Hey, heyyyy.
Okay, yeah, I know. ANOTHER ONE? I just needed a little change of scenery since I've been working my ass off recently on The Body. You know, a little fresh corner of my Google Docs to surprise you with. Because as much as I'm a mood reader, I also am a mood writer. I don't always want to write X or Y, so this is what I was in the mood for today ;)
Thanks to Lara for making me want to post this, and Mel for helping me with my summary!
I hope you're up for a new story of mine, you know I always finish what I start ;)
D
He's hired to save me from myself. To keep me in line, my picture-perfect life intact, and dumb decisions at bay.
All he did was show me just how foolish I've been and offer me a way out to escape my miserable life.
Chapter 1.
"Al?" I peek around the corner where the doors to his office are swung all the way open. Normally that is a good time to disturb him, but he's been on edge all day and it makes me nervous.
"No, of course that's not what we want to do, but if you want a second term you should please the people, Alistair." I watch how Irina is perched on top of his vintage, oak desk.
She's wearing another one of her designer pantsuits. It's a baby pink one today, the pants so ridiculously tight they look painted on and her white, silk camisole underneath hardly appropriate for work. Her feet are encased in white, high-heeled sandals, toenails painted the same pink as her outfit. Who has time for that?
"Not now, sweetheart," Alistair throws over his shoulder. His tie hangs limply around his neck, the top three buttons of his light blue shirt undone. "I'm going over our strategy for the elections with Rina."
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Rina.
She watches me, the corners of her pink lips turned up into a smirk, her crystal blue eyes taking me in before she arches a judgemental brow at my faded jeans and turtleneck sweater. We can't all look like Capitol Barbie, can we?
"If you want to continue living at this beautiful estate, Mrs. Anderson, we might have to kick it up a notch." Irina always talks to me like I'm a child. As if the ten-year age gap between me and my husband means I'm illiterate and stupid. Or both.
As if this house means anything to me. All it did was tear Alistair away from me, drive us apart. I hate this place and what it stands for.
"I just need to steal my husband away for ten minutes, Irina."
She steps away from Alistair's side, heels clicking on the ancient wooden floors until Irina lounges on the couch in the office, her phone in hand.
"What is it, sweetheart?" He takes a deep breath, one hand running through his chin-length black hair. "You know I need every spare minute with Rina that I can get. We need to make this our best campaign ever in order for me to secure a second term. You know that." There's that edge to his voice that always gets me jittery. It's like he's designed that way of talking to me to shut me up promptly.
"I just…" I sigh. "I miss you," I continue, yet there's not a single trace of any emotion in his dark blue eyes.
It hurts my feelings, and today I can't seem to hide any of that as my face falls and jealousy drags its claws deep into my skin, crawling out for all to see.
"Would it kill you to spend maybe a tad of time with me? Fuck, you're always with her, always ignoring me. What's up with that?" I cross my arms in front of my chest, watch Alistair's eyes focus, darken and narrow as he looks down at me. I made him angry.
He grabs me by the arm, pushes me against the dark paneling in the hallway while he keeps my body in place with his. My heart rate skyrockets and I don't know where to look until Alistair takes that decision away from me. He grips my chin and forces my head up. I feel tears burning at the iron grip he has on my bicep.
"Are you insinuating something, sweetheart?" His voice is lethal, although he keeps it down.
"Wh— what do you mean?" I wish I had never opened my mouth.
"It sounds like my good little wife is accusing me of cheating with my campaign manager." He almost spits the words into my face.
"No!" I breathe. "That's no—"
Slap.
The way his palm connects with my cheek reverberates through my entire body. I know Irina heard it, the office is too close not to and the entire house is silent. I gasp as hot tears trail along my burning cheek.
"Stop being such a jealous little cunt and go make yourself useful. Go make some dinner, salmon lasagna or something," he barks at me before stepping back into his office and slamming the door shut. I hear the lock turn, and just like that, I'm locked out.
He hasn't always been like this. Alistair used to be my Prince Charming. He used to be the man who saved me from the trailer park, who wanted to marry me and all my mess. It wasn't until he got elected mayor that he decided politics were better than marriage, until he got stressed out of his mind. That's when I got the first bruise. I thought it was a one-time thing, something he did because he was drunk and anxious and angry as fuck. Turns out he loves me a little less these days. Unless it's to be his punching bag. His leash is tight as if he's scared I'll spill the beans to anyone who's willing to listen and cost him his second term. As if he's scared I'll run. Fuck. I don't even have anywhere to run except for the guest room upstairs.
I hear the throaty giggle of Irina as Alistair says something I can't decipher. The next thing I recognize very, very well. It's a groan, a deep one that I used to hear on a regular basis.
I act like I don't notice the way Irina moans like a street-corner hooker, or the way Alistair grunts when he's fucking her on his desk. He only touches me when she's out of town or if he's angry about something she did.
A lone tear escapes my eyes when I lean against the pristine wallpaper on the wall as I head upstairs. I wish they'd sneak around more instead of doing this, flaunting their affair right in front of me when they pleased.
Something about today makes me feel more depressed than usual. I'm crawling out of my skin, sobbing like a lunatic over a man whose hands have given me more pain than loving caresses over the past four years. Once I'm in my bedroom I lay on the floor and reach for one of the suitcases under the bed. In a whirlwind I start rummaging through my closet, through every drawer, selecting a few of everything, and dumping it in the sleek, orange Samsonite.
I'm halfway through the house, making my way down to the garage when I make a detour to the living room. I scribble down passive-aggressive words to my lovely husband and take the keys to my Jaguar before I speed off while Alistair shamelessly fucks his campaign leader in his office.
Shoutout to you for being here! Hey, hi, helloooo! Thank you :3