Wilted

2)Wilted

In the morning, I am back on my porch swing. I can't leave the property without him knowing, so I don't try. I don't need to, either. This house has everything I could ever need, so there's no excuse to even leave the gate. The sky is dark, shades of blue twirling above the air. I imagine it's because the moon has held onto the sky for just a bit longer. I gaze out into the fields and fields of grass, where I know there are pathways carved out and replaced with stone bricks, like something out of a fairytale. It makes me sad, because there is no one to explore any fairytales here. Not that they'd find one.

I bristle as the door opens to my right. Standing up, I turn until I face the door, biting my lip. Is he angry this morning? Hopefully not. "Good morning Maxwell. How did you sleep?" I ask timidly. I look up into his eyes, which are a soft hazel in the sunlight. Mostly, they are dark and angry.

"I slept fine, Sophi. Until I felt you leave, that is." He says, stepping into my small nook of heaven. It makes me nervous, because he doesn't do this often. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I couldn't sleep," I say.

"Well we can't have that, now can we? A gorgeous woman like you needs her rest." He says, a charming smile resting on his face. It is familiar, like a song, but played on a record that isn't used very often.

Maxwell grabs my wrist and yanks me backwards. It doesn't take much force. Over the years, I've become this itty, bitty thing, as my mother would say. No meat to my bones.

I land on his lap, and we're launched backwards. The swing creaks loudly as we rock back and forth. I feel myself begin to relax against his chest, which is another thing that doesn't happen often. I'm not sure why I fall into his trap again, but I do. It's a never-ending cycle. I fall in love, he charms me. I mess up, he hits me. I cry, he soothes me. I fall in love.

"You should sleep, honey. I need my fiancé to be well rested for tonight."

"What's tonight?" I ask. He fists his hand in my hair, and I wince, thinking I've angered him again. Instead, he tugs and I tilt my head back onto his shoulder. He kisses me softly, warping my brain and turning my judgements into goo. How can someone so violent, so angry, be so gentle?

"My company is hosting a charity event. Something to draw in new clients and bring my name into good light with the media. I wouldn't expect you to understand much, Sophi, it's business honestly. I won't bore you with the details. You just need to get ready and wear the dress I buy you." He says, his voice loud and soft in my ear. I nod, though I know his comment about my inability to understand business was backhanded.

"Maxwell? May I call my family today?" I ask, my mind on my mother again.

Bailey Rue Whitman, the strong woman who gave birth to a son with an adrenaline addiction and a daughter with no spine. She's all full of rustic charm, a black woman born in Texas.

"Why?" He says, large hand gripping the side of my neck. I lay my head back further on his shoulder, trying to get away from the pain of his fingers pressing into the matching bruises.

"I just- I miss them." I whisper, watching with flickering, nervous eyes as the sun starts to come up. The dark blue fades to pink fades to yellow fades to that beautiful sky blue.

"Am I not enough for you?" Maxwell says under his breath, hot air blowing onto my skin. When Maxwell is angry, his voice is loud, deafening almost. But when he is like this, with his voice slow and a hint of malice on the edge, this is when I am the most terrified.

"Yes! You're more than enough Max, but-" I say, my heart racing. I know that I've messed up, but all I can do is try to lessen the impending blow.

"-But what?" He stands, shoving me off of his lap. I land on the floor in a pile of blood and bones and bruises, without a map in the world to tell me where in the hell I went wrong.