Page 1 of In the Cover of Darkness

Prologue - Mila

Seven Devils - Florence + The Machine ?

Taking a deep breath I scan the kitchen to make sure there's nothing out of place. Dinner is warming in the oven and there are several cold beers in the fridge, ready for me to pass him one when he walks in the door. I changed out of my work clothes as soon as I got home and even though I'm wearing my comfy leggings and have taken off my bra, I've made sure my hair and makeup is just how he likes it.

Staring out the kitchen window I wait patiently for him to arrive home from work. It's always a tense moment for me these few minutes while I wait for him. Will he have had a good day at work or will I feel the pain of his frustrations. It's been so long now that I can't remember when I lost who I was, but I guess it happened sometime over the past six years. It's cliche to say but he wasn't always like this. When we first met he was kind and caring. Encouraging me to be the best version of myself. His criticisms started with small comments at first.Can you try to have dinner on the table when I get homeorcan you make more of an effort when I take you out.I learned exactly how he likesme to wear my hair and make-up early on. It was something simple I could do to please him, so why wouldn't I,right?

The comments evolved into angry statements,you should be embarrassed over the state of this house,andI work hard for the money I earn to support you.Never mind the house was already spotless, or I worked a 40 hour week just like he did. I also did the cooking, cleaning, washing, gardening and everything else you do to keep a house running smoothly. On top of all of that, he demanded that I make him a packed lunch because he told me itwas a good look.

Just like with everything else, I dutifully prepared him a gourmet lunch every day without complaint. One day the store sold out of the organic juices he liked to have and they only had the kids’ version available. I thought it wouldn't matter because it's the same juice, the packaging was just different, tailored for kids with colourful cartoons all over it. That was the first time he hit me. He came home from work spouting off that I made him look like an idiot in front of his work colleagues. Before I knew it, I had a black eye and was curled up on the floor while he continued to yell at me. He apologised of course, and came home the next day with flowers because I had to call in sick to work.

The second time happened because I wasn't pretty enough. He had bumped into an old friend of his from high school and his girlfriend wasprettier than me, as he so delicately put it. Then it just seemed like nothing I did was right. Every time he would drink there would be comments about my makeup, my weight, the clothes I wore. Then he would start throwing punches or shoving me into things, blaming me for breaking them. It moved to where he would push me down and tower over me, threaten to kick me, until the day came that there were no more threats and it just seemed like he started to hit me becausehe could. Hecouldunleash his violence upon me so he did. Because I would do nothing but pick myself up and continue to make sure everything was just as he liked it.

He would usually hit me in a place that could be covered by clothing. Before long, I had no sick leave left at work and he would threaten that Ibetter cover up any bruises you could see. Rarely would he hit my face, but after a little trial and error I managed to master the art of using makeup to cover any bruises I couldn't hide with clothing. One day he surprised me for lunch at work and saw me smile at my boss. That night I ended up with a dislocated shoulder and several bruises, all for smiling at my overweight, 60 year old, toupée wearing boss.

I don't know why, but it was never as easy as just leaving him. He would always find a way to apologise, explain that I had made him angry and he wouldn't do it again. No matter how bad I thought things would be at the time. I always managed to minimise it and believe that it wouldn't happen again, until it did.

I suspect most people in town knew what was happening. Small towns are just like that, but I would smile and wave when appropriate. Tell people I tripped over a rock in the garden, or state how clumsy I was. You could see it in their face that they knew but didn't know what to do to help. The look of pity that flashed in their eyes if they noticed a bruise or a soft pat to my arm in solidarity. I couldn't blame them for not doing more to help, hell, I didn't know what I could do to help and I was the one stuck in the shitty situation.

The sound of tires screeching brings me out of my thoughts. I can see how haphazardly he has parked his car in front of the garage. The door flinging open as he gets out. No, no, no. It's a bad day. Quickly I grab a bottle of beer from the fridge,the sound of the car still running as I stand nervously by the back door ready to give him his drink. I try to fade into the background when he gets like this. Don't look him in the eye and stay out of his way. I swap out his beers so they are always cold and make sure his dinner is in front of him no less than five minutes after he sits in his favourite chair.

The door slams open, the glass vibrating from the force of the swing. I hold out the beer to him, ready to step away while he takes off his shoes for me to collect.

Tonight though something is different, he's not moving, just standing in front of me breathing heavily. This is not his usual behaviour when he's had a bad day, and I feel like a possum stuck in the headlights trying to figure out what I need to do next. Risking a moment, I glance up at him quickly and he's staring at me, he looks different tonight, cold. His eyes look lifeless and it scares me.

Suddenly the beer bottle is grabbed from my hand and before I can step away, he latches onto my shoulder, gripping it so hard I want to cry out. I try not to cry or scream in front of him because I noticed the last few times he’s lashed out, it only excites him more. He will rub his pants, adjust his weak erection, and if he's not too drunk, will find some way to force himself on me.

“You. You STUPID FUCKING BITCH,” he screams at me.

It almost happens in slow motion, I can see him holding the bottle of beer by the neck, raising it above his head, the liquid inside sloshing around and falling out. I can see the darkness in his eyes before he swings the bottle down on me. I don't recognise him anymore, he is pure destruction and I suddenly realise I might not survive this. My head almost instantly feels like it's been split open as the bottle makes contact, causing meto stumble to the floor, willing myself not to lose consciousness, but failing miserably at it.

???

I can hear his voice screaming, but I can't quite make out the words being said. My eyelids feel heavy as I open them, spots clouding my vision as I notice my right eye is harder to open than my left. Taking a moment, I try to focus on what hurts the most. My left wrist and ribs are in agony. It hurts to breathe so they might be broken or at least cracked. I can still feel the fingers in my left hand which is good, that means blood is still circulating so it can't be that bad,can it?

I reach up to the kitchen counter above me, trying to hold onto it to help me stand. I know I need to get away from him.

It's okay.

I’m okay.

This is okay.

If I tell myself something enough it makes it true,right?

Trying to get my bearings, I note he's muttering to himself in between yelling. Something about work and not putting up with their shit anymore.

“I fucking deserved it,” he yells at the room. I must have been knocked out longer than I thought because he looks dishevelled now, his tie loose and there is a slur to his words.

Shit.

He had been dropping hints about a new position opening up at his work. You would think he had finally cracked the cure for world hunger by the way he rambles on about how important he is. He would have you believe the dealership would fall apart without him. The reality is far more simple though. He's an entry-level used car salesman. That's fine and all but he's beenin that same position since I've known him. Six years of him expecting to be handed a promotion but not doing any work to actually deserve one. He thinks the world owes him something, thatIowe him something.

As eye-opening as this new discovery is, it distracts me from forming a plan, and considering how intense my head is throbbing, I need to get out of this room and somewhere safe as fast as possible. I'm not entirely confident I won't lose consciousness again.

My back is to the kitchen wall and it's at least ten steps to the back door. I can hear the car still running in the driveway so the keys are definitely in it. That would be my best option. Get in the car and leave once and for all. I have nothing on me except the clothes I'm wearing, a light sweater and some leggings. I was about to put on my slippers when I got distracted trying to make everything perfect for him. So I'm currently braless, barefoot, bruised and bleeding, and here I was hoping to have a quiet night.

I can see my handbag is on the hook by the back door, but I can't remember if I took my phone out to charge or not. I don't even know if my wallet is in there because my head is throbbing so badly.

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