by Tina Martin
“Okay...um...last night, Dilvan forced himself on me and he pushed me to the floor. When I woke up, blood was underneath me and that’s when Tyson came in and found me. I’d had another miscarriage.”
“Another? Meaning you’ve had one before?”
I nod, dab the tears from my eyes and say, “Yes.”
Padma’s lips trembled. She was so angry, so troubled that she pushed her breakfast plate away and stood up, pacing back and forth by the dining room table, her hands balled into fists. “What else has he done to you?”
“Not sure if you were aware, but we have separate bedrooms. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he comes to my room to have sex with me...said I wasn’t good enough to sleep in his bed. He calls me names, makes me eat off of the floor...one time, he made eat my dinner in the rain...said if I didn’t finish it, I couldn’t come back in the house.”
I was so shaken at this point, I wasn’t sure if I could finish telling her all the things Dilvan had made me suffer through.
“What else?”
“He yells at me...makes me call him ‘My Lord’...makes me stand naked in front of him...when you come over for breakfast, he kicks me underneath the table if he thinks I said, or am about to say, something out of line.”
I take a moment to catch my breath and dry more tears, then I say, “I tried so hard to love him, Padma. I tried to make this marriage work. Even though I know I’m not deserving of him and that he could be with someone better than me—”
“No,” Padma interrupts. “You deserve someone better than him!” She sits next to me again, holds my hands and say, “I’m so sorry, Gabrielle. I thought marriage would change him. This is my fault for trying to fix my flawed, narcissistic son...he’s so wrapped up in this materialistic culture...thinks the world owes him something that he neglects the people who love him. But he will never hurt you again.” She sucks in a breath and dabs her eyes. “Tyson is going to show you where you’ll be staying. I’ll take care of Dilvan.”
CHAPTER 11
Dilvan
- - -
Dilvan found his yellow Ferrari in long-term parking at the airport. On the evening drive home, he grimaced, remembering the things he’d done to Gabrielle. He didn’t know exactly what he’d do when he saw her, but one thing was for certain – he owed her an apology.
He also needed to confront his Mother immediately upon arriving. Instead of going to his home, he’d go straight to her house to find out why she’d kept the secret that Gabrielle was the donor who’d saved his Father’s life. As he saw it, the way he treated Gabrielle was his Mother’s fault. As usual, he’d pin the blame on someone else (because he could never do anything wrong) and he figured that since she kept it a secret, she would get the blame.
His heart pounded when he finally pulled up at his Mother’s house. He jumped out of his car, slammed the door so hard, he could’ve broken it. Instead of ringing the doorbell, he barged right in, heading straight for the library, which also doubled as Padma’s office. He could see her sitting there, on the phone, through the French door. Pushing the door open, he yelled, “Why didn’t you tell me, Mother!”
Padma frowned and told whomever she was talking to on the phone that she’d call them back. Then she looked up at Dilvan and asked calmly, “Why are you here? You’re supposed to be in California on a shoot.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Gabrielle!”
Padma rose up from her seat. “I don’t know what your problem is, Dilvan Alexander, but you will not take that tone with me in my house.”
Dilvan ran his hand over his head. “Okay,” he said, lowering his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me about Gabrielle?”
“Tell you what about Gabrielle?”
“That she was the donor who saved Dad’s life. Why didn’t you tell me, Mother?”
“Because I had no reason to.”
Dilvan placed his hands on his head in complete frustration. “What do you mean you had no reason to? She’s my wife.”
“Oh, now she’s your wife.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve never claimed her as your wife before, My Lord,” Padma snapped. “You force yourself upon her, strangle her until bruises form on her neck and now, she’s your wife?”
A look of complete shock covered Dilvan’s face that his Mother knew all of this. He couldn’t say a word to defend himself.
“Do you know why I chose Gabrielle for you, son? I chose her because she was the exact opposite of you. She’s kind, she’s modest, she’s not obsessed with her looks, and she’s perhaps the most unselfish person I know. It was my hope that some of her traits would’ve rubbed off on you, but instead, you torture her. You hurt Gabrielle, an innocent woman that I love like she was my own daughter,” Padma said with tears falling from her eyes. “She’s the woman who saved your Father’s life and you treat her worse than a mangy dog! But guess what...she will not suffer at your hands again. She will not lose another baby because you want to have a temper tantrum.”
“What?”
“Yeah, you heard me. She just got out of the hospital after having a miscarriage and you know what the sad thing is...this is the second one.”
Dilvan thought back to Tuesday night when he’d pushed Gabrielle to the floor. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“And you know why I didn’t tell you about her being the donor for your Father? I’ll tell you why...I didn’t want you to love her because of something she did for you...for our family. I wanted you to love her unconditionally regardless, but you were too stupid to see that you had the perfect woman at your fingertips and now she’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yeah, that’s right. I moved her out of that torture chamber you call a home, and she’s not coming back.”
