on deaf ears because I don’t care. But I begin to care when we pass by several rooms, and we enter his bedroom. It’s stunning in a manly way… and too small. A king-sized bed isn’t big enough for us. The notion of sharing a bed, half-naked under the covers with my rapist raises the hair on the back of my neck. Neither of us wants this, and there are plenty of married couples who have their own rooms. Except there’s no arguing with a madman who believes married couples should sleep in the same bed.

Pure madness runs through my veins. The place smells of him—an odor I can’t seem to get rid of, which lodges in my nasal cavity. I’ve barely glanced at him since yesterday, and now is no different. He repulses me. Makes demands, such as telling me to shower and meet him downstairs for dinner.

Fuck him!

After he leaves, I open dresser drawers, mess up his clothes, and rummage through his closet. For a thug, he has a lot of decent clothes. Out of anger, I wrench some off the hanger and toss them on the floor. I know it’s immature, but the unease and fury cloud my judgment. There’s this constant dread needling my nerves. My heart races, hands clammy, and I shake from the tempest within. By his bedside table, I find a couple of books, throwing them on the balcony along with a box of condoms I found in the drawer. Go figure, the bastard is responsible… except with me.

A glint from the gun at the back of the drawer catches my attention, and my finger caresses it. The thought of pointing it at Joey causes me to smile, which disappears when I realize it can kill. I might hate this situation and him, but murder… no. That would only turn me into one of them. A thug.

I leave the gun and pick up a notebook. Tucked into one of the pages is a picture of a woman. Her smile fills the picture as the sun softens her dark hair. I contemplate tearing it up and scattering the pieces on the bed. Instead, I hide it in one of my dresser drawers.

I sit on the edge of the bed and fold at the waist. My misery unleashes while I rest my forehead on my knees, my body convulsing with every sob. Once it seems my tears have dried up, I wipe my face, take a hot shower, scalding my skin to remove any evidence of Joey. Nothing has eliminated the ache inside me.

Joey is sitting at the dining room table where I join him. Gerard brings out the food, and even though it looks and smells delicious, I have no appetite. I stare at the plate, swallowing back tears, because the reality of it all reaches out and punches me in the throat. Like a thief in the night, my independence is stolen. All these things edge their way into my thoughts and heart. And then I hear his command to eat.

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