I gasp and pull my stinging hand back, my mouth open in shock. He looks over the top of his glasses at me, his closed book now on the table.
“Did you just hit my hand with your book?” I ask, my shock still evident as I rub the back of my hand with my other one. It didn’t hurt it just shocked me.
“I said no.”
“You just hit my hand with your book,” I say, my voice lower and more dangerous this time. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“Are you an animal?” He scowls, his palms flat on the table. “Because only animals steal food from another’s plate.”
“Are you an animal?” I scowl back, repeating his words. “Because only animals hit pregnant women.”
He sighs and rolls his eyes. “So dramatic, it was just your hand.”
“It’s still assault.”
“My food. Don’t touch.” He glares and picks his book back up.
Why do I have this insane feeling that I want to do it again? If he hits me again I swear I’ll hit him back. I’m prepared.
So when he looks back to his book, slowly chewing the food in his mouth I slowly slide my hand over. YES! I got the bacon.
“Put it back,” he states, his eyes not leaving the book. How did he see me?
“But…”
His eyes still don’t leave the book. “Put it back.”
“You don’t control me or my body. I’ll eat what I like.”
“As long as you’re staying here, you’ll look after your body and your unborn child the way you’re supposed to.” His book is now down and his eyes are on me.
“It’s just bacon, you freakin’ pig Nazi. I can’t live on organic. I still need a bit of junk food,” I snap, my voice sounding as exasperated as I feel and I feel extremely exasperated.
“Do as you’re told,” he half shouts.
“No.” I bring the bacon to my mouth, take a bite and chew.
He’s up in an instant. His sudden move startles me so I’m up faster than I’ve been able to get up for the past three months. We stare at each other, his eyes full of warning, my body now shaking. I’m a little bit scared to be honest.
I just want the bacon. I take another bite and he stalks towards me. I step backwards with each step he takes.
“What are you doing?” I ask, paralysed by my fear. I shouldn’t have pushed him. I hardly know him. What if he slaps me or chains me up in my room?
What if he takes my bacon?
“Give me the bacon.”
I blink when my back hits the wall. “It’s just one slice of bacon.”
“You deliberately disobeyed me,” he snaps and holds a napkin out. “Give me the bacon.”
“Fine, fucking have it,” I shout and place it on the napkin, my temper rising.
Suddenly he’s in my face, his hand slamming into the wall beside my head. I whimper as he comes closer until his nose is only an inch from mine. “Curse again and you’ll regret it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Curse again and find out.” He threatens and pulls away, the bacon and napkin crushed in his fist.
I slide down the wall after he leaves the room, taking our plates with him. If I could wrap my hands around my knees I would. Suddenly I don’t want to be here anymore.
Before anyone sees me, I race up the stairs and hide in my room, my mind running through idea after idea. He’s clearly unstable. He has serious control issues that I’m not sure I want to deal with.
Maybe I should just stay out of his way. Maybe I should just leave.
Where will I go, though? I need to be realistic here.
I climb into my bed after kicking off my shoes and bury my head under the covers. This is my safety; this is where I feel the most comfortable so this is where I’m staying. Why do I have to deal with this? I don’t deserve this.
My heart and my breathing are the only sounds I can hear as I shut out the world. My breath is thick as it’s hard to breathe under a quilt, but it’s okay. At least I’m not crying. I’m so sick of needing to cry.
“I’m leaving now, poppet,” Jeanine calls through the door. “Make sure you eat. You didn’t touch your breakfast.”
I bury myself further under the quilt after saying, “Okay.” I’m so tired. So darn tired.
Does this ever get easier?
There’s a knock at the door after the sun makes its descent. “Guinevere?”