I Will Not Run (10 page)

I found the right cupboard, pulled open the door, and stared blankly at the glasses. My heart was all aflutter. I was going to stay the night. Wow, what a scary, wonderful, terrifying thought. I’d pay for it in the morning, though, when I had to face Bruno and fake devotion. That role was getting harder and harder to play. But so what! Life is for the living. Hopefully tonight would be worth paying for later.

He filled two small liqueur-sized glasses with dessert wine and handed me one.

“Best plan is for you to move into your Mum’s permanently. Stay put. I’ll get the cops to keep an eye on you. Easy as that. Don’t go back, not ever again. Simple.” He tapped the side of my glass in a toast.

“Nothing’s ever that simple, and you know it. Anyway, I refuse to waste a good night discussing Bruno and my shitty marriage. I don’t want to say his name again all night, not once.”

He smiled. “You got it.”

My heart was revving up again, booting itself against my ribs. I sipped and told him the wine was good but really, I couldn’t taste a thing.

By time the hand on the clock moved to 3.00, we’d downed most of the bottle.

“I think it’s bedtime,” he said, not waiting for me to agree. He jumped up and whipped the glass out of my hand.

I swallowed, trying to keep my stomach in place.

He strode off towards the kitchen, chatting as he went. “You can have my bed. I’ll make up something for myself in the spare room.”

My mouth dropped open. I was disappointed, and I didn’t even try to hide it.

“How evil do you think I am, Dom? I’m not taking your bed and leaving you to sleep in one of those cold spare rooms. The last thing you need to do, at 3.00 in the morning, is make up a bed.” Did that sound believable? I doubt it. I think I sounded more desperate than caring. He’d have seen through me quick-smart.

He put the glasses in the sink, then turned, a secret smile on his face. Yep, he saw through me, alright.

“I’d love to share a bed with you, Winter. Can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more.”

I blushed, my cheeks flaming red. I turned towards the fire so that I could pretend the heat was to blame. I couldn’t face him till the red subsided.

“But it’s a bad idea, considering.”

I bolted around to face him again, suddenly not worried one bit about my blushing cheeks. “Why is it a bad idea?”

“Because neither of us would get any sleep.”

“Sleep is overrated.”

He took my hand. “When you leave Bruno, things will be different, I promise.”

I cursed under my breath. How could I explain that I wouldn’t be leaving until Bruno was dead? Bruno had to die to pay for taking Buttercup’s life. I owed her that, at least. But here was Dom saying that he wouldn’t sleep with me, not until I walked away from Bruno. I didn’t have the patience or the will power to wait that long. How would I handle this level of frustration for many more months to come?

“Can’t we at least snuggle.” My tone had slipped from annoyed to pleading, never a good look in front of a man.

“Fine,” he said, his lips pulled tight in an attempt to disguise a smile. “But if we share, we have to keep our clothes on.”

I recognised a good compromise when I saw one. “Agreed. You won’t even know I’m there.”

“Ha,” he said, pulling me toward his bedroom. “As if!”

Chapter 13

Winter

Thursday, 9
th
August

His room was dark and moody: abstract prints, dark walls, industrial-style lamps, that sort of thing. The solid wooden bed-head was masculine and imposing too. He, or someone else, had styled this with seduction in mind. Those scented half-burnt-down candles on his dresser spelt women’s touch. It was an irritating thought, thinking of another woman in his room, until I remembered that I was the married one.

“I’ll let you take your jeans and sweater off,” he said with a smirk, “but I don’t think I could cope with much more. You get under the covers while I go see to the fire.”

I waited till I could hear him rustle about in the other room. Then, quickly as I could, I stripped off my jumper and jeans and slipped under the covers in my underwear.

He was a long time putting that fire out, or whatever it was he was doing. He didn’t come back into the bedroom till a good half hour had passed. The effects of driving over the gorge, the warmth of his bed and the dessert wine were all taking their toll. My eyelids were drooping. I might have drifted off but woke the moment the mattress depressed.

I’m not sure if he slid towards me, or if I was the one who went after him, but somehow we fell into a spooning position. My heart revved up, especially when I felt the hardness of him pressed against my back. But then he whispered, “Goodnight,” his way of telling me to go to sleep. Obviously, he’d made up his mind. Nothing was going to happen tonight.

We both drifted off for a while. I’m not sure how long we slept for, maybe an hour or two. Something woke me, and I’m pretty sure it was the feel of his lips pressed against my forehead. He was kissing me just above my eyebrows. His kisses were feather light. I think he hoped to get away with it. Maybe he thought that if he kissed me ever so gently, I’d stay asleep and be none the wiser. I played along.

