Chapters (92)
- Cover
- Also by Alex Dahl
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Contents
- Epigraph
- Prologue
- Part I
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- Part II
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- Part III
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- Epilogue
- Five months later
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
No, she says, not yet. She places his hand on her left breast so he can hear the thud of her heart and turns around to look into his eyes. He can’t resist her like that, he has said that himself many times. She takes his other hand and guides it down, down, and he moans softly when his fingers touch upon her wetness. She’s quick to press her lips to his and prize his mouth open with the playful tip of her tongue. He sighs but doesn’t, or can’t, resist her. He sighs deeper as she gets on top and lowers herself down onto him, rocking back and forth, her tongue probing his mouth, his hands buried in the thick tangle of her hair. She stops, pulls back, looks into his eyes. His mouth is still open as though he hasn’t realized the kiss has ended, and she leans back in, closes it with her own.
She gets on all fours, he’s behind her, one hand clutching her hip for balance, the other in her hair again, he likes that, and he’s gathered it into a thick, glossy rope.
Pull it, she says, and he does. Harder, she says. So he does. I want you to hurt me. So he does.
I want you to love me, she thinks. But he doesn’t.
When she wakes, she’s alone. There are bruises on the insides of her thighs, on her arms, along her collarbone, on her wrists, where he pinned her down. A tuft of dark hair he tugged from her scalp is left on the pillow. Her trachea hurts where he squeezed it, and though he didn’t actually want to do it, he did it when she insisted.
She gets out of bed and steps under the hissing jet of a hot shower. She turns her face into the rushing water, and rubs the night off her skin with gentle soapy fingers, taking care where it is raised and blue. She allows tears to flow and doesn’t get back out until they stop.
She stands a long while in front of the mirror, noticing how the baby has grown since she last did this. She touches her lower belly, gently cradling the tiny, taut bump. The thought of someone hurting the person inside like she herself has been hurt, makes her heart race and her mind run blank with dread.
I love you, she thinks to herself, but has to avert her eyes at the intensity of her own gaze. She knows it’s time, now, to do something about the situation.