Sometimes all he needed was a bit of help, a calming hand, a small smile. But her wedding band was becoming far too big around her finger. She tried to smile, even though she couldn't stop herself crying, or worrying or not eating. She wanted to eat, she wanted to put weight on, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to do it. She wanted to be Claire Danvers again, but she knew she never would be, ever again.
It was odd, discovering that your one true love, wasn't. That they were mentally instable, even more so then her, now, ex-boss. It was odd, and strange, and heartbreaking, all at once. And somehow it had become her life. She'd always known that he had a slight anger issue, and overprotective ones too. But, nothing like this.
She was a prisoner in her own house.
House, not home. This house, this would never be home. It was cold, she couldn't make it her home, he couldn't make her. She wondered briefly what her parents would say now, if they could. They were both dead, a car accident, at least the vamps hadn't got them. They're funeral had been sad, the final straw, they didn't even know she'd been engaged, or pregnant. No, she hadn't had chance to tell her Mum, or her Dad. No, they'd already been gone. She felt so sad about that, so very sad.
But, where was the happy sound of a child in this house. Not here. A drunken shouting match had stopped that, she'd told the hospital she'd tripped, fallen. She'd lied to Eve and Michael, but she couldn't lie to herself, never. He'd pushed her, and laughed about it.
Of course he'd apologised, cried, wept, promised never again, they'd try again. But, it hadn't worked, and two years on he was bitter and twisted. And she was losing weight, trapped in her own mind, wondering what if. It was too late for her happily ever after, she knew that. The vampires, the draug, they were nothing, nothing, compared to this. To this constant pain, as she saw her love dwindle, her hopes, her dreams. It was torture. Sheer cold, cruel torture.
And he was too far gone to even bloody notice. Charming.
He was always drinking, unable to hold down a job, she brought in the only wage, and that was doing financial work and paperwork for Amelie, which he resented. She paid the bills, she cooked the food, that she rarely kept down. All he had to do was bother to be sober, and he couldn't even do that.
She hated him for that, for being unable to stay sober enough to say he loved her. No it was always insults now, and she hated that, hated the way she still loved him, how she couldn't escape from him, how he'd made her bitter. How he'd ensnared her. Tonight was no different.
He was late, as always, and as always the food was cooling on the table, she hated this charade of normality. It was pointless, and horrible, all she wanted to do was hit him, make him see sense, to make him hers again. Was that such a crime? Apparently, it was. His words echoed in her head, last night's argument was one of many in a long line of them,
"stop being so fucking stupid, stop trying to change me!" The dull thwack of his hand on her face was normal, it made her smile now, the slight bruise.
No-one knew how far she'd fallen, how much her marriage was falling apart.
It wasn't just his fault, by no means was she blameless. She wasn't cut out to be a housewife, complelty reliant on her husband. She couldn't do it, she was independent, a free spirit, she was…
Nothing.
He'd even taken her science from her, her Myrnin, her brilliant boss, who made her smile, her mind expand. Forbidden to ever see him again. To ever go to the lab, the one time she'd dared disobey, it was just to return some books, he'd known. She didn't know how, not then. But, she'd since found out how: tracking devices, in all her shoes.
She'd limped for days.
And the bruises had remained for nearly a month, a costly reminder of who she belonged to.
She felt like crying, god knew she did, but she'd cried it all out, over her miscarriage, the fact she hadn't conceived.
The fact she was nothing anymore, she had no standing, in fact she was convinced some members of the town thought she was dead, just a corpse wife. She had to stifle a giggle at that. The corpse wife, yeah that was funny. Sitting down in her armchair she sat, blankly staring at the wall. The food was on the table, cooling as always. She was waiting, as always, for something to happen, for him to come back, a gleam in his eye, flowers or chocolates, an apology.
It never happened and somehow she doubted it ever would.
Until that one day it wouldn't be him coming through, it would be a police officer, knocking on the door, saying he'd got run over, fanged, lost a brawl. She couldn't wait for that day, the day she could be free.
But, it seemed today wasn't that day. The sound of his footsteps, heavy on the floor as he stomped in.
"What for dinner?" He slurred, stumbling over to a chair.
"Steak pie, potatoes and broccoli, and it's getting cold." She said, rising from her chair and walking through to the dining room, it was cold and bleak, like the rest of the house. As always he didn't follow, and as always she knew he'd shout at her, maybe hit her.
It was just another day, but soon, soon it would be over.
The bottle of pills in her cupboard would see to that.
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