We must have turned toward each other in the night, because now we were facing, our bodies tangled. It felt heavenly, what he was doing, his firm lips gently caressing my forehead. The last thing I wanted was for him to stop. I figured that if I kept my eyes shut tight and didn’t move, he might stay right where he was, doing what he was doing.

It was hard, ridiculously hard, to keep my eyes closed and my breathing under control. I was determined to pull this off though because I didn’t want him to back off. But then my mouth went and took on a life of its own. My lips tilted up, fighting to reach his mouth.
Shit!

He pulled away.

No, don’t stop, come back, please
. I held my nerve and kept on pretending, in and out, steady as anything, faking sleep. I must have convinced him too because, eventually, he inched back over to me again. But, this time, instead of putting his lips on my forehead, he pressed his mouth against my cheek. Wow, the effect was instantaneous. The rush of heat made me want to gasp.

Somehow I carried on with my sleeping rouse, forcing each breath in and out, nice and slowly, breathing as steadily as a sleeping person would. My heart was beating way too fast, though, and I couldn’t seem to slow it down. I was sure he’d feel it through my skin.

Ever so gently his lips pressed against my cheek bone, which meant he was only an inch from my mouth. Every time I felt his lips form a kiss and then gently drop it onto my skin, I wanted to groan. The caress of his hot breath against my face nearly drove me mad. It sucked all the air from my lungs making it even harder to keep my breathing even.

Although I tried not to, I must have moved again because now he had access to my neck. His pillowy lips left my cheekbone and settled on my neck, just below my earlobe. I swear my heart was louder than an alarm.
How couldn’t he hear it?
I started to wonder how much longer I could keep this performance up for. My eyes were desperate to spring open and my mouth kept twitching. My nerve endings were to blame; they kept popping and jumping like drips of water in a searing pan.

The mattress shifted again.
Please don’t let him move away. I need this.

He didn’t pull away, thank heaven. The opposite. Now I could feel his teasing, whispery lips directly on my mouth. My blood swelled, a tidal wave of desire washing over my entire body, making me sweat. His mouth was pressed against mine, very gently, and the sensation was making me giddy.

A bit more, please, more pressure. I was so frustrated now, I wanted to bite him. If he stopped now, I’d die. For sure.

I could smell him too. He’s warm and woody, with another scent layered over the top. I think what I’m smelling is the wonderful heady aroma of male hormone. All I know is, his scent is too good to ignore. But what choice did I have? If I scared him off and he pulled away, I couldn’t bear it.

Then, he pressed himself against my thigh, and he was rock-hard.

My disobedient body moved again, and I wanted to kick myself. Couldn’t I be happy with what I had? Why did I always need more? Now I was joining in, pressing my lips harder against his, and my lips were moving too, like no mouth ever does in sleep, sliding sweetly across his mouth. My eyes were shut but my sleeping ruse was definitely up. Who kisses passionately in their sleep?

I blew the whole act completely when I let my tongue gently lap at his lips, flicking and teasing.

But, to my utter amazement, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he groaned and grabbed my lower lip with his teeth, and gently grazed the skin, the smallest of nips, but enough to send my body into desperate need. His tongue found its way inside too, and I was gone.

He slipped his arm under me, his hand resting achingly near my breast. I inched over, willing his fingers to move, egging him to touch. His fingers toyed with the undersides of my breasts, gently stroking the rounded flesh, only an inch from my nipple. I lay there, scared to come on too strong in case I frightened him away. I was now half-faking sleep and half responded. God knows what he thought, but I was almost beyond caring. My nipples were erect, aching, desperate to be touched. This was almost more than I could stand. I needed pressure, and relief,
right now
!

I pressed myself against him, pushing against his rock-hard length. There were only a few thin sheets of material separating us now and I wanted those slithers of material gone.
Immediately.

I tried to touch his hardness but he sucked in his breath and shoved me away.

“Are you trying to make me beg?” I whispered.

That did it for him. He tossed the covers off then dragged my legs to the end of the mattress. He dropped down so that he was kneeling at the foot of the bed. Then, tugging at the sides of my knickers, he yanked them down. I felt his hot, wet tongue against my core, flicking and lapping. That sensation was enough.

He used his fingers too. I was lubricated, ready, and when he realised how close I was, he groaned, even louder than me. His tongue circled and his fingers worked their magic, the pressure taking me to the edge.

