𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘺 {𝙘𝙝𝙤 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜/𝙤𝙘} ⚢

x.

i didn’t have time to process anything-- not his face, his broken, beloved vase (the one made from a special type of coarse, porous clay), the fact that i was almost positive i hadn’t seen his car in the drive (yet evidently he was home!), the wholegrain loaf that still dwindled in my fingers (at least for now!), my stained mulberry cheek that i hadn’t bothered to wipe away.

it was early. he wasn’t supposed to be home until half-past five, at the very least. i knew that, but i didn’t think much of it until far later. at that moment, i couldn’t do anything but hope, and to be frank, everything was plummeting.

“你剛剛去哪 (where have you been)?” his voice was cutting glass. it was destruction and apathy, and for lack of better words, hell incarnate.

i knew even before i wanted to.

“i was just buying bread close to yalong,” i said, trying to make my way past him and into the kitchen. “i wanted to make something special for us tonight; something different.”

i stepped forward, and before i knew it, i’d been curbed. bao’s left hand-- the one with the token of his forever promise on it --yanked my raven locks back. his lethal eyes studied my mulberry cheek. fuck.

he took his pointer finger and wetted it with his tongue. dragging my head back, bao dipped his finger across my sunken cheek where lian’s lip balm still laid imprinted on my skin. merlin, cedric, save me!

slap.

scorching, red-hot skin that wouldn’t dare be tamed, the beckoning voice in my head that told me to end it all, his unabated anger-- all of it came to me at once. did i choose to remember the best of that summer (yalong bay, sweet plum jam, salty kisses in the lapping waves of the frothy sea? or was it simply too traumatic to remember everything else of that summer?)

slap.

yalong bay. i’m a mermaid. the pits of the briny, wholegrain bread, a lilac laced dress and a golden given barrette, yasi gardens, lian blushing from her first potential love-- oh the memories; they were the ones i had to hold dear.

i wondered if they were enough (in number and in passion) to ground me. i didn’t think they were. the bad always had a way of triumphing the good (or maybe that was just in my fucked up world?). i didn’t know. aforementioned, the past had merged with the present. my world had become a dreadful anaphora.

slap.

“you are nothing!” bao screamed, but i didn’t bother to talk back like i used to. there was no point. “say something!”

i didn’t. i let it happen.

bao hit harder than he ever had. he let me fall to the ground crying (though trust me, i wasn’t even cognisant of my own tears!). he hit me and slapped me and kicked me. and there was no end, at least not until i was purplish-blue like my mulberry stained cheek and my ribs had cracked like the terracotta pot of his youth. and when the end did arrive, it was almost harder.

i didn’t just have to breathe and cry anymore. i had to think, and what was there to think after that. i didn’t know. running away? revenge? death? maybe nothing at all?

i sobbed as he brought me to our room, holding me as if i was the most fragile of vases; the most beautiful of azaleas (as if they hadn’t died on our windowsill already!). regret had swept bao into its extremely unforgiving arms. i could see the pain radiate across his face. i really shouldn’t have felt pity, but i did.

carefully, i watched from my bed as bao grabbed my wand from the cupboard under the stairs (questioning if all pain originated from those damned things!). i bit my lip in distress as bao begged me to heal myself. he pleaded and screamed and apologised for his actions.

i agreed, pretending i hadn’t seen my wand in forever and thanked him. i wasn’t sure he believed me, but for now, i was in the safe. he wouldn’t hurt me for some time, not when his wrath was still present on my flesh. i listened, and i healed myself as much as i could. i took my time, more than i ever had, but broken bones were no joke.

three ribs, at the very least, were fractured.

they’d heal. it would take a few days (and it would be a painful process!), but they would. i magically bonded them together in the meantime. bao cried more and more. i wiped his tears out of habit, even if i didn’t want to.

“i’ll make dinner tonight,” he said.

“o- okay,” i whispered, barely able to speak without whining and withering in my pain; the pain he’d inflicted on me.

“you’ll be okay,” bao promised, trying to convince himself more than anything else. softly, he leaned in and kissed my forehead. the utter duplicity of his actions frightened me more than anything else had, but i was also pretty certain they were the reason i stayed.

his kindness, though fugitive, existed.

bao came back within less than thirty minutes, a plate of food in hand. i smiled and ate every bite. we spoke of his day and the mediocre (more scary, scary duplicity!), and i pretended to forget about everything that happened.

but i wouldn’t. i couldn’t, not this time around, and yalong called my name like a greek chorus beseeching me to rid myself of my achilles’ heel-- bao shyu; my husband.