Dirty, Bruised Martini: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Nikki Belaire

  I think about you all the time.

  If you were really dead, wouldn’t my heart know it?

  Maybe it’s too numb to know it’s broken.

  I think about you when he shoves more pain killers into my mouth.

  His nasty hand curling over my lips until I swallow them. Not really necessary as I’ve given up trying to stop him. I used to fight him because I hated not knowing what happened to me while I was unconscious. But now I greedily accept them. I hope he’ll give me too many, and I’ll overdose. How sad is that? At least I’d be away from him. I’d be in heaven with you. I’d be happy.

  But I don’t. Every day I wake up, and I’m still here. In hell. Without you.

  I think about you when I count.

  Nineteen steps from the bed to the bathroom.

  Twenty-seven steps from the bathroom to the hallway.

  Fifty-three steps to the stairs.

  I’m not allowed to go downstairs without him. I’m not allowed to talk to anyone. I’m not allowed to do anything but sit on this bed and write in this journal and wait for him to come in here and rape me.

  I walk ninety-nine steps over and over while I wait for him to rape me again.

  I think about you when I stumble and fall again, scraping my hands and knees.

  I’m so dizzy from these pills I can barely walk. Tripping over the furniture he keeps moving around. Why does he do that? You never did that. Your house was nice and orderly. Everything stayed where it was supposed to. You always stayed where you were supposed to. He sneaks up on me, laughing from me collapsed on the floor. Enjoying me sprawled out and too groggy to stop him from doing whatever the hell he wants to me.

  I think about you when I saw you.

  So far away in the blurry hallway. He said you were dead but I saw you. I reached for you but you turned away.

  I heard you! I heard you too! I heard you talking to him!

  Your shoes were running on the stairs. Running and running so loud but never here!!!!!!

  I called for you and you didn’t come. Why didn’t you come? Why are you here if you don’t want me anymore??????????

  I don’t think you love me anymore.

  I think about you when I’m alone and scared.

  He’s locked me in the bedroom. He’s stopped giving me the pills, and now I’m awake all the time. Days it feels like. But I’m not sure. I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m frightened. He’s been yelling. A lot. Not at me this time. But at the guards. He’s sent away his cousins. I don’t know why.

  I can hear men yelling. The floor is shaking under my feet from people running. I think I smell smoke.

  I’ve been screaming and beating on the door. I tried to break the window but it only cracked. Instead, busting the chair I could barely lift to fling against the glass.

  What do I do?

  No one’s come for me. I think he’s forgotten about me. I think he’s left me here to die.

  I thought that’s what I wanted too. To die and be with you. But now I’m terrified. I don’t want to die alone. Without telling my mom good-bye or knowing the truth about you or having him be the last person to ever touch me.

  If you are alive and somehow find this book, please know I love you.

  I really wanted you to be my husband.

  I really wanted to be your wife.

  I really wanted to be with you forever.

  I’m really sorry for everything.

  Please Kane don’t let me die.

  I think about him when I opened this book.

  Jane said I should start another journal. A new outlook—a fresh start—that she said would be therapeutic. Easier I guess to write down my thoughts and feelings. Until maybe I’m ready to say them out loud. To her. To you. To myself.

  But I feel funny about it. I never kept a diary before. Writing in one when I was with him helped keep me sane. Now, with you, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m crazy, but you must think I am since you’re making me see her. Since you’re worried about me. Since you’re not acting like yourself either.

  Maybe I am a little bit crazy. Because I really want to yell and scream and curse him straight to hell. Instead, we’re all very calm and polite and rational. Jane, you, me. Even though I’m pretending because that’s what both of you seem to expect. For three days now since you found me and brought me home. We’re feigning as if I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. But I don’t think that’s true. I don’t think any of this is fine at all. I want it to be though. I really, really, really, want everything to be fine. So I’ll write in this book like you both ask and hope it will be.

  I think about you, rosy girl, as I write this.

