Juliet Greyson was not the sort of woman to frighten easily. She taught fourth graders, for goodness' sake. And she was quite used to getting yelled at, too. Her husband was very good at that. So the man who had shouted at her the minute he opened his door was not so very frightening in his actions. He was just surprising in general. Perhaps the most surprising thing about him was his appearance, there was no way around that. She didn't mean the fact that he had a long, pale scar crossing over his left eye or the fact that the eye itself was milky-white and completely blind no doubt. He appeared to have been bleeding (quite a lot, really) and yet did not seem bothered by it in the least. Had he not known he had been bleeding? Should she have brought it to his attention? At any rate, the moment had passed and she had scurried back to her own home and buried herself back among all the cardboard boxes inside it. Her brain churned over the frightening experience as her hands robotically added tea to water to kettle to stove. Arthur would be home within the hour, and though he did not much care for tea he would still prefer to have the option to drink some, and would be sore if not given said option. Juliet leaned on the counter, thinking. Out of all the neighbors to have run into, of course she'd waltz right up to the only one that was bleeding on the whole block. Bleeding and angry. But despite all that, he had consented to give her some of his own tea. That was considerate. Right?
Of course it was right. She chastised herself for jumping to an opinion based on appearance. Who's to say he didn't just have a nasty fall before she rang his bell? Why, that would explain his anger, certainly. And the blood. Perhaps he had even fallen on the way to answer the door? Juliet huffed quietly under her breath as she realized she was making up scenarios in her head yet again to explain away something unpleasant. A terrible habit, really. But she certainly had no room to judge on appearance. This somber, sobering thought brought her out of her own head and directed her attention to the stove again, the kettle whistling shrilly for her. She pulled a large cup out of the cupboard, only recently filled with dishes, and poured the hot tea. She sighed at the smell. It was Oriental. Oolong, by the smell, but she preferred Earl Grey. Again, who was she to judge? She should be grateful to have any tea.
She heard the front door open and close as she waited for the tea to cool. She took a small breath and poured a bit of milk into her cup, stirring it with a small spoon.
"No boxes unpacked, but you still managed a cup of tea, eh?" Juliet cut her eyes sharply to the left, biting back a retort.
"I unpacked several boxes, Arthur," she responded crisply.
"And where are they?"
"They what?"
"The empty boxes, woman." Juliet wrinkled her nose slightly, keeping her gaze fixed on her cup.
"I flattened them and threw them away."
"We could have saved those, you know. For storage. Do you ever think ahead, or is it a challenge to go day by day for you? Don't answer that." Juliet had no intention of answering that anyway. He was a frustrating man to argue with, and she knew that if she had said she had decided to save the boxes, he would insist that she was unnecessarily cluttering up their new house and she should learn to let things go.
This was not their first verbal tango.
Arthur set his bag down on one of the few spaces available on the counter, crossing his long, thin arms, and watched the small woman stir her tea.
"You're going to work when?" he asked.
"Tomorrow," Juliet replied simply, taking a small sip from her cup. Arthur snorted once.
"Good. It isn't like there's any work to be done around here."
"Your sarcasm is so refreshing," Juliet muttered, turning and making her way towards one of the kitchen windows. Arthur followed her on her heels.
"That sounded a bit snippy. You weren't being snippy, were you, my dear?" Juliet tightened her grip on her cup and lowered her head slightly, taking another sip as she stared out the window to the darkening back yard.
"No, dear. Never snippy." Arthur, of course, did not believe that for a moment. He planted a large, spidery hand on the wall beside the woman's head and leaned over her. She could hear the scowl in his words.
"I hope you enjoy work tomorrow," was all he said. His voice was like ice, but everything about the man was. From his light blonde hair to his cold blue eyes, nothing but ice. Juliet was quite used to it. This was a threat, she knew it was. And he knew she knew it. He did not wish her well at her work because he wanted for her to enjoy her day. He wanted her to enjoy her freedom outside the house while it lasted, because they both knew that the minute she got home, with him being better rested and in a worse mood from the day's unpacking, that she would certainly not enjoy her evening at home tomorrow.

Juliet did not enjoy her day at her new job. Endsville Elementary was a cesspool in the worst sense of the word. She had no idea that children could ever be so destructive. Or brutal.
Or creepy.
She was exhausted by ten, and class had only begun at eight. It was a full-time hassle running around trying to maintain some form of order over the children in her class. There were only eighteen of the little things, how could she be so tired? They weren't particularly bad children, it's just that they clearly were not used to being disciplined. And Juliet was not one to discipline anyway. The principal was of no help. Frankly he seemed very used to all the chaos, the mess, the destruction, and the smells. Juliet had decided by lunch that this was not an elementary school; it was an asylum, and nobody had warned her about it. The other teachers either would not discuss ways of maintaining control or looked on in amusement as the young woman struggled to reign in her students.
At recess, she found herself asking the other teachers if it was always like this. One woman, an older, thinner teacher with a disinterested, cynical face, only glanced at her over her fourth cup of coffee (that most certainly didn't smell like coffee) and said, "Like what?" before taking another sip. This woman possibly had a bunch even worse than Juliet's. They seemed to listen to her though. She had an odd method. It appeared she flipped back and forth between staring the children down and barking at them over the din of the playground. Not very effective, according to what Juliet had learned in her teaching classes. But maybe that was just how American students worked. Maybe they needed tough love and harsh voices to understand their inappropriateness. Although it did not cure their behavior, it at least curbed it. Just enough so that the tubby boy with the drawn-on tattoo and ripped shirt sleeves had the decency to bully children behind the jungle gym and out of his teacher's line of sight. Juliet felt genuinely helpless.
