Because he’s certainly not mine.
Keeping up appearances is important to him. At Caleb’s side, I’m a chandelier, lit and sparkling with artificial light. Tonight, he needs me to shine. Fortunately, Cross has taken away Caleb’s choice in the matter.
How’s that feel, Caleb? Having your choices taken away?
A few hours later, he taunts me with his silence in the car on the way home. If he started in on me as soon as we were alone, that would make sense. But no, he likes to keep me on my toes, so I’m a little mouse unsure of when the snake will strike.
It’s not until I’m in the bathroom preparing for bed that he broaches the subject again. He approaches me from behind. In the mirror, his broad shoulders and naked chest come into view, the sculpted planes and muscled belly no temptation to me. I lift my eyes to meet his in the reflection, the serenity of my expression belied by my pounding heart. He’s left me alone lately, probably because he knew the dinner was coming. And now, next week there’s the community center. My face in the mirror is unmarked, and it will stay that way.
That’s not true of my arms, banded with dark circles where his fingers have gripped, or of my back, bruised from his shoe. He’s marked me in so many secret ways, I’m afraid that even when I escape, I’ll never be rid of him.
But I will escape.
It’s not enough to run, to get away from Caleb. Even if I run, his lies will hunt me down, and in the end, he’ll have access to Sarai. For me, that’s not winning. That’s not freedom. And when Caleb says he’ll kill me if I leave him, he means it. There’s murder in his eyes, a yet-to-be-pulled trigger. I have to be smarter than that. Smarter than him. He trapped me, and I have to lay a trap for him. The timing has to be perfect. I may only get one shot.
“Don’t do anything you’ll regret next week,” he says softly.
I wipe away my makeup, eyes set on my reflection in the mirror. I don’t acknowledge him—a tiny rebellion. The only one I’m allowed.
“Did you hear me?” He grabs my arm in exactly the place that is already marked, drawing a wince and a sharp breath from me.
“I heard you.” I look at him in the mirror and nod. “What would I do, Caleb? Run? I tried that, remember?”
“Just don’t forget next week when you’re at the community center.” His hand wanders down my arm, slips around my waist, and creeps up to cup my breast. “I have so much on you, you’ll be lucky to see Sarai on weekends.”
“I’m well aware, Caleb.” I tense under his hand, bitterness flavoring the words in my mouth. “Of what’s at stake.”
Ms. Darling called last week to make sure Sarai was still “safe.” She said we were fine for now and shouldn’t need any more home visits, but I need to find that journal and turn the tables on Caleb. He used the things most important to me against me—my family and my daughter. He knows I would die before I allowed him to have even joint custody of Sarai, having seen what he’s capable of. He’s schemed to be so many steps ahead of me before I realized I was even in the game.
“I can’t believe Cross had the nerve to bring up West,” Caleb says harshly, his fingers tightening on me. “That motherfucker stole Rookie of the Year from me.”
He squeezes my nipple, and I draw a deep breath, breathing through the pain.
“West always wants what’s mine,” Caleb goes on, his eyes on me in the mirror, his mind on August. “He can’t have you, though.
I nod jerkily, counting to ten to distract myself from the needles of agony piercing my breast. And then his hand is gone.
I lean weakly against the bathroom counter, hoping he walks away. I pray he leaves me alone, but like so many nights when I’ve prayed over the last few months, no one is listening.
He pushes the hem of my nightgown over my hips until cool air hits my thighs and butt. He shoves my panties down. They hit the floor, encircling my ankles like cuffs. He presses my back, forcing my chest to the bathroom counter. My cheek slams into the cold quartz.
“Caleb, please.” I glance up to the mirror, searching his eyes for any sign of leniency. “Don’t.”
He doesn’t answer but stares down at my ass, his look a mix of hunger, possessiveness, and malice. He digs his fingers into my hip, and I hear the pajama bottoms slide down his legs; feel the first press of his invasion.
I’m not religious. I’m not a high priestess. I’m not a believer in much of anything anymore. I can’t buy into Lotus’s superstitions or wrap my mind around MiMi’s mysticism, but every time Caleb touches me, the same words come to my lips, an un-whispered prayer that echoes in the cavernous chamber of my heart.
God, deliver me from this.
Save me.
25
Iris
“I’ll be fine here by myself, Ramone.”
