day even though the house is in perfect condition. I would clean every second if it meant that he was out of the house permanently though.
I straighten the pearls around my neck and think for the thousandth time that if I ever escape this hell hole, I’m going to burn every pearl I come across. I’m dressed in a fitted pastel pink dress that comes complete with a belt ordained with daisies. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have been caught dead in such an outfit but far be it for me to wear jeans to a country club. I slip into a pair of matching pastel wedges and then run out to the car. I’m running late and I can only hope that he’s distracted and doesn’t realize the time.
As I drive, I can’t help but daydream. Dream about what it would have been like if I had joined the guys in L.A. Bellmont is a sleepy town that’s been the same for generations. I haven’t been anywhere outside of the town since I got married except to Myrtle Beach for my honeymoon.
The town is steeped in history, a history that it’s very proud of. The main street is still perfectly maintained from the early 1900s, and I’ve always loved the whitewashed look of the buildings and the wooden shingles on every roof. The town attracts a vast array of tourists who come here to be close to the beach. They can get a taste of the coastal southern flavor of places like Charleston and Charlotte, but they don’t have to pay as high of a price tag.
It’s a beautiful prison to me, and if I ever manage to escape from it, I never want to see it again.
I turn down a street and start down the long drive that leads to Bellmont’s most exclusive country club. The entire length of the road is sheltered by large oak trees and it never ceases to make me feel like an extra in Gone With the Wind whenever I come here. The feeling is only reinforced when I pull up to the large, freshly painted white plantation house that’s been converted into the club.
My blood pressure spikes as I near the valet stand. Just knowing that I’m about to see Gentry and all of his friends is enough to send my pulse racing. I smile nervously at the teenage boy who is manning the stand and hand him my keys. He gives me a big smile and a wink. It reminds me of something that Jesse used to do to older women to make them swoon, and my heart clenches. Is there ever going to be a day when something doesn’t remind me of one of them?
I ignore the valet boy’s smile and walk inside, heading to the bar where I can usually find Gentry around lunch time. I pause as I walk inside the lounge. Wendy Perkinson is leaning against Gentry, pressing her breasts against him, much too close for propriety’s sake. I know I should probably care at least a little bit, but the idea of Gentry turning his attentions away from me and on to Wendy permanently is more than I can even wish for. I’m sure he’s fucked her, the way she’s practically salivating over him as he talks to his friend blares it loudly, but unfortunately that’s all she will ever get from him. Gentry’s obsession with me has thus far proved to be a lasting thing. But since I finally started refusing to sleep with him after the beatings became a regular thing, he goes elsewhere for his so-called needs when he doesn’t feel like trying to force me. At least a few times a week I’m assaulted by the stench of another woman’s perfume on my husband’s clothes. It’s become just another unspoken thing in my marriage.
Martin, Gentry’s best friend, is the first to see me and his eyes widen when he does. He coughs nervously, the poor thing thinking I actually care about the situation I’ve walked into. Gentry looks at him and then looks at the entrance where he sees me standing there. His eyes don’t widen in anything remotely resembling remorse or shame...we’re too far past that at this point. He does extricate himself from Wendy’s grip however to start walking towards me, his gaze devouring me as he does so. One thing I’ve never doubted in my relationship with Gentry is how beautiful he thinks I am.
“You’re gorgeous,” he tells me,