Being a new teacher, she wasn't sure if this was typical or not. Certainly the children she had been exposed to had been younger.
And English.
The more she thought about it, the less concerned she became. After all, they were just children. It's very likely that they hadn't yet gotten used to her and were acting out. Give it a week, she had told herself.
One week later, Juliet Greyson wasn't sure if she was dead, alive, dreaming, or even real. How is it that eighteen ten-year-olds cause so much sleeplessness? Day after day she struggled to earn just one hour of compliance. Slowly, slowly she seemed to be winning them over. She was not a pushover. She would not tolerate rule-breaking. It's just that when the rules were broken, they were broken in such a fantastic manner that she would be forced to reconsider all her life choices. No pets in school, that includes that piece of road kill you have there. No sleeping in class, regardless of that sleeping bag and portable heater you brought with you. No cheating, that means no tossing another student out the window when you think I'm not looking so you can take their test and change the name at the top. The children were wild. Seemingly invincible. They only seemed normal about an hour before school got out. Only then were they responsive like actual human beings. Only then would they appear to be retaining the information Juliet had been attempting all day to give them. Then the hour would be up and the children would pack their things and go. Juliet would pause on her way out the door to pity the janitor that must come through her classroom. But she couldn't dwell.
Every night at home she faced a similar unpleasant situation. Arthur was the breadwinner of the pair, and he knew it. When he wasn't cutting her down for her soft-spoken personality or for her plus-sized figure, he was degrading her job and her aspirations. He said awful things to her, and for the most part she blocked them out. Unpacking their boxes was slow going between the two working all day and only coming home for the evening. Juliet had things to grade and Arthur had cases to review. The upcoming weekend appeared to be their best bet for a final push at officially moving into their new home. Still, Juliet worked diligently and deliberately as her husband watched from his armchair, sorting through boxes of books and tossing to the side those he felt weren't worthy to sit on the shelves in the living room. Nearly all of Juliet's books lay in a crumpled heap.
"You read too many damn romance novels. What're you looking for in these blasted things?" he demanded, tossing another one away in disgust. Juliet did not respond, only blushed a soft, powder-pink. She was organizing the acceptable books and arranging them on the shelf. Nearly all of them were law books. One of them was a Bible bound in black leather. She kept her scoff silent when she put it up. Arthur had likely never touched the book, let alone opened it. He was all about appearance, that's all. When she had emptied her box, Arthur kicked the second one over to her. It slid across the floor and came to a stop right beside her. Without hesitating she started to put those away too.
"I asked you a question." Juliet looked over her shoulder.
"I'm sorry?" she asked, before looking back at the shelf.
"I asked you if you were going to throw all these little paperbacks of yours out," Arthur replied coolly, motioning to the pile of crumpled novels. Juliet glanced at them as she continued to stock the shelves.
"No, I'm not. Those are—"
"And why not?"
"…as I was saying, those are mine. I like them, and I would like to keep them."
Arthur huffed softly, standing up and moving to pick up the empty boxes.
"They're useless. And disgusting. Poorly made. Trashy." He paused in his listing, "Rather like you, now that I think of it." Juliet hunched her back against the insult, steeling herself against the cold words, frowning bit harder. After a beat, she continued to put the books away. Arthur tsked from behind her, flattening the boxes and stacking them in front of his feet.
"Come now, Juliet, it's no fun when you don't get red-faced and sweaty like a disgruntled pig."
"I'm working, Arthur."
"For once." She heard retreating footsteps and sighed heavily, narrowing her eyes. All she would need to do is leave. She cringed at the thought, and not for the first time. Juliet had been with Arthur since her tenth year in school. She was terrified of what it might be like to be alone. Perhaps at home, it might have been easier, but here across the pond she's missed her opportunity. To leave now would cut her off from any sort of stability and connection she had. She supposed she could always go home to her mother, but the divorce would take ages, and be very expensive. Not to mention that Arthur was in charge of all their accounts. She could be completely cut off. No money, no friends, no options. She huffed again under her breath and continued to shelve books. She was a strong woman. She could take this. If she had survived a week at that school, of course she could survive this.
Juliet dusted off her hands and made her way to the kitchen. She needed another cup of tea to get rid of her bruised feelings and her slight headache. Once she had set the water on the stove she reached instinctively for her tin of tea and found that it was not there. Juliet blinked and looked around the counter space, most of which was clear. Her tin was nowhere to be found. Juliet was in no mood to speak to Arthur again to ask him where he had put it, and instead set about searching the cupboards for it. After ten minutes of careful searching (even rifling through some of the boxes on the floor) Juliet had almost given up and would have settled instead for a cup of coffee, had she not seen something in the sink. Little, dark clumps of something piled up in the drain.|
They were tea leaves. Juliet was stung, but not surprised. Arthur enjoyed taking away her little pleasures. This was not the first time he had gotten rid of her drinks or foods down the sink. She crossed her chubby arms and glared down at the ruined leaves for a few minutes, before washing them down the drain. This would only mean that she would have to buy some more at the store tomorrow, that's all. An easy fix. She would not be upset about it. That would be silly.
She reaffirmed her plan in her head as she gathered her romance novels in a small box and taped it up. Yes, she would just buy her own tomorrow. It would only be a few dollars. And then she would hide it. Just like she must hide everything that made her even the slightest bit happy. She frowned bitterly as she stowed her books on the top shelf of the hall closet with some difficulty, barely tall enough to do so. She would hide her tea and her books in the same spot. Arthur was mean, he was a brute, really, but he wasn't as determined as she was. She was used to his treatment of her, but that didn't mean she would roll completely over for him. She nodded to herself as she shut the door. This was week one out of the way.
Now that wasn't so hard.