II. ROSALIE
The reverberation of the splintering of fine china and exploding wooden sideboards reached me as though it were personally coming to deliver its foreboding news.
My hands shook as I held them out in front of me, the beautiful 2-carat princess cut diamond on my left ring finger glinting mockingly in the slanting beams of sunlight. It was from Tiffany's and flawless, much like the societal impression of my marriage, and worth well over 100,000 dollars.
It occurred to me that a wedding ring was supposed to be symbolic of pure and unconditional love, and the irony of that symbolism was not lost on me.
Another resounding crash, growing nearer. A purplish bruise in the shape of a hand was starting to blossom in earnest on my right wrist, so I yanked the cream-colored silk shawl down to try and disguise it. I heard a cough from behind me, so I turned away from the massive gilt mirror to look at my maid, Jane.
She pointed to my now-exposed right shoulder, where angry scarlet welts proudly sat. Swallowing hard, I gathered my mess of blonde hair and tossed it over the offending area, my fingers working to fluff and splay the strands for maximum coverage. She nodded just as the French doors to my rooms flew open and Royce strode through.
"Rose, I told you to be ready within the hour you worthless piece of shit!" Automatically my body locked down, bracing for impact as he raised a menacing hand.
His fingers wrapped around my arm instead, just under the extravagant plum discoloration. His grip was vice-like, yanking me so roughly toward him I felt pain shooting through my shoulder and into my neck. His hot, violent breath swirled around me, creeping through the curtain of hair I'd tried to put between us.
"Cover that garish monstrosity up and get your ass downstairs. I need you to be presentable. We'll discuss your disobedience later."
My arm was flung back towards me, the abrupt motion catching me unaware, and my own appendage struck me square in the jaw. I teetered backwards, clutching where he had just grabbed me to my chest. I stood, unmoving, while his barking voice bounced off the walls and ceilings and through the halls before fading.
A jagged sob gasped through my teeth as Jane rushed forward, her hands fluttering helplessly, trying to smooth and soothe my frayed countenance. I placed a gentle hand on her shoulder as I drew in a shuddering breath.
"Come now. He'll be more cross the longer I take. Please, help me cover the bruise and get dressed, Jane, dear."
Our eyes met, holding each other captive for a moment. She was terrified, unable to shelter me from the storm we both saw brewing. I was scared, too - for her trying to help me and putting herself at the risk of Royce's wrath - but more for me. His outbursts have gotten progressively more violent and unpredictable in the year since our wedding.
A handful of blisters and burns from his skin chaffing mine on our first anniversary, at first. Then warping into blooming lavender bruises that faded and yellowed fast enough to hide a few weeks after. Finally, into lashes and gouges from his clawed hands, dragged across my back, belly and shoulders, my daily dose of penance.
My body vibrated with the unexpended adrenaline as Jane moved around me, buffing and polishing with creams and makeup and perfume. All I could muster in my mind was wonder at how my life had come to this. This was a well-practiced routine now to relive not just the night we'd met at the International Debutante Ball, but our entire subsequent courtship.
I treaded the same steps as I entered the grand ballroom, full of the young social elite and their parentage. Conversations played on a loop, each word rote memorization as I gabbed and introduced myself over and over and made small talk about socioeconomics and charities and international affairs I didn't understand.
Then…
Usually, I got stuck when I remembered all of the dancing, like gears becoming too rusted and weathered to move. My mind shuddered over the twisting and twirling from one escort to the next, looking like a swine among pearls. Even at 5'9", blonde and objectively attractive with a still-flawless figure, it was impossible to look like I belonged. My thrift-store dress was a tattered rag compared to the designer silks, organza, velvet and lace.
Yet somehow, it had felt like a spotlight was on me that transformed me the moment Royce and I locked eyes. I had never felt more beautiful than in that moment when our hands met, one of his drifting to chastely rest on the small of my back as we spun and swayed to the string quartet.
We never did seem to stop dancing, gracefully transitioning from aloof flirtation to seriously dating within a week. My life exploded, from microwave meals and dime store scrubs to catered meals, ruby red roses, dripping diamonds and bathing in champagne supernovas. Any and everything I could possibly want was brought to me on solid gold platters, no strings attached. Royce wasn't just made of money, he created it with a snap of his fingers since he owned one of the most prominent banks in the country.
Within a month I had moved in with him. Two more, and we were engaged with the gorgeous Tiffany diamond ring. Our wedding was big and beautiful and extravagant in every possible way. My dress was custom and designer, the plated dinner was 500 a head. Even the month-long honeymoon on a private Fijian island. It was tropical bliss, full to bursting with exotic pastimes like boating on Royce's private yacht and snorkeling with our own private dive instructor. All the while we were being waited on hand and foot.
