Time sifts by since Kieran left me in a whirlwind of troubled emotion. The luscious scents of soaps permeate the air, reminiscent of long walks in fields and meadows. The kind I used to take with my mama. However, they evade my mind now as I silently heed Mama’s favorite Bible verse: “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances.”
For the last few years, the numb cacophony wouldn’t allow much more than a rote prayer.
Please save me from Adnan.
Please save me from Adnan.
Please . . .
Today, I’ve prayed until the essential oils no longer filter through the air and the tub water chills over. I’ve prayed until memories of Adnan arrest my psyche.
Half a year ago, I’d almost gotten away from him. I started a new life and lived for me. Now, I’m bound to another bloodsucking bastard. If I still had the emotional capacity to cry for myself, I would.
There’s no benefit to tears, not unless you’re a manipulative, gold-digging bitch. Then those tiny little streams that fall down your face are a facet of magic.
Tears don’t serve a single purpose.
They’re not a remedy to the broken hearted.
No healing elixir for the pain.
No secret formula to resurrect the departed.
At the soft knock on the door, I know instinctively Kieran’s not on the other side. Good. My body’s betrayal to his touch and the mere sight of him has grown increasingly bizarre. He’s choked me, drowned me, and slapped me.
He hasn’t treated me nearly as awful as Adnan.
In the beginning, men admire the chase, lifting a woman on a pedestal only to snatch that sucker right from beneath our feet.
“Just a minute,” I finally call out. Muscles tight from the chilly water and the draft in such a stately home, I start out of the tub.
The door opens.
“Oh, my apologies.” The maid who met us at the door enters. She slides a few gray tresses behind her ear. “Boating accident. Hearing isn’t what it once was.”
“You can g—”
Kind eyes connect with mine as she hands over a towel. “I’m Bertha.”
“Ava. And thanks.” I say, gesturing to the plush towel and wrapping it around me. A half-hour later, the maid has returned, peeking her head inside of the bedroom.
“I see you found clothes to your liking?”
I jerk a shoulder, recalling how Kieran claimed I was the only one. “His wife’s clothes or past mistress?”
“No, miss. Kieran, settle down?” A snort-laugh exits her lips before she can reel it back. Then as if suddenly realizing he hassettled down with me,a rose hue stains her cheeks. “Ahem, that’s possible.”
I detect she’s holding back, and I offer a warm smile.
“I mean, he wasn’t the kind to fall over hishead.Not till you. Promptly after your arrival, I sent for a few garments.” She smiles. “I pegged your size nicely.”
The plastic grin on my face morphs into confusion. So, no wife. No kept women. Alright, maybe he snapped after the death of his mother. “So, his mom?”
I sink onto the edge of the bed. A dizzy feeling reminds me of Adnan’s mother. I informed her of the cruelty. She reminded mewhere I came from.Truly her son’s requirements were a worthy price for my new life and my citizenship.
“Oh, his mother was the light of the hall. The only person who could get through to her brother, Ewan.” Pulling her lips thin, Bertha shakes her head.
I sift through my discussion with Kieran. He had a good mother; the light . . .