My Dahlia, you're bathed in possession
It takes one gloriously undignified fit off hacking coughs to bring the world sharply back to her sleep addled brain, like she had been in free fall and had finally hit the hard ground below. Her heart sinks before she even has enough energy to open her eyes. She was meant to be dead. Heavy unresponsive limbs, the turbulent sickness in her chest and the way her headache pulsed with the beats of her heart all meant that she was very much alive.
She holds herself still for a long moment listening. Fear chasing away any lingering confusion from sleep. There is nothing in the caustic silence apart two sets of quiet breath. Inhalation almost matched, almost one, if it was not for the way she could feel his eyes on her she could pretend. It was always Frank.
The wooden floor was unforgiving and cool against her fevered cheek, some kind of blanket was cocooned around her lower body. He had not picked her up and taken her to bed so she concluded that she had angered him. That would have made her feel vindicated and proud not so long ago. Now she swallows against the bitter taste of vomit that lingers in her throat and makes her teeth feel rough.
"I know you're awake, Carla." His voice was smooth; even in a way that never failed to make her involuntary flinch.
She feels no need to acknowledge the man, instead she keeps her eyes close and wishes she could go back to sleep.
"I wish I could trust you not to betray me again." She hears him move towards her, the rustling of his clothes, and the sound of his expensive shoes against the expensive floor.
His knees crack as he bends into a crouch over her, she can see stars behind her eyelids. It was a game of musical statues where they always ended in the same position they started in. The first time she had cowered on the floor trying to make herself as small as possible she did not think it was possible for him to hurt her any more than he already had. She had been wrong.
"This is why I need to look after you. It's a miracle that I came back before you could do any lasting damage. But I promised, I'll always save you from yourself." He lets out a fearful chuckle and his hand is heavy in the waves of her hair, his wedding ring snagging in a tangle.
"You shouldn't have bothered." Her voice raspy and lacking the weight she intended.
"Carla," He scolds her gently and she wants to scream when she can hear his impenetrable smile, wishes she still thought it would make any difference. She had no idea how much time had past in this perverse prison but sometimes it felt like an eternity. It took a few seconds to recognise her own name with no one else to use it. She often woke up at night covered in sweat terrified she could no longer remember who she was or if there was anyone out there left that loved her.
She lets herself go limp as he reaches down to pick her up. She doesn't try to fight and hopes that Peter can forgive her. She has tried as hard as she possibly could to escape, to kill him, to do something.
When she had first woken up, alone, in a flat so pristine and modern, devoid of any real personality it could have been a show home she had panicked and tried to flee. But the doors were all heavily locked and the windows made of some kind of glass that no matter what she threw at them they did not even crack. The telephone was never connected.
She had no idea where she was, all she could see of the outside world was rolling hills and tall grass devoid of any life. She had stood just out of reach of the startling sunlight filtering through the window and felt her chest tighten with claustrophobia.
It seemed like a long time before she accepted the futileness of escaping but with no way to measure the passage of time she could not be sure. She remembered that she had been waiting alone in her flat for Peter, still slightly giddy because he wanted her too. And then…then she could not remember.
She had grieved at losing the outside world. She had a new world of make believe with a man whose name she couldn't bear to speak.
After the first night spent awake with frantic worry he had strolled in through what seemed to be a maze of dark corridors, cheerfully carrying a gourmet meal and kicked the door shut before she could get past him. He had kissed her on the cheek while she was still too shocked to react and told her that she should have everything she needed. She didn't have her freedom; she didn't have the man she loved. Filled with pure fear and disbelief she had frozen, again. She hated how her body betrayed her weakness.
He placed her smoothly onto silk sheets and the nausea doubles as she realises that for a second she actually missed the warmth of his body against hers. She has started to give up on ever seeing another person again especially when she can't remember the faces of her family as sharply as she used to. She wonders how much Ryan has grown and if the world has carried on fine without her.
