here awhile.
I’m assuming he’s only going to keep me locked up in this room until he finds out if I’m carrying his child or not. Then I don’t know what his plans are after that. Praying every night that there is no child is the only hope I have left to wish for. If I am indeed pregnant, he can undoubtedly keep me prisoner forever. Or he can toss some money at me, have me sign something and discard me like the whore he thinks me to be. There is no telling which path this unpredictable man is going to take.
One evening, as I click off the TV and settle under the covers, the bedroom lock clicks and the door slowly opens. I’m afraid to see who is standing in the doorway so late at night, so I close my eyes and feign sleep. I hear someone move further into the room, closing the door behind them. Whoever it is believes me to be sleeping but creeps over to the edge of the bed just the same.
There is a pulsating current which hits me whenever he’s near, so I know it’s Drayden who is standing there, no doubt staring at me. But why isn’t he saying anything to me? Why isn’t he berating me like I know he likes to do?
The silence is booming in my ears.
I slowly open my eyes and find him standing at the foot of the bed, naked from the waist up, leaning against one of the four poster columns. I’m attuned to the fact he needs that post to hold him up; otherwise, he’ll stagger and fall over.
He’s drunk.
The small light from the bathroom allows me to see that his eyes are glassy and his head is swaying, trying his best to remain still but failing miserably. He’s still holding onto a glass of some kind of hard liquor, the sweat dripping down and hitting the hardwood floor below.
After he’s done taking in my still form, he makes a solid connection with my eyes and winks at me. He acts as if he is holding on to a secret I’m just not privy to yet.
“Essie, Essie, Essie. Whatever am I going to do with you?” He stumbles over toward the seat tucked in the corner of the room and not-so-gracefully plunks down into it, putting his drink on top of the table kissing the edge of the chair’s fabric. He scoots forward and places his elbows on his knees, never breaking eye contact with me for fear I’ll probably disappear.
We stare at each other for what seems like forever, although in reality it’s only a few minutes. I’m really sick and tired of his crap already, so I break the silence looming between us. “What do you want, Drayden?” I ask him, my obvious annoyance showing through. “Did you come here for a reason? Or are you just going to intimidate me all night with your drunk ass?” I can’t help myself. When I’m scared or uncomfortable, I end up lashing out, making me appear stronger than I actually am.
He doesn’t answer either one of my questions, instead choosing to sit there at glare at me. Finally, after a few more minutes, he speaks. “Come here,” he demands.
I put my head down and avert my eyes away from his intensity. “No,” I respond.
“Don’t make me tell you twice, woman,” he slurs. When I still don’t make a move, he indeed makes his request again. “Come here. Now!”
Still I do nothing, clutching the covers up closer under my chin, as if the flimsy material is going to save me from this man. I know I’m taking my own life in my hands with my stubbornness, but I have to take a stand. Granted, it might be futile, but I must still do this. He may have me locked away in this house, but I’m not going to give up my free will. He’ll have to force me to comply because that’s the only way I’m getting out of this bed.
Frustrated with my refusal, he stands up, knocks the chair into the wall and stalks toward me. Anger and irritation shoot from him, hitting me everywhere. He’s pissed, in every sense of the word. Ripping the covers off me with ease, he circles my arms with his fingers and pulls me out of bed. He’s walking so fast back toward the chair I almost trip,
I’m assuming he’s only going to keep me locked up in this room until he finds out if I’m carrying his child or not. Then I don’t know what his plans are after that. Praying every night that there is no child is the only hope I have left to wish for. If I am indeed pregnant, he can undoubtedly keep me prisoner forever. Or he can toss some money at me, have me sign something and discard me like the whore he thinks me to be. There is no telling which path this unpredictable man is going to take.
One evening, as I click off the TV and settle under the covers, the bedroom lock clicks and the door slowly opens. I’m afraid to see who is standing in the doorway so late at night, so I close my eyes and feign sleep. I hear someone move further into the room, closing the door behind them. Whoever it is believes me to be sleeping but creeps over to the edge of the bed just the same.
There is a pulsating current which hits me whenever he’s near, so I know it’s Drayden who is standing there, no doubt staring at me. But why isn’t he saying anything to me? Why isn’t he berating me like I know he likes to do?
The silence is booming in my ears.
I slowly open my eyes and find him standing at the foot of the bed, naked from the waist up, leaning against one of the four poster columns. I’m attuned to the fact he needs that post to hold him up; otherwise, he’ll stagger and fall over.
He’s drunk.
The small light from the bathroom allows me to see that his eyes are glassy and his head is swaying, trying his best to remain still but failing miserably. He’s still holding onto a glass of some kind of hard liquor, the sweat dripping down and hitting the hardwood floor below.
After he’s done taking in my still form, he makes a solid connection with my eyes and winks at me. He acts as if he is holding on to a secret I’m just not privy to yet.
“Essie, Essie, Essie. Whatever am I going to do with you?” He stumbles over toward the seat tucked in the corner of the room and not-so-gracefully plunks down into it, putting his drink on top of the table kissing the edge of the chair’s fabric. He scoots forward and places his elbows on his knees, never breaking eye contact with me for fear I’ll probably disappear.
We stare at each other for what seems like forever, although in reality it’s only a few minutes. I’m really sick and tired of his crap already, so I break the silence looming between us. “What do you want, Drayden?” I ask him, my obvious annoyance showing through. “Did you come here for a reason? Or are you just going to intimidate me all night with your drunk ass?” I can’t help myself. When I’m scared or uncomfortable, I end up lashing out, making me appear stronger than I actually am.
He doesn’t answer either one of my questions, instead choosing to sit there at glare at me. Finally, after a few more minutes, he speaks. “Come here,” he demands.
I put my head down and avert my eyes away from his intensity. “No,” I respond.
“Don’t make me tell you twice, woman,” he slurs. When I still don’t make a move, he indeed makes his request again. “Come here. Now!”
Still I do nothing, clutching the covers up closer under my chin, as if the flimsy material is going to save me from this man. I know I’m taking my own life in my hands with my stubbornness, but I have to take a stand. Granted, it might be futile, but I must still do this. He may have me locked away in this house, but I’m not going to give up my free will. He’ll have to force me to comply because that’s the only way I’m getting out of this bed.
Frustrated with my refusal, he stands up, knocks the chair into the wall and stalks toward me. Anger and irritation shoot from him, hitting me everywhere. He’s pissed, in every sense of the word. Ripping the covers off me with ease, he circles my arms with his fingers and pulls me out of bed. He’s walking so fast back toward the chair I almost trip,
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