Dilvan turned around and rushed out of his Mother’s home. He sat in his car, thought about all he’d learned from his Mother. Gabrielle had told her everything. Apparently his threats weren’t enough to keep her silent.
He struck the steering wheel out of frustration. His Mother said she’d moved Gabrielle out of his house, but had she really?
He started the engine and sped there, hoping he’d find her.
CHAPTER 12
Gabrielle
- - -
I walked in the house where I’d be staying until further notice, Tyson’s house, a waterfront property on Roanoke Island. His home was a good thirty-minute drive away from Southern Shores, which gave me a little comfort knowing I wasn’t close to Dilvan.
I slide out of my sandals and feel the cool, dark brown wooden floors underneath my feet. The house smells like a bakery, and from where I stand, I can see the island in the kitchen that’s truly the focal point in there.
The living room is decorated with an old, rustic flare. I can tell that Tyson has a like of vintage décor. In the living room, there’s also a light blue accent wall and old paint-chipped white shutters propped up next to wall. A wrought iron chair, that had also been painted white, matched the white sofa and coffee table. The diamond-shaped mirrors on the accent wall made the living room appear bigger than it actually was.
“Home, sweet, home,” Tyson says, stepping in behind me. “It’s not as fancy as what you were accustomed to at Dilvan’s place but—”
“I could care less about that. I just want to be somewhere where I can be comfortable, and I like the coziness of this place...seems like a nice place to unwind after a long day.”
“It is. So first things first, my dear,” he says, bringing his hands to a clap. “You don’t have to take your shoes off.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Okay...whatever you’re comfortable with.”
He lifts my suitcases and say, “Your bedroom is upstairs. You’ll pretty much have all of upstairs to yourself because I don’t go up there at all since the master is downstairs.”
“Okay.”
“So if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room, little Lady.”
The
stairs creak as we head up, and the banister is wobbly. Tyson warns me about them, tells me to be careful going up and down the stairs, especially at night. He said he hadn’t gotten around to fixing them since they weren’t a priority, but he’ll fix them sometime over the course of the next few days.
He pushed the door open to the room where I would be sleeping and my first impression was that it looked like something out of a magazine. Beige carpeting covered the floor. The walls were painted a lighter blue than the accent wall in the living room. White-framed pictures decorated the wall above the headboard. Pink curtains dressed the windows and cohesively matched the covers and pillows on the queen-sized bed. A sheer, white canopy hung from the ceiling and over the bed while mismatched, antique nightstands held matching lamps.
“Wow.” I say.
“Is that a good wow?”
“Yes. This is beautiful.”
“Glad you like it...I made a few changes to it when I knew you would be coming here. Um...the TV remote is on the nightstand.”
I look around, because before he mentioned a TV, I hadn’t seen one. When I looked to my left I saw a flat screen TV mounted to the wall. It was positioned across from the bed.
“When you step out of the room and turn left, the bathroom is the next door on the left.”
“Okay.”
“Get comfortable and maybe we can grab some dinner in a few.”
“Okay.”
After Tyson leaves the room, I sit on the bed for a moment, take a breath and try to settle my mind. It’s been a long day of gathering up my things, basically ending one chapter of my life and starting another, hopefully a better one. I haven’t had time to think about the fact that I actually left my husband today. Finally, my nightmare is over – at least for now. When Dilvan returned from his trip on Sunday, I knew he would be elated to see that I was finally gone.
* * *
Tyson said he knew of a place where we could have a nice dinner – a place he’d been to a thousand times – Ortega’z Southwestern Grill and Wine Bar. We’re sitting at a table after the waitress has brought us appetizers – El Ranchero cheese fries and crab baked mac ‘n’ cheese.
“How is it?” Tyson asks staring at my bowl of mac ‘n’ cheese.
“It’s good.” I push my bowl over to his side of the table. “Try it.”
He takes a stab at it with his fork and chews it deliberately, as if he’s trying to get a good, solid taste for the flavor of it. “This is good,” he says.
“Why don’t you take some more?”
“Nah...you go ahead. I got these fries to put down. You’re welcome to have some, by the way.”
I smile, and go back to eating my appetizer. The restaurant is busy on Saturday nights, I see. The patrons probably consist mostly of vacationers, seeking adventure by way of trying new restaurants. In a way, I feel like one of them because I’m not familiar with this side of town and I’m not used to being in public like this. Dilvan has never taken me out to a restaurant.
“Would you like some wine?”
“No, thanks.”
“I’m sorry...should’ve asked if you were old enough to drink.”
“Yes. I’m twenty-one.”
“So you don’t like wine, or...”
“I like it...just not in a wine type of mood tonight.”
“I got you.” Tyson takes a sip of water then asks, “Do you know what you’re ordering for dinner?”
“Um...not quite.”
“Do you eat shrimp?”
“Yes.”
“Then I have to recommend the shrimp and chorizo alfredo.”
“Then it’s settled,” I say, placing my menu over to the side and finishing this appetizer. I could go for another bowl of it.