He’s in the driver’s seat of the SUV I used to drive before Caleb took my license, and I’m in the back seat. The community center, sweet freedom—at least for two hours—is across the street.
“I’m coming with you.” He undoes his seatbelt.
“No.” Our eyes lock in the rearview mirror while I unsnap Sarai’s car seat. “It’s a community center for kids. It will look ridiculous for you to come in there with us. I’ll meet you here when I’m done.”
He eyes me with suspicion.
“Don’t worry. I know I can’t leave without being arrested for kidnapping,” I say bitterly. “Or having social services show up at my door. Thanks for that, by the way.”
Ramone doesn’t look concerned that I know he lied to social services. Anyone who’ll stand by complicit while Caleb does the things he does to me can’t have any shame.
“Two hours.” He bounces a glance from the community center to his watch. “I’ll be right here.”
I make a run for it before he changes his mind. I set Sarai up in her stroller, grab her diaper bag, and barely close the door before I’m pushing her down the sidewalk. I’m determined to have some time without Ramone breathing down my neck. It’s been even worse this week with Caleb in China. The watch dog is on high alert, and I’m sure he’s under strict instructions to report any unusual behavior. Like the emergence of a backbone or will.
My life has been relatively tranquil with Caleb gone. I only have a few bruises in places no one will see. I’m relieved, for once, not to have injuries to cover up, besides the ones under my skin, around my heart. Those are the worst of all.
I reach the community center entrance. We’re not quite in the hood, not quite in the suburbs. I know hood—I negotiated it the first twelve years of my life, and this ain’t it. There’s not a crackhead or prostitute in sight. The building has seen better days, but it’s clean and in decent repair.
The young woman at the front desk looks up from her romance novel to offer me a pleasant smile.
“Hi.” I give her a smile back. “I’m here for the basketball camp.”
She inspects all my details. I dressed as unassumingly as possible, but after my pregnancy, Caleb “surprised” me with a whole new wardrobe. At the time I chided myself for not feeling more grateful, but now I recognize it as one more puppet string he pulled to exercise his control. My dark jeans are simple, but expensive. I only brought Sarai’s diaper bag, but it’s designer. Not to mention the albatross of a ring on my finger. With Caleb making such a big deal of it at the dinner, I dare not show up to volunteer without it. The ring and Sarai are his accessories, further presenting him as the ideal family man instead of the monster I know and hate.
“You a baller’s wife, huh?” she asks, glancing at Sarai in the stroller.
“Um, girlfriend.”
I know what people think when they see me: that I’ve got it made and Sarai is the meal ticket that sets me up for life, or at least until she’s eighteen. They have no idea that under this silk blouse tucked into my designer jeans, bruises, black and blue and yellow, often splatter my ribs like ink blots—that on the regular, I taste my own blood. I’d trade with the poorest, with the homeless, with this young lady right here, just to be free of the tailless devil I sleep with every night.
“I heard I might be able to put my baby in daycare while I’m volunteering.” I look around the small lobby curiously. “Could I see it?”
I definitely need to know what it’s like before I leave Sarai there.
When we round the corner, an older woman, probably somebody’s grandmother, makes her way over to the half-door, the bottom secured and the top open.
“Who’s this little darling?” she asks, leaning out and smiling widely at Sarai. My daughter never meets a stranger and immediately begins blowing bubbles and waving her little starfish hands.
“Her name’s Sarai.” I pull her out of the stroller. “You have room for her?”
“Sure do.” She opens the bottom half of the door and gestures for me to come in. “I’m Audrey.”
The space designated for the daycare is small, but tidy and orderly, with just a few kids around Sarai’s age crawling and toddling around. Changing tables line the perimeter of the room, and shelves stocked with books and toys dot the walls. The four other daycare workers range from about my age to Audrey’s. All are either changing babies or playing with them on the floor or rocking them in the glider in the corner. It feels warm and safe. I can breathe easy for two hours.
Once I’ve checked Sarai in and taken the little pager they issued in case they needed me, I head back to the front desk. Two other women stand there, similarly attired in designer jeans, like me, but where I opted for flats, they wear stilettos. Their glamor quotient is definitely several notches above mine. No rings in sight.
“The kids will be going in that room down the hall on your left.” The young desk attendant points in that direction. “They’ll be in after they wrap up their morning activity. You can wait if you’d like.”