  I’m not even sure what the hell I’m doing. But Jane said I need to keep a journal too. For me to heal. Which is totally unnecessary and damn stupid. I’m fine. I don’t have the time or inclination to waste on emotional bullshit.

  She’s smart though. Well worth every grand I’m paying her. Asking me if that wasn’t a bit hypocritical since we both told you that you need to keep your diary going. Fuck yes I’m a hypocrite, and I don’t give a damn if she or anyone thinks so. I’m the boss.

  The god damn motherfucking boss.

  Do what I say and don’t say a fucking word about what I do.

  Although I think me being an asshole scared her so I’m glad you weren’t in my office to see me acting like a bastard again after everything you’ve been through.

  But when she said I needed to do it for you, that keeping this journal would help you, I couldn’t do anything but shut the fuck up and agree. Because I need you. I need you to be okay. Because I’m fucking not okay without you. Without the real you. Not this ghost of you that haunts me and this house and our life.

  I can’t promise it will be eloquent or good or even legible. But I do promise to try and jot down something every day just like she asks. For you. Because I love you more than you’ll ever understand and right now I don’t know how else to get you back.

  I thought about him when you reached for me.

  I worried

  I wanted

  Dang it. This feels weird. But Jane said starting with how I felt when you found me focuses on the future. On getting better. On healing. So write it all down she says. Good or bad. Every feeling and emotion and thought. Just let it flow.

  Okay, here it goes. Regardless of how stupid I sound.

  I know it was dumb to be scared. You looked so devastated I wouldn’t come to you when you finally found me and held out your hand. That I wouldn’t leave the cage I was locked in after you pried open the door. That I wouldn’t unclench my fingers from the metal bars. Scooting as far back as I could and splashing into the puddle of pee that humiliated me every time I went. But I was in there for so long after he came back to the bedroom and said we were under attack. That he was leaving me to burn so you could find me and know that you were the one who killed me. I wasn’t sure if he was lying or not. After he’d told me you were dead before, I didn’t know what to believe any more.

  I’m sorry that I screamed and kicked and fought when you leaned in to pull me out. But there were so many times I dreamed of you and it was really him. Curling next to you only to wake up and find his chest under my cheek. Hearing you whisper my name in the darkness only to blink in the bright lights to see his hand on the switch. Feeling your hands on my wrists when you unhooked me from the chains only to be wrapped in his arms when I collapsed.

  So even with you standing in front of me I couldn’t take you being just my imagination again. I couldn’t believe you were finally real this time. That you were really there.

  But you were still so calm. Just like you used to be. Just like you always were. You held me to you. Even though I was covered in urine. Who knows how long it had been since I’d taken a bath. Or brushed my teeth. You didn’t seem to care how disgusting I was. You didn’t seem to mind that I was gross and dirty and bruised. I liked that.

  I liked that it was almost painful how
tight you held me to you. The pain proved you were real. You were really there and alive and taking me away. I ignored the yelling and smoke and blood. Just closed my eyes and let you take care of me. I felt a blanket cover my bare body—a cocoon of me and you as you walked us out of there. It seemed like a second and forever until you finally stopped. Never putting me down once. Not even when you climbed into a vehicle and kept me on your lap, burrowed in your arms the entire ride home.

  I wanted to thank you and tell you I thought you were dead and I was glad to finally be with you but for some reason my mind wouldn’t work right. My lips wouldn’t move. I only wanted to hold on tight to you too because you were shaking so hard my teeth banged against each other. Even though you were trembling, fire radiated off of you broiling hotter than a furnace. I knew you were burning up from rage but I liked your heat. After being cold and naked and abandoned for so long, I was finally warm and covered and safe.

  I didn’t like the way you looked at me when you set me down on our bed. As if you didn’t know what was wrong with me. As if you didn’t know what do to with me. Your doubt terrified me because I didn’t know either.