The waitress comes by to get our empty appetizer dishes, then we order dinner. After she walks away, Tyson looks at me with an inquisitive smirk on his face.
“What?” I ask, breaking into a smile, nervously fiddling with my fingers because this is so out of character for me to have an engaging conversation with a man. The last in-depth conversation I had with a man was with Dilvan’s Father about how he always wanted to have a daughter, and in me, he’d found one.
“So you’re twenty-one, huh?”
“Yep.”
“I remember those days...”
“What do you mean? You look pretty young yourself.”
“Oh, you’re just being modest, my dear. Besides, you haven’t looked at me good enough to determine my age, like you’re afraid for some reason.”
I was afraid – well, not so much afraid as uncomfortable with the idea. I tried to glance up at him every now and then because he’d told me before to really look at him, but it’s still difficult to do so.
So again, I’m sitting here trying to force myself to do something that was engrained in me not to do. I look up at him, stare deep into his eyes for a moment before scanning his face, trying to determine his age. I watch his lips form into a smile, his white teeth showing from behind them.
“I would guess you to be about thirty.”
“Almost...I’m thirty-two.”
“Nice.”
The food arrives, and I quickly take a fork full of it to my mouth because this shrimp alfredo is a bunch of creamy goodness with the added flavor of the seafood.
“Good?” he asks me, as he watches me take a second, massive fork full of the stuff.
I nod and mumble, “Mmm hmm.”
We silently eat for the next five minutes or so. I glance up at him in this quiet period and he’s concentrating on his food like he’s been starving for days. He takes a napkin, wipes his mouth then picks up his glass of water to take a sip.
“So I wasn’t eavesdropping when you were talking to Padma at breakfast this morning, but I heard some of your conversation with her,” he says.
“It’s okay. I didn’t go in depth with you before about the things Dilvan had done to me because I was ashamed, and I didn’t know whether or not I could trust you.”
“You still feel that way?”
“Ashamed, or not knowing if I can trust you?”
“Both.”
“I feel like I can trust you now, and yes, I do feel embarrassed by the way I was treated by Dilvan. Has he always been this mean?”
“Nah...he used to be cool back in the day. I didn’t hang around him as much, only because of our age difference, but I’m good friends with his oldest brother, Heshan. I think, when Dilvan turned eighteen, he sorta lost it...I don’t know if he got with the wrong crowd or what...he’s always had a sense of entitlement...he knew his family had money and it went straight to his head. Then, instead of joining the family business as his brothers had done, he decided to become a model, which suits him because he’s vain...always been obsessed with his appearance.”
“Yeah. I guess that’s why he didn’t like me so much.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said I ugly.”
“Do you believe that?”
“That’s all I’ve heard for the last six months.”
“But do you believe it?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.” I say that because I really don’t know. When a person is told the same thing over and over again, even if they didn’t believe it before, eventually they start to feel like there’s some truth to it. And that’s the way I feel right now.
“I’m going to tell you what I think, and I’m telling you this, not so that you feel good about yourself because self-acceptance and esteem comes from within. I’m telling you this because it’s my opinion. I think you are beautiful, Gabrielle.”
That brings a smile to my face. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he responds, finishing his water and not taking his eyes off of me. “So I figured I can make us dessert at home.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’m a pastry chef...well, I know how to cook other things too, but I specialize in desserts.”
“Really?” I ask again, soundin
g like a broken record.
“Yes,” he says grinning. “Really.”
“And I thought you were Padma’s handyman...”
“No...you thought I was her clean-up guy,” he says then laughs.
I laugh to.
“Nah, I’m not her handyman. I help her out every now and then, but I’m a chef by profession. I cook all of the desserts for Padma’s Food House. Has she ever taken you there?”
“Yeah, once, but I didn’t eat. I was a volunteer waitress one weekend when Dilvan was away for a shoot, because otherwise, he wouldn’t let me go.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat. I’m going to make a dessert especially for you.”
“Mmm...I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER 13
Dilvan
- - -
Dilvan sat out on the front deck at his house, staring off into the darkness, listening as ocean waves crashed together. He hadn’t eaten any of the spread that Beatrice laid out because his appetite was just like his wife – gone.
What have I done?
He asked himself that same question over and over but didn’t answer it because what he had done, in hindsight, was too painful to think about.
Beatrice interrupted his thoughts when she came strolling out onto the deck. “Is there any thang I can do before you turn in?” she asked.
“No. Thanks, Beatrice.”
“If you don’t mind my nose in your business, Suh, I didn’t ‘spect you home ‘til Sunday night.”
“Yeah...had to come home early.”
“Well, I hope er’thang is okay.” Beatrice turned to walk away.
“Beatrice,” he called out, then turned to look at her.
She was instantly appalled by his bloodshot eyes and the overall look of despair on his face.
“Um...” he said, trying to find the right words to express what he was feeling. “I messed up, Beatrice. I messed up.”
Beatrice strolled over closer to him and took a seat. Never in her four years of working for him had she seen him so downcast. He looked like he was about to have a breakdown.