I took to the lifestyle with exceptionally little adjustment on my part, mostly because being with Royce was simple. I wasn't just a princess to be pampered, I was a trophy: made to be shined and polished and shown off like the treasure I was. I had felt so loved and cared for that slipping into his world felt as natural as breathing. For the first year, everything was perfect. There were times when Royce flew off the handle, shouting and screaming, but the occurrences were so infrequent I didn't see them for what they were - brilliant red flags, a signal of the treachery to come.
Now…
Another belligerent scream rent the manor, seeking me out like a missile. "ROSE! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE NOW, AND YOU BETTER BE FUCKING PRESENTABLE! GUESTS ARE ARRIVING!"
My happy memories were just that - memories, no more tangible any more than the smoke that billowed from Royce's favorite Cuban cigars.
I was dressed, sheathed in a tasteful glittering emerald gown of the finest satin that had enough fabric on the shoulders to hide the still-throbbing welts. Quickly I fixed my hair, cascading it down my right side again, just in case, and piled on a stack of 24k gold bangles to hide what little areas the caked-on makeup had failed to conceal. My hands spasmodically smoothed the front of the dress as my legs quivered in my stiletto heels.
I could do this. My face was flawless and smiling and happy. I was fine. It was my only prayer, the only hope I had to shield myself from the future. If I could just be fine and perfect and graceful, maybe it would be enough to make Royce forget my few minutes of tardiness.
The carriage clock on the mantle began to chime, counting down six soft ringing chimes.
Showtime.
It was a week later when I got my just desserts, when I questioned why he didn't want salmon for dinner. The bruise around my eye was becoming more apparent, the soft red irritation from his fist connecting with my eye socket swelling rapidly into shades of violet and maroon.
Unthinkingly I skittered backward on my hands and knees, the jagged glass of a dozen shattered wine glasses slicing open my flesh where I dragged my body across.
Royce stalked forward, predatory and furious. Our Hamptons house was huge and secluded, no support staff present to witness my husband's horrendous dalliances. Any scream I dared to utter would be met with more wrath.
Another wine glass streaked through the air, arcing perfectly to explode as it collided with my forehead. It left a jagged gash from my temple to my jaw, the blood gushing as though from an open tap.
The shrill cry that escaped from my lips was a mistake, fear temporarily fraying my better inhibitions to keep quiet and accept the judgement being doled upon me.
Quickly he strode across the space between, glittering crystal fragments bursting into beautiful dust as they collapsed and crunched beneath his storming fury.
My back was against the chain link grate of the grand fireplace, nowhere to cower or evade as he brought a glossy Oxford down and turned the bones of my arm into snapped twigs.
My ringing scream of pain and terror split the air, awakening the urge of flight. My hand flailed wildly behind me, desperate for any weapon or barrier, my fingers closing around something cool and metal.
The device in my hand was swung blindly, vision blurring and warping from the pain. It connected with something, sending my aggressor stumbling away from me cursing.
I didn't think. I just staggered upward, the fuel propelling me forward a harsh mixture of fear and desperation and panic and nausea.
Tripping, stumbling, running as fast as my shaking legs would take me. Somehow my fingers closed on a door handle, and I was met with torrential rain lashing me in the face.
The insistent droplets driving into me burned, like they were made of acid. Agony radiating from my left arm gelled with the downpour, warping my vision. I twisted violently and retched over the side of the banister.
Thundering footfalls jerked me back to reality, forcing me to move while I still couldn't see or make sense of my surroundings. My bare feet slipped on the slick concrete stairs, my body lurching before hurling down the remaining steps. My momentum was halted when I smacked into the brick retaining wall, expelling what little air I had left in my broken lungs.
Still possessed by animalistic terror, I screamed as I tried to right myself out of the crumpled mess with my broken arm. Feet scrabbled with desperation, launching me inelegantly down the driveway.
Rivulets of copper blood bled into the trails of rain banding down my body, washing my white cotton pajamas with the proof of my shameful error.
I dove into the trees and weeds, trying like hell to evade his dogged pursuit. My hand was muddy from where I had to catch myself every time I stumbled and buckled, caking under my manicured nails.
By the time I reached the road, my fuel had been expended. My body felt as though it had been run through a meat grinder and pulverized. I just couldn't do it anymore, the adrenaline evaporating in the now-gentle breeze. There was no thunder, no lightning, the rain slowing to a gentle patter. It was a moonless night, eclipsed by the passing storm, no stars to guide my way.
I was alone, fetal on the side of the road, waiting for death to claim me before Royce could, the blackness of night and sleep threatening to pull me under when headlights washed over me.
Instinct alone drove me to my feet, staggering backward toward the thick undergrowth, when the truck stopped.
A door slammed, the silhouette of a ridiculously large man briefly obstructing the light from the high beams.
"Holy shit. Are you okay?"
Somehow, that was too much for me. I collapsed into a heap, right there on the side of the road, sobbing hysterically. The only thing that could touch me was the feel of his massive hands, impossibly gentle, as he cradled me into his chest to deposit me into the cab of his truck.