Saoirse
A Jail Cell In Dublin
Tristan’s face glows with satisfaction.
The very act of throwing me into this cell is giving him that heady sense of power that he’s always craving.
He wants me to cry.
He wants me to whimper.
But I won’t let him see my fear.
“This is where you belong,” he snarls at me through the bars. “This is where I should have kept you from the beginning.”
I cross my arms over my chest because I know he hates that. “I’d rather be in here than in that house with you,” I reply coldly. “Prisons come in all different forms, Tristan.”
“How fucking poetic.”
Two police officers walk into the cell area from the side. Tristan gestures for one of them to come over.
“Open it up for me,” he instructs the cop.
I back up, moving to the farthest wall of my cell as the cop does Tristan’s bidding. Keys rattle. The gate clangs open.
And my husband steps into the small, claustrophobic space with me.
My plan to look tough is slowly unravelling.
He keeps his eyes trained on me as he speaks to the officer behind him. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Both men disappear immediately. I’m left standing with the one man I was hoping I’d never have to see again.
I blink and in the split second that my eyes are closed, I see Cillian.
He hadn’t recognized me amidst all the madness at the airport. Not that I can blame him.
But that’s the thing.
I do.
I know I’m being unfair. I know I’m being unreasonable. I know he has no reason to remember me after how I stomped on his heart and turned him away at my door.
But somehow, I’m angry.
Because he believed me so easily.
“Oi!” Tristan grunts, grabbing my jaw and pulling it close to his seething grey eyes. “Where the fuck did you go? Drifting off into little escape fantasies, eh?”
He noticed. I’m surprised.
But then, he’s never liked being ignored.
“You are fucking mine,” he rasps. “You stupid bitch, did you really think you could just leave and I’d let you go?”
“I didn’t think you’d let me go anywhere,” I fire back. “Which is why I didn’t ask permission.”