Going, Going, Gone (An Elijah Mikaelson Love Story)

Chapter 4: Breathe

The grip on my knife tightens as the front door slams shut. I stab through the salmon as I hear a heavy sigh and the thump of shoes and keys near the front. Footsteps make their ways towards me.

Breathe.

I move the salmon into the burning pan.

In and out.

Adverting my eyes, I grab the lemon I purchased from the store earlier today.

In and out.

The knife lodges into it and its contents sprays onto the counter.

Grace, breathe.

"Smells wonderful baby, just as always." He says, stepping into the polished kitchen, removing his jacket and placing it on the counter. Turning gracefully on my heels, I saunter slowly over to him, kissing his cheek.

"Thank you, I figured why not prepare your favorite, especially since you've been staying at the office so late." I gleam, eyes running over his as I run my hands up his shirt, loosening his tie. "Can I get you anything? Water, a snack, o-"

"Chardonnay." Liam nods behind my shoulders, hands moving around my waist. "I would have loved to have it with dinner but... seems like you've fallen behind today, baby." The grip on my waist tightens, his fingers slightly digging into the tender spot from the night prior.

"I-I'm sorry." I stumble out, eyes falling to his chest and back up. "Let me, let me get you that." I lightly maneuver my way from his arms into the cellar, trying to find his favorite.

Breathe.

I flip on the light and pretend to make myself busy searching for the stupid bottle of Chardonnay, but already I feel it. The clamminess of my hands, the sweat gathering all around me and the thumping of my chest. My heart feels like someone has tightened their grip on it, playing with it and shoving it into my stomach.

My body throbs in pains as I remember last week, the way his boot kicked into my curled figure, marking my back. He had apologized of course, he always does. He had brought home a bottle of my favorite wine, he had drawn me a bath and we watched all of my favorite movies together. He has promised me he'd never do anything like that again, just like he always does.

I bite my lips as I find and wrap my hands around the neck of the bottle, pulling it from the cellar's shelf. I take a breath and head back out to the kitchen, eyes springing around the room before seeing my husband at the stove, tenderly prodding the salmon.

I smile as I reach near him, eyes darting to the two wine glasses set already on the counter. My hands twist out the cork from the bottle, my nerves doubling as I hear a hum admit from Liam.

"Tell me, Grace." He smiles at me under his gaze, my stomach churning at the blankness in his eyes. "Do you think I'm a fool?"

I want to cry and scream as he flips the salmon and a soft smile rest on his face. I don't look at him directly as I pour us two glasses of wine, the wine sloshing around the glass, it steadying as I stare down at it, lip caught between my teeth.

I pick up the glass and set it near his free hand, it supporting himself on the counter as the other holds the spatula and presses the salmon to the cast iron with a soft hissing sound. His fingers grow white around the utensil, and I lightly graze his resting hand with my own. I look up at him, smile forming on my face, and I force a laugh out, a soft one but it comes out too curt and too sarcastic. "Baby, why would I think that? Of course I don-"

"What have you been doing today then?" He snaps, cutting me off and the spatula goes flying out of his hands, hitting the kitchen's backsplash, and ricocheting to the floor. His eyes narrow at the spatula and he lets out a low growl. "Because I know you haven't been here."

My stomach falls and I feel as though someone has punched me in the stomach, the room feeling tighter and closing in. Already a lump is forming in my throat, tears warming my eyes and threating to fall over. My hand lightly steadies itself over his and I gaze back up at him. "I don't know what you mean. I've been here all day long. I promise you, Liam."

Breathe.

His hand moves as mine brushes just over his, grabbing it and turning it over as he pulls me towards him. I'm only a couple of inches away as his other hand reaches up and locks around my throat.

Please, breathe.

"Liam," I whimper as he uses my neck to push me back into the counter behind me, my back digging into it and awkwardly bending back as his body presses against my own "please."

"You think I wouldn't fucking know?" He sneers into my face, his spit flying onto my face, and I grimace, my face contorting to show my fear and disgust. "You didn't think I'd have my ways of making sure what is mine, stays fucking mine?"

Ways? Suddenly this home shrinks around me, more so feeling like a prison that I can't ever escape from. Is there a camera in here? Is there a tracker? Is there-

"Liam." I plead as I feel his hand tighten and less and less air comes in. Tears flow from my eyes and down my cheeks. "Please, I can't breathe."

Black dots taunt my vision and I feel my body sway. His eyes bare into mine and his lips move but I can't even gather what he says. I shake my head violently as he pulls me towards him and slams me against the counter. I feel a crack somewhere in my lower back and a strangled groan leaves my lips. I don't want to die. Not by him.

His hand leaves my throat and in my moment of clarity, I take in gulps of air, relishing in the feeling of it. He steps away from me and turns his back to me, his arm swinging and knocking over the glasses of wine onto the floor and walls, the soft gold color painting the room. His back heaves and he kicks one of the stools, opting to throw the other one at the wall, mere inches from me. I scream and fall to my knees, gasping and crying as he stalks back towards me.

Breathe. Run

My feet move towards the door and I stumble, hitting the arched frame, feeling my body sway as the feeling of dizziness washes over me. 

Run, hide.

A cry escapes as I feel his cold hands wrap around mine and he pushes me back to the counter, back to where I was only minutes ago, preparing dinner for fucking him. His lips attack mine and that's when I taste the hint of bourbon already on his. 

That's what it is. He came already drunk. 

Tears run faster as I feel his hands go to the bottom of my dress. My arms flail as I reach around to leverage myself off or away from the counters. My hands land on something cold and metal. My dress is far enough for him, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

I grip the brunt of the knife and raise it, bringing it down and-

I wake with a scream; tears falling freely and throw up in my sheets. My eyes rapidly scan the room, my chest rising and falling violently as tears work their way to a stop.

Breathe.

You're gone.

He's gone.