The room was completely silent as Paige's eyes welled up with tears. She tried to hold back, but it was no use. The stinging on her cheek was just as raw as the emotional pain. Her body shook, so she gripped the marble countertop for balance. White knuckles were a sharp contrast to the black speckled coldness. Her heart ached. Paige blinked to see properly, her vision blurred by her salty tears. She was almost composed when it happened again.
"Don't you dare stand there crying like you're the innocent one."
His voice was loud and sharp, and echoed in the massive kitchen. It was the only sound in the whole house except for the barely audible hum of the furnace. It was that quiet.
"I've given you everything you've ever wanted, and don't you even think I won't take it away from you."
Paige winced. She saw the flash of movement and heard the crunching sound as his fist met her nose; she had closed her eyes and gripped the expensive counter with both hands.
The sound of his heavy steps on the tile floor receded until they faded altogether. Paige didn't have to open her eyes. She knew exactly where he was going. He would get into his sports car and take off to the local bar. He would drink, buy alcohol for others, and flirt with anything that was breathing and had breasts that were more then a handful. Strangely enough, he didn't consider this cheating. Even though he'd get home in the wee hours of the morning smelling like cheap perfume, she was not allowed to say anything.
Paige breathed in through her nose and began to choke. Her throat filled with the hot syrup of blood. The pain radiating from her cheek had masked the fact that her nose was bleeding. She opened her eyes and spun around to lean over the sink. The overhead lights cast a shadow, but she could see that she had blood gushing from her nose.
She grabbed a towel and tried to stop the bleeding. Leaning forward a bit, breathing through her mouth seemed to help calm herself down. Paige needed to concentrate on one thing and one thing only. She remembered her days as a lifeguard, knew that she had to apply pressure to the fleshy part of her nose and tilt her head forward slightly. She waited a few minutes until she felt no more blood gushing out. She dabbed her nose gently and then began to clean up the kitchen.
There was blood on the countertop. She noticed that when she placed her hand on it and felt the stickiness of the liquid. The marble was dark black and her blood blended in just right. After cleaning up the droplets on the floor, she washed her hands. She held the soiled towel in her left hand and then decided to use that to pick up the shards of glass that were on the ground.
The glass had been an expensive vase that he had smashed, but it didn't matter. Money was no object to him. He didn't really care for anything that was in his large house. A snobby interior designer had purchased most of the furnishings, and if she had broken the vase herself, he wouldn't have cared. Thankfully, instead of shattering, it had cracked into about a dozen large pieces.
Once the kitchen was clean, she walked to the garage and threw out the soiled towel along with the broken vase. It was no use trying to clean it, and considering a thousand dollar vase had been decimated, a ten-dollar dishtowel was not worth the trouble.
Paige walked slowly up the grand staircase to the master bedroom. She took each step slowly, reminding herself of all the positive characteristics of her boyfriend. She knew there were thirty-four steps from the living room to the entrance of the bedroom. This was not the first time she had forced herself to do this. Counting them was the only way for her to keep from falling apart completely.
Paige entered the bedroom and looked around. There was not one trace of warmth or personality in this room. It was like a hotel room. Everything was neat and organized. The bed was a massive entity in the middle of the room. The wall behind it had floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the front lawn. On the left-hand side of the bed were her dresser, his clothes chest, and an overstuffed chair. The wall on the other side had two doors. One led to the massive walk-in closet, and the other to the bathroom. They were French doors that made the bathroom feel more like a fancy spa.
Paige walked past the bed and into the bathroom and looked at her reflection. The sight of her cuts and bruises no longer affected her. The first time this had happened, she was appalled at her appearance and had broken down in tears. Now she gently washed her face, then put antiseptic on her cheek where his ring had caught her skin and scratched it. She didn't want it infected since she didn't want anyone to notice this injury any more then necessary.
Her nose had a small bruise but was otherwise uninjured. She was thankful for that. Her brother had broken his nose playing baseball when they were younger and she remembered that it had taken two surgeries to reconstruct it. She was not up to dealing with complications.
It was only after showering and changing into her pajamas that she thought of Peter. It wasn't that she ever stopped thinking of him. He was always there in the back of her mind. Most times, she wondered what he was doing at any given time. She had his schedule memorized, so all she had to do was look at the time and know whether he was at work, at the gym, or at home. Sometimes she would close her eyes and imagine what he was wearing.
It was weird, really. That scent was what she missed most about him. He always had this clean smell, with a touch of spicy after-shave. She had once asked him to give her one of his sweatshirts, but was afraid that her current boyfriend would find out.
It started to rain outside, and Paige lay back in bed, loving the soothing sound of the raindrops hitting the window. She was in need of comforting because what she desperately wanted to do was call Peter.
"I will not call him." Paige spoke aloud and repeated the words a few times, like a mantra. She tried to reason with herself that the more times she said it, the more likely she would not call him.
His girlfriend was home almost every night and could possibly answer the phone. They could be watching a movie, or cooking a late dinner. Paige gulped as she then thought that they could be having sex. She did not want to imagine that.
***
It was dark outside and the smell in the air hinted that a storm was rolling in. Peter was sprawled out on the blue and pink flowered couch wearing silk pajama bottoms. He had wanted to wear his comfortable cotton pants, but his girlfriend had thrown them out.
He didn't care that the seam down the left leg had been ripped completely; to him they were broken-in. He was lounging around his apartment and didn't worry what he looked like. She was always concerned about appearances. High-maintenance was the proper term. Peter had originally thought it was appealing. He'd thought it was charming that she had been an hour late for their first date, and adorable that he had never seen her without makeup until they had moved in together. Everything annoying and bothersome about her he'd once found charming and sweet.
