Page 5 of Dollhouse

The first time he'd used something other than his dick to assault me.

The first time he'd broken my bones.

It was the first, but not the last time.

* * *

I snapout of the unwanted memory with tears in my eyes, taking in a deep inhale of oxygen into my greedy lungs.

"Lee? You okay?" Delilah's soft voice sounds full of worry. We'd already paid and were standing outside, but I was too lost in a flashback that I didn’t even notice her dragging me from the chair. Losing track of time and getting lost in the past seems to happen a lot lately.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm fine." I shake the memory off, giving her a reassuring smile.

"You know that you can talk to me, right?" Her eyes showcase sincerity, and I believe her. God, I wish I could talk to her, tell her everything I've been keeping bottled up, but oh well. I can't make her a part of my fucked-up life.

"Thank you, but I'm fine." I smile to seal my lie. She nods, dropping the subject for now, and I appreciate the fact she didn't pressure me for any further answers.We resume our girl date without another thought or mention of Sebastian.

It's Friday night, and tonight we're going to Seb's parents' house for dinner. I'm not particularly fond of my in-laws, Nate and Lucille. Actually, I hate them as much as I hate their son. His father doesn't know how to keep his eyes to himself, and his hands are out of control. He likes to touch me at any given chance. Sometimes it's a lingering hug, or he'll brush against my arm on purpose, and when no one’s looking, his hands would meet my ass. I've never told Seb. It would be pointless to let him know how uncomfortable his father makes me.

His mother is a different story. She's never liked me and has made that known since the day we met. She thinks I'm after her precious son's money, and despite our prenup, she still doesn't trust me.

Newsflash, you uptight plastic Botox bitch, I don't care about your son or his money.

Her hatred for me is humorous, considering we’re similar. I’ve seen the bruises she tries to hide beneath her concealer and long clothing. After all, I do the exact same. I’ve witnessed the fights between her and Nate when they thought they were alone. And even Sebastian has told me stories from his childhood; how he would hide when his father would lose his temper and beat the crap out of his mother.

I remember Sebastian narrating the story of when he was six and tried to defend his mother for the first time. Nate had come home drunk off his ass and started hitting Lucille when she tried to get him to sober up. Poor six-year-old Sebastian was hiding in his room listening to his parents fight, and his mother crying in agony. Desperate to end their fight, he’d ran out of the room and begged his father to stop.

Of course, Nate didn’t, and ended up throwing a vase at Seb instead of Lucille. Sebastian still has the scar on his forehead that required five stitches.

You’d think that after growing up in that type of environment, he’d want to break the cycle instead of allowing history to repeat itself.

He’s turned into his abusive father, and I’m Lucille, a weak woman standing beside an abusive bastard.

After showering and putting my makeup on, I am now standing in our walk-in closet, dressed in only a thong and a strapless bra, debating on what to wear.

Before Sebastian speaks or enters the closet, I smell him. My nose tickles at the familiar scent of his cologne, mixed with the cheap perfume his assistant wears.

Instantly, I know he was with her tonight, and that's the reason he's coming home later than usual.

"Wear the green dress. It'll cover these nicely." He stands behind me, stroking his fingertips along the handprint bruise that covers my left bicep. His finger trails over the single bruise, like he's admiring his handiwork.What a bastard.

Maybe if I'm lucky and pray really hard, he'll get in a car accident one day on his way to work and die. That would be a dream come true.

"Yes, Seb," I mumble, taking the emerald dress from the hanger. I step into it, his fingertips brushing along my spine as he zips it up. "Thank you." I step into my black heels, turning to face him. He looks me over, nodding his approval.

"Let's go." And just like that, he walks away, without a second look at me, and I follow behind him, the feeling of unease churning in my belly.

* * *

It takesus forty minutes to get to his parents’ house, and thankfully, the entire drive has been silent.

When we arrive, his parents greet him with wide smiles and big hugs. His mother greets me with a fake smile and a wave, which I return, because I'm a perfect wife. And as usual, his father greets me with a lingering hug that results in having my ass grabbed.

Gross.

Dinner goes by painfully slow. Per tradition, I sit there silently, pushing food around on my plate and taking a bite here and there while the three of them are chattering and laughing without a care in the world. They speak as if they've forgotten I am even in the room, minus his father, of course. I have always wondered why I have to attend these biweekly dinners. I’m never included in their conversations anyways, and surely, they wouldn't miss me if I don’t attend. I make a mental note to fake an illness before next month's dinner if I'm still around by then.

Dinner’s uneventful until Lucille makes the mistake of taking the wine bottle back to the kitchen instead of leaving it on the table for Nate. He immediately snaps at her with a “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” and it all goes downhill from there.

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