I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold back for much longer. More than anything, I wanted to feel him inside me but at the same time, I wasn’t sure I could bear to be parted from the deliciousness of what he was doing. He dragged his tongue hard against my core one more time and I was gone. I shuddered and cried out and exploded over his licking and thrusting. He kept going and my body ricocheted in a series of explosions. Finally, I settled, the endorphins flooding me. When my spasms ended, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling blissfully content. Every now and then, life can be spectacular and this was one of those moments.

Dom jumped up and threw the covers over me. “I thought I could handle lying beside you, but I can’t. You’re far too much.” He turned, snatched his jeans from the floor, and marched off toward the door.

“Come back to bed,” I called. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

He paused and shook his head. “No. I can’t resist you any longer. I need a cold shower and then I’m going to sleep in the spare room.” He crossed the short distance between us then leaned over me, kissed my forehead and then bolted towards the bathroom and slammed the door.

I nestled into the pillows, closed my heavy eyelids and fell asleep with satisfaction plastered all over my face.

Chapter 14

Winter

Friday, 24
th
August

I woke up this morning, lying in the same bed as Bruno. I was hugging the edge of the mattress in my attempt to get as far from him as I could. I lay there, my eyes wide open, listening to the rhythms of his breathing, gauging how safe I was. He was snoring lightly and wheezing a lot. As gingerly as I could, I crept from the bed.

Our bedroom blinds were ajar, letting in a few shards of morning light. As I passed by the window I looked out across our gravelled driveway to where the yellow Suzuki used to be parked. It was one of those déjà-vu moments, that feeling you get when all this had happened before.

Then, standing there in my thin strappy nightie, my feet bare on the cold wooden boards, I stared out into our garden and lost myself in the memory. I was drawn back to that morning of nine months ago, a morning very similar to this one. It was the day we lost Buttercup.

Back then, I woke early much like I did today, opened the blinds and looked for the Suzuki. But for the first time ever, the car was not parked beside the roller door. It was missing.

Back then, I was excited to see it gone. I remember thinking,
Could Bruno really have come to his senses and taken the car away?
I know he’s fond of Buttercup, I’m sure of it.

I peeked at him while he lay asleep. Maybe there was a half decent person hiding inside that hulking body of his after all.

On that morning nine months ago, I let him sleep and ran outside to our row of garages, but there was no yellow car parked anywhere. I looked all the way down the driveway too: no yellow car. I even grabbed the binoculars from the laundry cupboard and ran to the rise on the hill and peered over the paddocks. No Suzuki. Maybe he had taken it back to the car yard. Everything was crossed.

I put the kettle on for tea, thinking I’d cook him a special breakfast as a way of saying thank you. I planned on making pancakes because they are his absolute favourite. I was trying not to get too optimistic, because he’s disappointed me many times in the past, but a smile kept easing over my lips. I knew deep down that Bruno was fond of her. I told myself that he did care, and that he was not the type to show his affections.

I came back into our room, carrying a breakfast tray. I’d had to fight my way in past his jacket and boots and all his clobber. He was in the habit of dumping his things from the night before right in our bedroom doorway. I nearly stumbled, not noticing his carry-all till it was too late. The tea splashing up and scalded my neck.

My gasp woke him, and he sat up. I smiled down at his face pretending I wasn’t hurt, trying to conjure up genuine warmth, the sort of warmth a wife should feel towards her husband.

“I think I’ll cook you pancakes this morning.”

He eyed me suspiciously.

“Or would you rather have French toast?” My voice sounded genuinely happy. A little relief brings a lot of pleasure.

“Yeah.” He squinted up at me.

“The car’s gone,” I announced, almost with triumph.

“Car? What car?”

Those three little words shattered my newfound happiness.

“Buttercup’s car. The Suzuki. Where the hell is it?”

“How the hell should I know? It’s not my bloody car.”

I turned on him, barely keeping the sneer from my voice. “You’re too soft with her. She gets around you all the time. You gave her the keys, didn’t you?”

“Christ, you’re a nag!”

I sped around the paddocks and down the dirt track hurrying after her, hoping to find the yellow car wedged in a ditch, or banged up against a tree. But no. She’d already driven out through the main gates on her way to the gorge.

But enough of my memories. I’ve got to stop reliving the past. All this looking back isn’t helpful. I need to focus on the here and now, and the best thing that is happening to me right now is Dom.

He was waiting for me this morning, waiting at the west side of our property, near the pond. As soon as I got his text message, I bolted into my bedroom in a flurry of indecision. What to wear? I tossed jumpers, pulled on jeans, then ripped them straight off again. I don’t know how many pairs of boots I tried on. I hadn’t seen Dom for two days, two long lonely days too many.

