Page 37 of Hupotasso
“Oh, I’ve been tested, alright,” she snorts, throwing a pillow at my head. “You test me day in and day out. Have you stopped to think that maybe beating me and keeping me locked up isn’t conducive to me conceiving? Maybe you’ve slapped the foetus right out of me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I roll my eyes. “We’ve had sex most nights for months and I’ve only spanked you a handful of times. You should be pregnant.”
“How do you know I’m not? After all, there’s no Caroline to spy on me now.”
I scowl at her.
“I know you’ve bled because every month since your return I’ve watched you drop glassware, knock over vases and spill drinks. Your fucking moon-dropping is as consistent as the tides. What are you doing to prevent yourself from conceiving?”
“Nothing,” she says indignantly. “And anyhow, what’s the hurry?” She narrows her eyes at me. “Are you so desperate to murder me,My Lord?”
I pick up the pillow she’d thrown and carefully place it on the bed as I meet her eyes.
“Yes.”
I hear her heart speed up, but her face doesn’t betray any emotion.
“I want you gone, Angelina. I want to be free to marry someone else. I want you out of my castle, my home, and my life.”
“Someone else? Who?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“Then let me leave.”
“There’s only one way you’re leaving. You know that.”
“You hate me that much?” She whispers.
“I loathe you.”
The hurt in her eyes seems real, just as it always does, but she doesn’t outwardly flinch at my words now.
“I hate you too,” she whispers.
I leave without a backward glance.
For months now I’ve hurt her physically or emotionally, doing everything I can think of to force her to reveal her true nature. Yet every night we end up in bed and it’s like we belong together. Her body feels like a shelter from all life’s storms.
I pause to punch the rock wall of the hallway, my knuckles splitting.
31
I make my way down to the kitchens in search of ice cream or chocolate, or hopefully both.
If I was at home now, in the real world, I’d cook. Baking always makes me feel better. Or maybe I’d rearrange the furniture, that works too. But I’m not home. This will never be home.
Tears run unchecked down my cheeks, but I don’t care. Inside and outside I’m a wreck, and I no longer worry who sees me this way. It’s not as if it’s a secret anyway. All the staff know I’m just the angry, lonely creature that lives upstairs. They’d have to be blind not to notice how dismissive my husband is of me.
The man I thought I loved, the man Idolove, despite everything he says and does, hates me.
And I feel lost.
Pushing my way through the huge kitchen doors I swallow my rage and despair momentarily. I’ve never been into the kitchens before; just had a brief glimpse through the doorway once, before being ushered away by staff, so I don’t know where the light switches might be, or the refrigerator. I hope to fuck I don’t come across a freezer full of human corpses or something vampiric that I haven’t even considered.
Steeling myself and assuming the vast space is empty at this time of night, and I’m free to explore, I continue sobbing loudly as I search the room by the light emanating from the vast fireplace at the centre of the room. It's not hard to find the appliances, but my inspection of the freezers comes up empty, as does the fridge.
‘Kind of relieved, not gonna lie.’
