"Come in." Cutter's voice is clipped and a part of me knows I caused it.
The door opens slowly and a man stands in the frame. He doesn't introduce himself or say anything, just glances over at me, then back at Cutter. He is wearing a vest that is exactly like Cutter's except for a couple patches on it. Cutter exhales and walks over, leaving me alone on the couch.
The stranger's voice is low and I can't hear what he's saying, but by the way Cutter's body stiffens I know it can't be anything good. The man walks away and Cutter turns to me. "I need to go handle some stuff, but I'll be back. For now, just organize things into piles and then we can go through them later."
I nod at him and he walks out the door.
My stomach rumbles and I look at the clock before retrieving a sandwich and a bottle of water from my bag and eat over the bin, careful not to get crumbs anywhere. I'm left alone by everyone, but the day goes quickly. As I sort through the papers I keep glancing at the door, waiting for him to come back. There's no doubt I'm more comfortable being in here by myself. Moving around the office with his watchful eyes on me. I don't know what it is that he's looking for, but it makes me nervous.
Day moves swiftly into evening and Cutter still isn't back. I have to get home to get Dylan's dinner ready and if I don't leave soon I'll hit traffic. Unsure of the protocol, I take the notepad from his desk and write Cutter a note, letting him know I'll see him tomorrow. I step back and look at the note before adding the time I left. I wouldn't want him to think I'd taken advantage of his absence.
As I drive home, I think about the club, the people there, and Cutter. We've barely spoken to each other and his mere presence puts me on edge, but I have this pull toward him that I know I can't give into. He makes me want to tell him things I've never told anyone. I want to confide in him. It almost feels like he might help me-save me.
A shiver runs up my back and my fingers tighten on the wheel. This is wrong. I need to try to keep as much distance between ma and Cutter as possible. He touched me and I can't let him think that's okay, I need to make sure I keep a safe distance between us. I don't want him to see how damaged and broken I am.
I pull into the driveway and cut the engine. If I hurry, I can get everything done on time. Making sure not to slam the door-push closed, bump with hip-because that'll upset Dylan, if he's even home, I remove my shoes and head straight for the kitchen, pulling out what I need for dinner.
While that is cooking I move to the living room. Every surface needs to be dusted daily. Dust is the sign of a dirty home. I remember to lift the coasters and dust under there. I'd forgotten once and Dylan was livid. He threatened to kick me out if I decided I wanted to live like a slob. It was my own fault for letting time get away from me. I chance a look into the living room.
It's empty.
I'm not really sure where he is right now, and I likely won't ever know where he goes during the day, or who he spends his time with. I run my tongue over the chip in my eye tooth. I've learned to not question.
The smell of steak fills the air and I run in to check on it, making sure it doesn't cook past medium. Dylan is very particular about his food and hates anything tasting burned. I stir the veggies and clean down all the kitchen counters to make sure there aren't any dirty or sticky spots. I stand back and look from three different angles.
Nothing.
I glance at the clock: 5:45. I have fifteen minutes.
I run upstairs, changing out of my conservative work attire and putting on the dress Dylan has laid out for me. I steal a look in the mirror, ignoring the way the straps hang off my bony shoulders, and the sagging material where my full breasts used to be. I want to pull on a sweater to cover up, but he picks out what he wants to see me in each day and there isn't one here. I tug at the shoulders of the dress. I don't have the best body so I need to make sure that I am always able to look appealing to him.
It took me a while to be able to work out this schedule and make sure that all of his needs are met. There were times when I messed up completely and Dylan made me see where I'd gone wrong. He's always trying to make sure I'm the best wife I can be. But I have this routine down now. I've been doing it for so long now that it's almost robotic.
The soles of my feet burn as I race back downstairs. They scream at me to sit down and relax but I need to show my appreciation for everything that he has done for me. I need to keep him happy so that he doesn't get mad. It would be so disappointing to slip back into my old ways; back when I didn't pay close enough attention.
"You stupid fucking bitch!" My back slams into the wall and I slide down it, sinking to the floor. My arms come up to cover my face, bracing myself for the next.