Out Of Darkness

Chapter Three

Alea

I entered the house and noticed Matthew emerging from the den with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He fixed his gaze on me. Giving me a once-over. I noticed him gripping the glass more firmly with his fingers.

“You’re late, and why the hell are you dressed like that? This isn’t what you had on this morning. And what the fuck did you do to your hair? You look like a God damn hooker. Wonder how much money you spent on this today” He sneered.

This reaction matched my expectations of him. However, I still felt a lot of pain, even though I anticipated this reaction from him.

"What I decide to do with my money is entirely my matter, not yours. I will be ready in 30 minutes.” I said, walking up the stairs.

I showered briefly and then took a seat at my vanity. I observed my face in the mirror. It’s hard for me to fathom that I cut off the braids. I look so unlike myself. I love how the pixie cut looks. Darker aesthetic instead of the typical light makeup combined with a bright red lip will be my look for tonight. Additionally, I acquired a new dress for the event. I went for a long-sleeved scarlet dress, complete with a thigh-high slit. Everyone refrained from wearing colors at these events. Blackness persisted without change. I desired something new. Naturally, I couldn’t wear anything sleeveless or backless. My tattoo would be noticeable. Tattoos faced strict prohibition in my childhood home, and they remain banned with my husband. It doesn't deliver the aura of a refined and classically conservative married woman. I don’t drink, but Matthew and I had gotten into one of our many fights. The inclination of the fight rose to where it became a physical dispute between us of two. It was the first time Matthew had ever laid his hands on me. I went to my parents to inform them of what happened, but I they turned me away, saying they weren’t going to get involved between a husband and wife’s debates. I could not fathom why they would call it a debate when it was simple domestic abuse. They said that it was a husband’s duty to set his wife straight if she steps out of line. Distraught, I went to Juul, started drinking. How we ended up at a tattoo parlor drunk out of our asses was beyond me. But nevertheless, I got a tattoo of butterflies that radiates down the left side of my back. Their beauty always fascinated me, but it was mostly because of how free they are. I woke up at Juul's place the next morning with immense pain on my side, and no recollection of what we had done.

Once dressed, I went downstairs seeing Matthew with yet another glass of whiskey. Gosh, by the time we get there, he’d already be drunk.

His gaze followed me downstairs, and his rage was palpable. 

“Go change. You look like a fucking cheap whore in that dress! What the hell is wrong with you? You know everyone important is going to be there! I'll be the fool everyone laughs at tonight! Is your intent to humiliate me? Go fucking change, Francesca! NOW!" He vocally expressed his anger towards me.

"It's too late to change, and I'm not altering anything with my outfit.”

While I attempted to pass him, he seized my arm.

“Let go off my arm, Matthew “

He says nothing; our gazes fix on one another. He then releases his hold without uttering a word. I can feel a bruise forming right now, in addition to the one I got this morning. Fortunately, the long sleeves, hid it effectively.

We made it to the Gala much later than the others. I absolutely detested these gatherings. As anticipated, everyone's  attention was on me, but I was prepared. I'm certain my parents will be horrified when they see what I'm wearing to tonight's event.

I picked up on quiet murmurs and watched as their faces twisted into snarls, especially those of some of the women. It held no importance to me. I maintained a confident demeanor as we moved across the room to where my parents were. The severity of their look could cause immediate fear in anyone.