  I closed my eyes. Never thinking I would want to hide from you. In that moment I did. I had to. Then I couldn’t see the revulsion growing in your expression. I didn’t say a word when a gentle finger stroked my wrist. My throat. My cheek. All the places where he hurt me. Well, not all of them. I wouldn’t let you touch me there. I wasn’t ready to let you touch me any place he had violated.

  When you whispered, asking me what I needed, I couldn’t face you yet. That’s why I pointed to the bathroom. But I felt better when your strong arms wrapped around me again and carried me to the shower. Setting me gently inside, keeping your comforting fingers splayed over my upper back and my spinning stomach to make sure I was steady on my feet. I wasn’t. I pretended like I was anyway. I couldn’t stand being filthy any longer. I couldn’t stand knowing his cum marred my skin. I couldn’t stand the thought of bringing anything of his into our home.

  I didn’t want to let you go either so I held your hand. It was weird and awkward and perfect. I needed you and you didn’t let go. You stood there letting me clutch you, dressed in your ravished tee and jeans, and allowed yourself to be drenched without a complaint. Although your eyes couldn’t hide your fury, looking and lingering on the ugliest parts of me. I shook despite the scorching water and your gaze returned to mine. That was better.

  You talked. Telling me things I wanted to know but somehow couldn’t find a way to ask you.

  My mom was fine. I sobbed so hard when the words left your lips I dropped the shampoo out of my trembling hands. The slim white bottle tumbling down and sliding across the black tile. Pink liquid flooding out on the huge marble squares. Neither of us moved. I cried and you waited. Patient and composed until my shuddering stopped.

  After a few minutes you admitted to me that you lied and told her that you’d sent me off to a spa for some pampering and that’s why I wasn’t calling or texting her. I nodded when you swore under your breath about the fucking irony of that lie. Your fingers digging into my skin with your indignation. When I tried to pull away you loosened your grip but didn’t let me go. I was glad. I didn’t want you to let me go either.

  Since mine was spiraling down the drain, I used your shampoo. I liked smelling like you. I used my own soap. Without having to speak, we worked as a team. You squeezed the cleanser onto the poof, and I scrubbed myself down. Cleaning off the dirt if not the filth. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to scour myself hard enough to remove that sickening residue.

  I couldn’t respond when you told me how you searched for me. How terrified you were. How determined you were. How you would never give up until you found me.

  Straight forward and matter of fact. No exaggerating or yelling. Simply laying out the truth of what happened. I worried about your lack of emotion. The absence of any remorse or sense of guilt for all the men you killed. The empires you toppled. The destruction you caused.

  For me.

  To find me.

  To get me back.

  The enormity of your actions was more than I could bear. Not you though. Resilient and strong as always, you caught me when my knees buckled. Cuddling my frail body with only one arm while you ripped off the shreds of your tattered shirt. Nothing between us but the streaking droplets. Skin to skin. You, exposed with your smooth muscles and expansive ink. Me, vulnerable with my rough scars and solitary tattoo. That you probably hate even more than I do.

  Wet, exhausted, and overwhelmed, I shut my eyes as soon as you laid me on the mattress. Tucking my damp body in the sheets and my fingers in your hand. I was grateful you didn’t expect anything from me. Because as much I wanted to explain everything, I couldn’t give you anything. Nothing more than breathing and being happy to be home and lying in your bed. That was enough for me. Luckily, that was enough for you.

  When I woke up seven hours later you were still there.

  So was Jane.

  So was Dr. Miller.

  I was scared. I couldn’t hide anymore.

  I think about him when you frown at me.

  I hate that you’re disappointed in me. I’m disappointed in myself. I want things to go back to the way they used to be too. I want to be happy. I want to marry you and have your babies and never worry about anything ever again. But somehow I don’t know how to do that.

  I don’t know how to tell you he raped me. That he married me. That he called me kitten and whore and cunt. That he beat me and tortured me and marked me. He did everything he could to me to make sure you knew how much he hates you.

