Page 193 of Deliverance

Under different circumstances, I might have liked this place for its simplicity, but Rhys has a way of staining everything with his presence. In the past, when we were still living together back in Illinois, I truly thought that he had good qualities.

Now I know I was delusional.

He has none.

The slam of a door somewhere on the other side of the house followed by muffled noises sends a shiver down my spine. I try to assemble my racing thoughts as his footsteps grow closer, my pulse skittering.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, halting in the doorway. His silhouette is lit by golden lamplight from somewhere in the cabin. He’s holding a plate and the smell of the food gusting toward me causes my mouth to water, but I force myself to keep my face straight, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing my hunger and fear.

“I made us some chicken parmesan.” Rhys takes a few tentative steps forward, pausing in the center of the room.

I can’t wrap my head around what I’m seeing, but, somehow, I’m not surprised that he cooks. Although I should be since the kitchen was my domain and culinary arts has never been Rhys’s forte.

Yet here we are.

Apparently, things have changed for both of us.

Honestly, I couldn’t care less, but I speak up anyway because I’m not certain how else to get him to talk, to get him to lose control, to get him to make a mistake. Sitting and patiently waiting for something to change isn’t an option. “I didn’t know you could make chicken parmesan.” My voice is rough and I steady it as much as my nerves allow me.

Rhys continues to look at me, gaze hard and full of dangerous secrets. “I had no choice but to learn since my wife left me.” He shrugs. The nonchalance of the gesture seems out of place. Almost as if we’re talking about the weather.

I process his words, trying to form a decent response, but my mind is still filled with cotton. Must be the drug he used to knock me out.

“You look…nice.” He grunts and moves in my direction, his expression shifting, darkening.

My body tenses at that. Nausea churns my stomach inside out.

“Thanks.” I force the words past my cracked lips just to keep him talking.

Rhys reaches the bed and sits down, then settles the plate on the comforter with such care, you’d think it was a matter of life or death. The sight of perfectly roasted chicken breast and potatoes only reminds me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Or at least, I think it was yesterday. I’ve lost some time, but I’m certain it hasn’t been more than a day.

Rhys rearranges the spoon to ensure it’s not tipping over the edge of the plate and flicks his gaze back to my face. His eyes drill into mine as if staring long enough can make me ask him to allow me to eat.

Never.

Two can play this game.

Taut seconds tick by, the silence between us expanding.

“What are you doing, Rhys?” I ask quietly, holding his violent glare. “What is the meaning of all this?”

He tilts his head, the same strange angle I saw before. Predatory. “Do you remember our vows, Andrea?”

My heart gives a kick, slamming into my breastbone with such force that I forget to breathe. For a moment, my whole existence is diminished to this single blow and the bloom of pain as it radiates through every part of me. For some reason, it’s worse than any of the blows I received from this man over the course of our marriage.

Don’t let him intimidate you, a soft whisper drifts through my mind. It has that breezy lilt and sounds a lot like Santiago.

“Do you?” Rhys presses on, his hand slips across the bed and grabs at my ankle, the thin fabric of my dress stretching and wrinkling beneath his grip.

I lurch back, jerking my leg away, but he’s bigger and stronger and his hold on me doesn’t waver. The spoon rattles over the trembling plate.

“I’m your husband, Andrea,” he says, his voice slithering across my skin like a snake. “I can touch you whenever and however I please.”

My stomach twists. The taste of bile on my tongue makes me sick.

Slowly, so as not to spill the food, Rhys advances, his palm gliding up my ankle until he reaches my knee.

All my old memories suddenly come rushing in and, unable to take this any longer, I shove him with my other foot in the chest. He topples backward with a loudoomphand a curse. The plate tips, potatoes and sauce splattering across the bed, spoon flying to the floor.

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