Masked Deceit

Chapter 2: The Interview

The next morning was uncomfortable, to say the least. The majority of days Damien would wake me before he left for work unless I was sick or tired. Today wasn't one of those days. I heard the door slam as he left for work, jolting me out of my sleep. I lifted myself out of bed with flashbacks of the night before still fresh in my mind and went straight into the bathroom.

The entire right side of my cheekbone was still oozing thickened dark blood underneath the gauze while a bruise slowly started to tint my skin. I snapped a picture of my face on my phone, just in case. I could recall every moment up until he struck me. I assume he made an attempt to clean my face, judging by the opened tube of Neosporin and bloody tissues sprawled on the bathroom counter. I looked at myself in the mirror, forcing myself not to scream out in distress. At least he cared about me enough to clean me up.

I reached my hand into the shower and ran the water until it was hot and stripped off my t-shirt. I'm positive I wasn't wearing that last night, he must've changed me too.

As I got in the shower hot water ran down my skin soothing every spot that it hit. I cupped the water in my hand and slowly poured it over my new wound. I winced out in pain. It burned so bad I could feel it on the inside of my cheek. "Glad I know this is how he treats the woman he loves," I whispered to myself and sighed. I got out of the shower and headed back into the bedroom to get dressed, after all, I still had my interview today.

The burgundy-colored blouse fit loosely on my frame while the skirt I picked out was tight, yet still, work-appropriate. It was the same skirt he had told me not to wear. I had picked it out the day I heard back from the firm, but the events of last night solidified my choice of wearing it.

More importantly, I had to cover up this mess on my face. I sat at my vanity, coating layers of concealer and foundation on my face. My search history became filled with "How to cover a bruise with makeup" and "Will my wound get infected if I put makeup on it?" The answer to that last one was obvious, but I didn't really have a choice. I looked like one of those social media models, my face was caked with drugstore brands. In the end, I didn't look too awful. I wore my hair down and wavy to hopefully cover up what makeup couldn't.

I headed to the kitchen to make breakfast, seeing as I still had an hour before my interview. Eggs and toast seemed good enough, but as I went to sit down with my plate in hand I saw it.

A stain of bright red on the carpet where I assume I went down. It made my body shudder and freeze.

Suddenly my appetite was no longer there. I stood and stared at the mark. It looked as though he had tried to scrub it out but to no avail. The memory flooded my mind and sunk to my core. It's pathetic if he thinks that would be enough to knock some sense into me. I could have him arrested if I wanted to, but I didn't. Instead, I knew I could use this to my advantage. I pulled my phone out and snapped a picture of the ruined carpet that would match the one I took this morning of my face. Then, I emailed them to my laptop. He couldn't run from this even if he tried. I grabbed my laptop off of the side table, printed out the photos, and stuck them in my purse. Now, I wasn't planning on showing them to anybody, or even telling anyone what had happened, but if things did go south I refused to go down alone.

Time was ticking and I had to get going before I was late. Plus, I had no reason to stay in the apartment any longer, it was starting to make me feel cramped anyway. I left my untouched breakfast in the fridge and got myself together.

I hopped in my car and put the address into the GPS. Kingsley Enterprise - 879 Warwick St. The commute was about 25 minutes, which was amazing compared to the hour-long drive used to take every morning. Unsurprisingly, I wasn't nervous at all. I had been learning how to impress employers during interviews since high school. I was fully prepared.