Diaries of the Perfect Wife Part 2

"Switch off the lights honey," said Rowland from across the kingsize bed we lay on.

I shudder in fear at the sound of the shrewd voice that haunts my dreams and threatens my sanity, still trembling I reached for the bed stand and was soon enveloped in darkness.

I couldn't sleep. I look at the wall clock and its past 2 a.m, Rowland is stretched out across the bed like a bear in heat and I'm left clutching the bedsheets for support. It's normal. It's better I get as much sleep I can before he wakes up. I drift off soon.

I feel a hard nudge on my upper arm and I get tensed immediately, so many questions running through my mind "Is he awake? Am I in trouble? Oh my God, did I wake up late?"

"Get up and get me breakfast honey", says Rowland as he yawns and leans in for a kiss, which I give in to, lest I get him angry. He stares at me for a moment and runs his thumb over the cut above my left eye, a strange emotion hovers on his face as he continues his assessment, running his thumb across my swollen left eye, my cheek, my cut lower lip, my torn ear hole... the list is too long.

"You fell into the gutter at your friend's place, right?", grunts Rowland a bit too calmly.

My lip is quivering, I'm scared as hell, I nod quickly.

He smiles, "That's my baby girl," he kisses my forehead for what seems like ages and he releases me.

I wince as I get up, he looks up suddenly and I'm immediately chastised as I limp soundlessly towards the door and into the kitchen.

As I search the kitchen drawers for pots and pans, my mind reverts six years behind to when I met Rowland. He was the most handsome man on planet Earth, with a body to die for and a face that would put Mr. Universe to shame. He was everything I wanted, everything I needed, perfect in so many ways; he could cook, clean, pamper and he was filthy rich. What else could a girl ask for?

We connected on so many levels, he was my soulmate. Our relationship was like wildfire, we were inseparable and like every other couple, we got married; unluckily for me, time would tell that all I did was make grave mistake.

Few months into our marriage, Rowland started acting strangely. He would claim I was cheating on him and sometimes get into terrible mood swings that usually ended up with me thoroughly beaten and "chastised" as he called it.

I'm shocked out of my reverie by an unannounced presence in the kitchen.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?", screams Rowland from the kitchen door. He strides angrily towards me as I cower backwards in fear.

I limp clumsily towards him, he reaches out and grabs me.

He regards me "lovingly".

"Why do you love me?", asks Rowland as he tucks in stray strands of my hair out of sight. He tightens his hold around my neck and leans in, harshly inhales my face and lower jaw slowly, he lets out a deep rugged breath and repeats his questions, emphasizing each word.
"Why do you love me, angel?"

" I...I... love you... you...be... " I jump suddenly as Rowland's fist hits the wall beside my cheek, just hairbreadths from my face. He hisses sharply and gives me a menacing look.

"First aid kit", he orders, I run like a little child whose father returned from war to the bathroom, I run past the bathroom and stop dead, I backslide till I am in front of the mirror and I stare back at myself, my clothes hang loosely from my shoulder, my hair is a disheveled mess, why am I bleeding from my cheek? I look haunted. I'm jerked back from oblivion by the muffled grunts of Rowland in the bedroom. I'm back to his side in breakneck speed.

He snatches the box from my hands, taking few bits of my skin with him, I wince, but who cares. He regards me with distaste after he's done treating himself and thrusts the box at me, I take it and disappear from the room, unnoticed as always. Breakfast is long forgotten now.

I can hear screams and whimpers from the nursery beside our bedroom. I rush towards the room but not before I get a glimpse of the dark scowls Rowland was sending my way, I still go, it's my child involved...

I limp towards the crib and pick out my bundle of joy, I fondle and coo at him. He giggles and my face spreads in joy. I keep making funny faces at him, to which he laughs, and so do I.
Rowland Jnr.,  was adopted at the age of three months. I thought he was an angel, I still do. I remember my first meeting with him. It was beautiful, he was the one to heal my pains.

I'm tensed immediately, as I feel a presence at the door. Rowland strolls into the room angrily and lungs at me, but I dodge skillfully whilst dropping baby Rowland into his cot. I run out of the room as fast as my legs can carry me, he chases me as fast, screaming out vile words while I'm pleading and promising heaven and earth to placate him.

I run into the kitchen and just as I'm about to shut the door. He pushes the door open and the force lands me painfully my butt. I scramble away in apprehension. He bends over, lifts me and flings me at the gas cooker.

A loud crack sound fills the kitchen as hipbone collides with hard metal. I scream out like a veteran with a sore head, landing was the worst. Rowland comes to me and lifts me effortlessly from the tiled floor. He calls me a dirty slut and drags me across the kitchen towards the living room. I let him, I have no strength to fight.

We reach the parlor. I can't feel my legs, my waist, my face. I'm numb. I can feel Rowland tearing off my clothes, I'm nauseated. And I go.

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