In the end, I shrug and try playing down the whole thing.
“They are just memories of my childhood. Nothing that important, Michael,” I answer, trying to inject sincerity into my words.
Michael comes around in front of me leaning on his desk. His arms are crossed and he looks so relaxed. I know what’s coming though. I know what always happens when I do something to displease the monster. The sick feeling inside of me floods through my bloodstream. Will he kill me this time? He’s come close before. Will tonight be the final end of it all? I think I’d be okay if it was. I need it to end. I can’t keep going on like this. I’m tired.
“Very well Melinda, you may leave. I shall dispose of your trinkets.”
Two main emotions flood me at the same time. Relief that I have escaped his punishment this time and then agony. He will dispose…my gaze lands, one last time on my mother’s medallion and I can’t stop the small tear that falls on my cheek. I know it’s a mistake. I know I should be quiet, but I can’t. That necklace is all I have of my mom. There are no pictures, everything else has been ripped away from me, save for that one lone trinket. So, even knowing I should hold it back, I can’t. I know before I say the words I shouldn’t. I do. I just can’t stop myself.
“Something you would like to say, Melinda?
“Please, Michael, please.”
“Please what, wife?”
I hate that term. I am barely eighteen. I shouldn’t be married. I should be dating and I would never date anyone like Michael Kavanagh. Just hearing the words and knowing that it links the two of us together causes bile to rise into my throat. I fight it back down.
“Don’t destroy the necklace. It was my mothers. It’s all I have left of her…”
I hate begging. I feel so weak, so inferior. Yet, I know if I approach this any other way, there will be no saving any of my belongings. The chance is small even with me begging.
I watch as he picks up the chain and lets it slide between his cruel hands. I see it now. The smug darkness in his eyes. I’ve given the monster power. It is all he needs. It is what he has been waiting for. Perhaps I am as stupid as Michael keeps insisting I am.
“Is the necklace important to you, wife?”
Again that word…the term that makes my stomach roll.
“Yes, Michael.”
“Do you know what I can’t understand, Melinda?”
I want to answer, but fear has paralyzed me and my vocal chords are frozen as well.
“Well, wife? Do you?”
I try to talk, I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a squeaky half syllable. I quickly clear my throat and start again.
“What, Michael?”
“How my darling wife could keep something so obviously important hidden from me. Can you understand that, Melinda?”
I say nothing, by this time the look in his eyes has rendered me speechless. It’s too late. It’s much too late.
“Furthermore, if a small ratty necklace that is far beneath your station in life is important, I can’t begin to imagine what the other items you’ve kept hidden means.”
He reaches over and slides the medallion over my head. The cold medal lies against my breast and I have a moment of relief. Is he going to allow me to keep it? That’s the only thought I have before he grabs the hair at the back of my head and fists it so tightly, so painfully, my eyes water. I gasp at the hurt. He drags me from the chair, so I am standing in front of him, my head is forced back, and tears are streaming down my face. I have to strain to keep my eyes on him. I need to know what is coming. My time with Michael has taught me nothing—if not survival.
“Tell me Melinda, what does the lipstick mean to you? Besides coloring your lips so that you look like some two-bit whore.”
He doesn’t give me time to answer, not that I could with the way he has my neck twisted. The pain is bad, nowhere near what he’s capable of, but bad nonetheless. He takes the lipstick and paints it hard on my lips, to the point it cracks and twists to the side and I can feel the metal rim of the container biting into my lip and cutting as it goes. I try to pull away, but the pain only intensifies and his grip is so tight there is no breaking free. He then pushes the lipstick itself through my teeth and into my mouth. The sick, faintly plastic taste mingles with the coppery taste of blood and I choke. This only serves to piss him off and he back hands me on the side of the face, hard.
The impact is jarring and I would scream, but my mouth is clogged and the force of the slap leaves me stunned.