Suddenly there was a cool plastic cup placed in her hands and she must have fallen asleep or blacked out for a second because she did not notice him leave her side let alone returned. That is a first in itself, not to be constantly aware of the unnervingly quiet and domineering feel of him; it was like he thought he had won. When he was gone the suspense and the quiet were maddening.
The possibility of a drink finally gave her reason to open her eyes because her throat still felt dry and bitter.
She had rearranged the furniture in the entire flat a few days back and still found the changes a little disorientating. Sick of staring at every perfect little thing in its perfect little place that she had even managed to push the heavy bed against the back wall alone. Frank had only chuckled when he appeared hours after she finished, a smile that seemed to mean than he was thinking that it was all a charming little female quick to be amused by.
The water is ice cold and it stung her teeth. She has became so morbid that she wonders when she will be able lull him into a false sense of security and have a chance to try and kill herself again. Then he would know what it felt like to lose the love of your life, and then he would suffer.
"I wish you wouldn't insist I treat you like a child. We had a lovely dinner last night, Carla. And then you go and spoil it."
She should be used his delusions, used to the way he twists things with words but she is still left with a sense of revulsion. Still can't help but to at least partially believe him. After all she had been the one that pushed him over the edge. Last night she had worn the new slinky dress he had brought her and they had a three course dinner. He even treated her to a bottle of red wine; she had hidden her glee as she stared at the blood red liquid.
After dinner he had leaned over her and kissed her gently on the lips as if to test her response. She did not fight him as he led her to the bedroom and she did not protest when he started to undress her even as she shivered at what was coming. She was so tired but she had the wine and hidden in a shoe box at the bottom of the walk-in wardrobe there was a small pile of chalky white pills.
"How did you…Where did…Why?" There are angry tears in his eyes and a catch of concern in his voice that tells her how much he would hate to lose her. He had made her sit during one of the early days. They had sat and he had told her he knew she was sorry about the court case and that he was willing to put it all behind them because he loved her and they would be together now. He had said it all with the same dull, unstoppable excitement that he once had when he bought her a life sized dolls house and arranged their honeymoon.
It had been a slow plan so that he would not notice even as he controlled every damn thing about her life. Always the drama queen she had faked a few migraines. She groaned in false pain as he unlocked the first aid box. And when he had watched he taking the pain killers she had hid them under her tongue. She had stared at her secret stash every time she was alone and desperate silently telling herself that soon she would have a way out. The wine gave her something to wash it all down with. It seemed impossible that she would fail twice; she had been so sure this time.
"You need to let me leave, Frank." Her voice is low and full of everything he won't let her express or he ignores. She will not beg.
He's face contorts in anger; the long partially healed scars down each cheek make him look inhuman. She had clawed at his face, her nails being the only weapon available, in a fit of uncontrollable anger. There had been blood in his eyes when he knocked her flying with a backhand to her face. He said it was the only way he could make her stop.
"You know I can never do that darling." He is so grave and convicted, she should have seen his madness sooner and now it was too late. He had taken away her heart, stolen her entire life and the only thing she could do now to hurt him was to stop breathing.
Once upon a time she had smashed the bathroom mirror with her bare hands. Hidden a large shard behind her back like a coy school girl till she pounced, stabbing him through his dark suit. Their warm blood mingled as it spilled over both of them. She had not done enough damage and the next day Frank's breath was shallow with pain and every mirror had been quickly removed. He had never trusted her with knives.
"I'll leave you sleep, you must be feeling awful. I have some work to do but I'll be back as soon as possible. I love you."
He always left a pause after he said those three words as if he always hoped she would say them back. He seemed to deflate a little every time she remained silent. Maybe one day she would speak those words, she might soon be insane enough to do it. If she said those words he would stay and she would not be on her own any more. She despised the man but the silence was deafening and she had given up on ever being happy. Trapped all alone she was slowly fading away.