Last night, Bruno stamped his mark on me again. Now I’ve got a black and blue bruise the size of a small island on the side of my stomach. I’m just grateful he left my face alone. Bruno isn’t speaking to me anymore, not a word since Tuesday. That beating doesn’t count as communication, I don’t think. I don’t mind the silence, in some ways it’s easier but then when he’s not raging or ordering me about, it’s harder for me to gauge the danger I’m in.

I capped more steroid powder yesterday, upping his dose again. I know it is a bit soon to increase the strength but I have to, I need to hurry things along. I can’t take many more beatings like last night. When it’s happening, I tell myself to be strong. I tell myself that it will be over soon and to be brave, but I can’t keep the terror out of my eyes anymore and when he sees it, he punishes me. The more he hits me, the more frightened and cowering I’m becoming. I can’t afford to lose my nerve now, not after I’ve come this far. But the more I dope him up, the worse he is and the more brittle I’m becoming. These days, when I hear his truck on the driveway, I want to keel over and be sick. I have to end this. Dom might be right. Bruno’s getting way worse and soon he’ll inflict real damage, and then maybe I won’t be able to walk away.

Thankfully, Dom won’t be able to see the bruises on me today because they’re hidden under my sweater.

Dom jumped up when he saw me approach. He was grinning, ear to ear, fizzing and popping like a freshly opened bottle of soda. I ran up to him, looked left and right then kissed him smack on the mouth. It was hard to stop there, to pull away. I kept looking at his lips, willing them to kiss me again, properly this time. Instead, he caught me in a bear hug and squeezed my breath out. I wanted to scream,
watch the bruising below my ribs
, but I didn’t of course. He doesn’t need to know about Bruno’s latest tantrum. Last thing I wanted to do was upset Dom. I much prefer him happy. Bruno is my problem, so I kept quiet about the bruising and enjoyed the hug, even if it did hurt.

“Hey, nice to see you,” I said, pleased that he didn’t seem intense or desperate today. Some days I fear he’ll simply scoop me up and start running, stealing away with me despite my protests.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, taking my hand and kissing my palm. His voice was even and calm and I hoped that it was the beginning of his acceptance, hoped he was beginning to accept our situation.

“How have I been?” As if I could tell him the truth: it hurts to breathe and the thought of my husband coming home tonight separates my flesh from my bones, but apart from that I’m great.

I wonder if Dom knows that I’ve fallen in love with him all over again.

“Pretty good, really,” I answered.

He nodded then guided me to the concrete seat by the pond. “Here, sit,” he said, pushing me down. He was beaming a slow easy smile. “I’ve got something for you, babe, but before that, I want to say how pleased I am with you.”

I made a silly squashed-lips smile. “I’m kinda pleased with you too, honey.”

He raised his eyes heavenward. “I’m in my professional capacity now, so if you don’t mind, I’m the tutor and you’re the student, okay?”

“Oh, I see.” I inched my jumper down, straightening myself up.

“Winter, my darling, you’re making great progress. I’m sure you realise that. But, that husband of yours will expect results pronto. Big results because he’s a bad-tempered son of a bitch, so we best not upset him anymore than we have to. After all, we know how psycho he is, don’t we?”

“You’re not sounding much like a teacher anymore.” I gave him a crooked smile.

He shrugged. “Sorry. As I said, great progress made.”

Really, what progress?

“Winter, my darling, do you realise that when you looked at my gun pictures last week, you didn’t flinch? And you watched that whole training tape right through to the end without turning away, not even once. And to top it all off, you sat calmly with me on the rug that day, knowing that there was a gun in the grass, and it was pointing directly at us, unloaded of course. And you weren’t even bothered.”

There was a gun in the grass pointed directly at me?
But I enjoyed hearing his praise, even if it was misplaced. As far as I’m concerned, a picture of a gun, or a movie with a gun in it, is nothing like the real thing. A picture of a gun might be hard to look at, but it can’t shoot me dead. A gun in the grass? Really? Pointed directly at me? Lucky I hadn’t noticed that.

He pulled a gift box out of his carry bag. It was all done up in a bow with love hearts on the ribbon. It’s been ages since anyone gave me anything wrapped up in love hearts. He placed the gift gently in my lap. It was surprisingly heavy.

“What’s this?” I asked, giving him a gushing smile. The Dom I remember from old always bought practical gifts. “This looks romantic, all the hearts, the fancy box, it’s not like you.”

“Life changes us all.”

