far too unpredictable to keep arguing with.
Stripping out of my running gear, I find my swimmers. I’ll do laps of the pool instead.
Ten minutes later, I’m in the pool and finally able to zone out and just focus on physical activity.
I don’t know how long I’ve been swimming when I look up and find Joe standing at the end of the pool watching me. Stopping, I pull off my goggles and look at him, waiting for him to speak.
“You need to get ready for dinner. We have to leave in forty minutes.” His body language and tone let me know how unimpressed he is to find me out here.
I nod and lift myself out of the pool, ignoring the way Joe’s eyes rake over my body. He doesn’t make a move to walk with me, and when I’m almost at the pool gate, he says, “We won’t be having a repeat of last night, Chelsea.”
I miss taking a breath as my feet slow.
I refused to fuck him last night and he wasn’t happy about it.
Glancing back at him, I say, “Are you going to be nice to me tonight?” The fire I’m playing with is far too hot, but damn if I’m going to let him force me into this. Sex has been the one area in our relationship that he hasn’t truly forced yet. Sure, I’ve slept with him when I didn’t want to, but we’ve never had non-consensual sex. However, I’m no fool. Joe’s edgy at the moment, and I sense he’s close to breaking point with me. I’m worried the bedroom might be the place that happens, so I’m staying vigilant and trying not to show my fear. The minute he sees that is the minute every last scrap of power transfers to him.
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he closes the distance between us and says, “You’re my wife and I expect you to act like one.”
I bite my tongue. Like, literally bite it. That doesn’t work, though. “And you’re a fucking asshole. Honestly, this marriage could have gone in a whole different direction. You could have played nice and I would have too, and we could have had all the sex you ever wanted.”
His eyes flash with fury. “That would never have happened. Not when you still want that fucking biker.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t still want that biker if my husband had made me fall in love with him.”
“You’re playing a dangerous fucking game here, Chelsea.”
“I know. And maybe I’ll keep playing it because either way, I’m screwed.”
His jaw clenches. “You need to go and get ready.”
“Yeah, I do.”
I turn and continue to our room, taking deep, steadying breaths as I walk. God knows I need them after that. I try hard not to show my fear of Joe, but my husband scares me more than I care to admit.
After growing up with a father who hit me, I swore I’d never be with a man like him, and yet here I am. Living with a monster who I know I haven’t fully met. I might tell Joe I’ll keep playing this dangerous game, but deep down, in the places I’ve relegated my terror to, I falter every time he comes near.
My husband does not love me, and in my darkest moments when I allow myself to acknowledge it, I’m terrified of what the monster might do.
The next two days pass by in a blur of engagements. They also pass by with me in a state of “what the hell is my life.” Between my husband’s moods and Mason’s hostility that I can feel even though we’re barely near each other, I’m all over the place, flustered and annoyed. Dad’s the only one actually being nice to me, which only serves to confuse me more. It’s like the universe took all my manifesting I’ve been doing for months and decided to send me a big “fuck you” instead. Like it decided I need to walk across fire some more before it decides which way my life should go.
Thursday rolls around and I wake up exhausted.
Physically and mentally.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
Joe’s nowhere to be seen, which pleases me and gives me some much-needed breathing space.
I take a long shower before dressing and doing my make-up and hair. Joe returns to the room as I’m finishing up with my hair. We’ve not spoken a great deal since Monday afternoon by the pool. We also haven’t had sex. That actually keeps me on edge rather than making