  I think about that motherfucker when the doctor tells me all your tests came back clear. Which I’m not going to lie, I’m relieved. So damn relieved and grateful. But the one driving me the most fucking insane is too soon to take yet. A few more days before we can know if you’re pregnant.

  Stupid fucking bastard’s fucked up your head, your body, your future.

  And I fucking let it happen. I let the man I hate most in the entire damn world steal my girl. Fuck my girl. Maybe even put his fucking baby inside my beautiful rosy girl. Because I was stupid enough to force you to toss your birth control pills when you moved in with me. Wanting my son inside you so damn much. Never once thinking I’d fuck up bad enough that another man might be the one to father your child instead.

  God damn it. I love you, and I’m about ready to lose my fucking shit.

  I want his fucking tattoo off of you. I want his child out of you. I want him gone from our fucking lives.

  I think about him when you ask me if I’d like to have a seat.

  He would have pushed me down into the chair. Not giving me any choice whether I sat or not. Or caring what I wanted to eat. Probably not even offered me food at all. But, you pointed to my regular spot at the dining room table. You were smiling but you didn’t seem happy. Not really. You had my favorite food delivered. I haven’t had Nagasaki since I’ve been gone. I wanted to enjoy it. I really wanted to. But it was too hard to eat when I was crying. I don’t even know why I was crying. I just wanted to sit at your table—our table—and eat lunch with you.

  I think about that god damn motherfucker when you cry over lunch.

  Fucking lunch! You can’t even fucking enjoy lobster rolls without him ruining it. I hate that I fucking don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Do I leave you alone? Do I spend every second with you? I wish you could tell me what you want. What you need. It scares the hell out of me that you don’t know either. That neither of us knows how to help you.

  I think about him when Dr. Miller said I’m not pregnant.

  Not with his baby luckily.

  Not with your baby sadly.

  I’m scared to admit I’m disappointed that I’m not fulfilling the wish you’ve been hoping for so long. Although I wouldn’t have wanted our child to be exposed to him. Inside me. On top of me. All over me. That part is good.

  Except I can’t help
but worry that we’ll never have our own child. You and me. That it’s too late for us. We’ve missed our chance. Lost the opportunity to get married and have a family and have our dreams come true. That he stole everything from us, and we’ll never be able to get our life back.

  I think about you when your small hand slid out of mine and you stood up.

  Abandoning me to sit on the sofa alone.

  It took everything I had not to stalk after you as you walked toward the window. I fucking hated the empty expression on your face. Well aware from the hollowness of your gaze you didn’t see the gold, red, and orange bursting in the landscape. Your favorite time of year ruined because of him. Another thing you can’t enjoy because of that asshole.

  But Jane shook her head at me. Flipping up her palm to tell me to stay put as if I’m a god damn fucking dog or something. Pissing me off that she tries to command me. But I actually kept my ass on the cushion because I’ve fucked up so much I sure as hell don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to you. So I have to defer to her despite how I hate it. So I suck it up and follow the advice she gives me.

  I just didn’t get it rosy girl. We received good news. Fucking perfect, incredible, wonderful news. Yet you seem unaffected. Not that I expected you to jump up and down and cheer. But I wanted to experience your relief. See your liberation from the uncertainty. Isolate you from the need to make hard choices that I don’t know if you could make even if you wanted to.

  Instead, you left me. Retreating to the other side of the room. Rubbing up and down your too scrawny arms as if you were freezing. So damn cold all the time I can never seem to get you warm. Not with my hands or my words or my bed.

  I kind of freaked out, ordering Jane and Dr. Miller out. Neither of them liked it. I didn’t give a damn. You didn’t seem to notice. Their hesitation or my anger. Startling as if you’d even forgotten I was there when I stepped behind you, sheathing your back, Forcing myself to keep my damn arms at my sides instead of curling them around you. Fucking hating it when you answered “I don’t know,” when I asked you what was wrong. You do know but you won’t fucking tell me. You’ve never lied to me before. Not really. This is what this bastard’s done to you. Fucking done to us. Destroying the trust I never thought we could lose.