“Not too much it doesn’t. I bet it’s a book.” I ran my fingers through the pink silk ribbon. Maybe he’d written something sweet and romantic inside the cover. Of course I’d need to hide the book well.

“Why don’t you look and see?”

I slid the ribbon away and put it in my pocket for safe keeping. I slipped the lid off next, still smiling. I peered into the layers of pink tissue. Maybe lingerie? Was that too much to hope for? Probably. I pulled back the final piece of tissue and cold hard steel peeked out.

Dom’s present was death. I wanted to breathe but I couldn’t remember how. My lungs wouldn’t open properly. All I could do was sit icy still, not move, not even an inch in case I upset the thing in my lap. I tried again for a shallow breath but instead I gulped air and jerked the box.

He was watching. I could see his smile from the corner of my eye. He was looking all gooey, kind of soft and gentle and wearing a happy-with-himself grin. He still had no idea.

I wanted to blurt out,
How could you?
But I couldn’t take my eyes off the box, couldn’t even speak. He reached over and pulled away the last of the tissue, exposing the gun properly.

“Isn’t she beautiful? I bought her especially for you because she is so delicate and sweet, just like you. See, I even got W engraved on the side.”

I jumped up and sent the box bouncing, falling to the ground. Dom held the gun, looking at me with his arm dangling at his side, his mouth wide with shock. I was the one making the racket, screaming like a shrill thing. I just couldn’t stop. He was talking, saying something about deep breathing but I couldn’t make sense of the words. I was too far gone. I did stop in the end, though, I had to because I needed to lean over and throw up in the grass. I wretched and heaved, again and again, till there was nothing left in my stomach.

I moved away from him, away from my humiliation, walked till I found a safe spot in the grass to crumble into. I hugged my knees, eyes squeezed tight, rocking in misery.

He was there when I looked up. The gun was gone. “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t realise.” He hugged me hard and kissed my head and my arms and the back to my hair, everywhere he could reach.

“The gun’s away now. No more of that, I promise. I’m sorry, s
o
sorry. I didn’t read the signs properly. I was too worried about you, about your marriage and about that violent sod you call a husband. I wasn’t paying enough attention to your phobia. Can’t believe what I just did to you.”

I nodded.

“We’ll go back to the beginning. Not today though. Today we just talk.”

I lifted my head and tried for a weak smile. He rummaged through his carry-all and came back holding bottled water. “Here.”

I accepted the bottle and rinsed out my mouth before drinking. “You got anything to eat in there?” I wasn’t hungry but I desperately wanted that sick taste and smell to be gone.

“Yeah. Will an apple do?”

“An apple sounds good.”

I chomped right through the thing while he waited for me to finish. I’d thrown the core away before the questions began.

“Baby, what happened to you?”

I shrugged. “I’ve always hated guns, you know that.”

“Not like this, you haven’t.”

“You know what life is like, shit happens.”

“Can you talk about it?”

I thought about that for a moment. Could I talk about it? Probably could. I had to go back eighteen months this time . . .

“I got to Mum’s but Buttercup wasn’t there. Mrs Avery, Mum’s next door neighbour, had driven off with Buttercup about thirty minutes before and they were on their way out here to visit me. So I raced back over the gorge quick smart. I parked at the bottom of our driveway and walked up. I don’t know why I did that. I think I just wanted to check out what was going on here with me gone. How was Bruno treating my sister without me watching? I crept up the driveway and heard their voices. I peeked in through the living room window and that’s when I saw them.”

“Saw what?” Dom interrupted, his voice already sounding angry.

“Bruno had the end of his gun in Buttercup’s mouth. He was spinning the chamber round and round. Then Bruno yelled ‘bang’ and laughed. She laughed too. Of course, she never understood. She wouldn’t realise that he got a kick out of what he was doing, owning her, manipulating her, holding her life in his hands. He gets off on the power. I’m sure she didn’t understand the danger of the game.”

“He’s a sick, sadistic prick!”

I waved his anger away. “But what really worried me was Buttercup. The way she smiled when she saw me, like she knew she’d done something horribly wrong, and was pleased about it. It was like she wanted to upset me, to pay me back for something. Bruno didn’t look ashamed either. Far from it. He likes me to see the power he has over others.”

“I need to get you away from him.”

“Not yet.”

“For Christ’s sake. You can’t help Buttercup now. Staying won’t bring her back.”

I stood up and moved away. “I really don’t think he plans to kill me. Otherwise, I’d be dead already.”

He folded his arms. “Bruno’s losing control. His anger is escalating. One day soon he’s going to snap.”