Page 63 of Split

Is he gaslighting me, or have I finally snapped?

Roman grunts in annoyance as he lunges for me, his hands closing around my waist. My world flips upside-down as he tosses me over his shoulder, carrying me from the room while I kick and curse, pounding my fists against his back. My vision spins, panic intensifying as he carries me up the stairs.

To my room.

To my bed.

To my certain demise.

27

It’s dark and quiet in my room, but Roman’s still here.

I was hysterical when he first carried me inside and laid me down on the bed, kicking and screaming and cursing his existence.

Then at some point I went quiet, crushed by the perception of impending doom.

I turned practically catatonic in the thick of my panic attack, sure that I’d never come out of it.

The subsequent letdown of adrenaline after left me exhausted and numb, feeling like I was a stranger in my own body.

Then slowly, I started coming back into myself.

In the hours since my meltdown in the study, my husband has remained stoically by my side, watching over me like a corrupt guardian angel. I don’t know why. It’s not like him to care. Still, there’s something oddly comforting in his sustained presence; something I’m not quite ready to part with.

Perhaps I’m not quite ready to part with him at all.

Maybe we’rebothcrazy. The term itself is so esoteric; it can mean any number of things depending on the connotation. Crazy can mean absurd or bizarre, exciting or deranged. Itcan mean angry, aggressive, stupid, or annoying. It can also mean wild and uncontrollable. Passionate. With such a broad spectrum of interpretations, I’d venture to say that most people can be a little crazy, and like poetry it all depends on the inflection.

I suppose the silver lining of my freakout is that it left my mind in a gloriously quiet state, similar to how I feel while Roman delivers a spanking. I spent the evening simplyexisting; content with just being present while my mixed-up brain slowly pieced itself back together.

Roman had Clara deliver our dinner here, and we didn’t change our clothes or make any preparations. The two of us just sat at my little breakfast table and ate our roast beef and vegetables in silence, like some old married couple far beyond keeping up pretenses. While Clara cleared our dishes away and turned down my bedding, Roman helped me into my pajamas. Then he stripped down to his boxer briefs and climbed right into bed with me, as if it was our regular nightly routine.

It wasn’t, itisn’t, and still, I’m strangely at peace with my monster lying right beside me. His chest is pressed tightly against my back, a possessive arm banded around my waist. I can feel his warm breaths rustle my hair, slow and measured. He’s asleep. I’m not.

I shift my weight to get more comfortable, Roman’s cock stirring to life against my backside in response to the barest movement. Maybe he’s dreaming of me.Do I want him to dream of me?Sometimes I dream of him.

Filthy scenes that have featured in those dreams filter into my mind, a gentle throb starting up between my thighs. I squeeze them together tightly, arching against Roman as I adjust my position. His cock thickens, a low groan rattling from his throat as he splays a palm against my belly.

“Do you need something, wife?” he growls, his voice rough from sleep.

“Yes,” I breathe.Why bother denying it at this point?

His chest vibrates with a low hum as he slides his hand down into my silk sleep shorts, deft fingers finding my clit and rubbing it in tight, controlled circles. “Is this what you need?”

“Mhmm,” I whimper, sinking my teeth into my lower lip as he plays my body like the strings of a harp. I pant and writhe against him as he works me up, then he tosses the covers away, strips us both bare, and climbs on top of me, parting my thighs and coating the tip of his dick in my wetness.

“You need your husband to fuck you, Eliza?” he murmurs, teasing my clit with his velvety crown.

“Please,” I rasp, wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him in closer.

He plunges inside me with a throaty growl, the muscle in his neck straining as he works himself deeper. I moan as he stretches and fills me, pleasure scorching my veins as he rides my body. This is the only thing that’s real. This is the only time I’m completely, unapologetically,me.

Hooking an arm behind my back, Roman yanks me up from the bed, my nipples scraping against his chest as he rocks back and pushes up to his knees. I grip onto his shoulders for leverage as he starts bouncing me up and down on his cock, his hands directing my hips and our ragged breaths mingling in the space between us.

As caught up as I am in the moment, a sudden flash of movement in my periphery yanks me right out of it, every muscle in my body tensing as I jerk my gaze toward it.

“The shadow,” I hiss under my breath, blinking into the inky darkness beyond my bed.

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