Housewife

The sound of joyous laughter echoed throughout the space, filling the air with an infectious energy. As I placed the platter of juicy, ripe fruits onto the table, the rich aroma of tobacco and musk filled my senses, sending shivers down my spine.

‘Ah, the corruption within the force is truly a godsend, my friends,’ One of Viktor’s boisterous companions exclaimed, his stout frame seated in the chair like a mountain and a crimson hue warming his chiselled features. His patchy hair was slicked back to obscure his bald spot, as he puffed on his cigarette before erupting into a vicious cough that made me flinch.

The man beside me chimed in, ‘Absolutely, those pigs will sell their souls for a fistful of cash. Despicable, really.’ His deep voice rumbled in agreement as he stole a fleeting glance at my cleavage. Hastily, I reached forward to snatch the empty tray just as our eyes met.

As I make my way towards the door, his lecherous stare follows me like a menacing shadow. Despite my best efforts, I cannot completely evade his unwanted attention. And just when I think I have escaped unscathed, an unsettling question stops me in my tracks.

‘Viktor, where did you get her?’ he jeers, his eyes roaming over me like a piece of meat. I flinch, my heart racing with dread. Viktor meets my gaze and I see something sinister lurking beneath his usually suave exterior.

‘She’s a Nowak,’ he smirks, his voice dripping with malice. ‘I married her for a pretty penny.’ My stomach churns with disgust at his callous words.

But this is not the worst of it. Each year, Viktor’s advances grow bolder, more invasive. His revolting touches and crude comments threaten to break me. I have often struggled with suicidal thoughts in the past, the emotional trauma of his abuse is unbearable.

Despite all the evidence, nobody seems to believe me or help me escape from the clutches of this vile predator.

As the victim, I summoned the courage to speak out against the man who had brazenly violated me – my own husband.

But the callous response I received from those around me was overwhelming, a demand for an absurd number of corroborating witnesses and photographic evidence before they could even consider my pain.

The final straw came when I saw his smug expression as if he had somehow outsmarted me. His words – ‘I didn’t do it, she’s a liar’ – served as a callous slap in the face. And just like that, everyone around me believed him, absolving him of any wrongdoing. I felt like a mere commodity like I was nothing more than the sum of the number of people who stood by my side.

It was a weighty burden to bear, and one that only fueled my anger and rage towards him.

‘With a posterior like that, one would expect her to have the whole package, but her intelligence falls short.’ He chuckles, delivering a sharp slap to my ass, causing me to yelp as the room erupts in laughter. My eyes narrow, fixed on his smug expression as he doubles over in amusement. In that moment, my mind envisions a more satisfying outcome – his body lying lifeless on the ground, his blood pooling beneath him.

Now that would be a comedic relief.

With a white-knuckled grip on the tray, I resist the urge to act on my violent impulses. Harnessing my fury, I swiftly walk away from the table with the flames of anger consuming me.

As I slowly allow consciousness to seep in, I find myself staring into the abyss of darkness. The moon’s gentle rays sneakily peek through the thick maroon curtains, casting a surreal glow around my room.

My nerves are on high alert, my body tensed as I scan my surroundings for any sudden movements. A deep sigh escapes my lips, releasing the tension in my shoulders. Running my hand through my thick curls, I attempt to calm the unsettling memories that have resurfaced once again.

Viktor’s face flashes before my eyes, a relentless reminder of all the bad moments. There were no good times to reminisce on with that wretched man. It’s been eight long months since I last dreamt about him. But here he was again, haunting my thoughts and refusing to let go.

At first, the memories were unbearable, as if Viktor’s shadow was hanging over me, taunting my every move. The panic attacks were paralyzing, rendering me helpless as I fought off the chilling sensation of his presence.

Despite the unspeakable horror of it all, there was not a shred of remorse within me for ending his wretched life and putting on a false show of mourning. As I watched his lifeless body disappear six feet under, a wicked smile crept across my face.

It’s a troubling realization to face, but my mind has always been prone to dark and violent thoughts. I can’t help but fear myself and the gruesome images that play out in my head.

Gingerly, I slipped my feet onto the icy cold marble floor and pulled myself out of bed. It’s no use trying to fall back asleep now – my thoughts won’t allow it.

It’s been a week since I last laid eyes upon Saint. Though I am somewhat relieved to be free from his oppressive presence, a small part of me yearns to see him again. I try to dismiss such notions, but they persistently resurface.

Anxiety and vexation consumed me as I grasped the doorknob and emerged into the silence and shadows of the house. My temporary home was with Abel and his perceptive wife, Nirali – a woman of few words but significant observations. Despite my uncommunicative nature, she welcomed me to stay until Saint returned from who-knows-where.

My feet halt at the sight of the kitchen’s flickering light, urging me to venture closer. And there she stands, a magnificent vision donned in a flowing white lace nightgown that molds perfectly to her slender frame, her dark ink hair cascading down her back in a mesmerizing wave.

‘Nirali?’ I whisper, momentarily taken aback by her beauty. She whirls around, startled, and meets my gaze with an endearing yet cautious expression.

With sincere regret and a charming grin, I apologize for my intrusion. ‘My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘Can’t sleep?’ she muses, her delicate tone tinged with an Indian inflection.

I shake my head, rousing from my slumber. ‘I only just woke up,’ I admit.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she retrieves a bottle of crisp, white wine and places it on the marble counter. Moving with effortless grace, she procures two delicate wine glasses before joining me at the bar.

Nirali is a breathtakingly beautiful being, possessing a unique charm that sets her apart from any other. Her most striking feature is undoubtedly her skin, which bears delicate, white patches thanks to her rare condition, vitiligo.

Her face, a canvas of contrasting hues – stark white patches like fine brushstrokes on a tapestry of warm brown. Her brows, lush and full, lend an air of intensity to her doe-like, enigmatic eyes. Her lips, wide and plump, seem to promise secrets with every flicker of a smile. And she wears her freckles like stars, with milky white dots trailing down her neck and arm, leading my eyes up to the generous swell of her chest. Even now, as she towers over me, her 5’7′ frame casts a spell of fascination that holds me captive.

‘What woke you?’ Her voice is soft, a silky meander through the depths of the night. ‘I dreamed of my husband. The one who passed away.’ The words limp from my lips, disoriented by the tangled maze of emotions they bring.

She takes the wine bottle, an offering to soothe the heart. The ruby-hued liquid glints in the dim light, a beacon of hope in the shadow of grief. She pours, slowly, filling the glasses to half full.

‘Does it happen often?’ Her voice carries a note of empathy, a shared understanding of loss.

As I gazed at her, I pondered how innocent she was to the dark and twisted tale of Viktor’s demise. My mind was swirling with the horrors of that fateful night, yet she remained blissfully unaware.

With a graceful gesture, I lifted the wine glass to my lips, savouring the rich aroma and flavour. She mirrors my actions, her eyes closing briefly in delight.

Then, with a sultry flick of her tongue, she spoke the words that sent chills down my spine.

‘Well, I guess he’s haunting you.’

Despite the eerie undertones of her words, I couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘Why are you still up?’ I asked, curious about her sudden appearance.

‘Abel is gone, and I can’t find sleep without him,’ she admitted, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her voice.

As I listened to her, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. ‘What do you mean you can’t sleep without him?’ I queried, my mind racing with possibilities.

Nirali inhales deeply, her delicate fingers sweeping a strand of hair behind her ear as she looks up at me with hope shining in her eyes. After a moment of hesitation, she confides, ‘I’m not quite ready to share my troubles with anyone else but Abel.’ She caresses a trembling hand over her heart, her gaze distant as she admits, ‘Nightmares and insomnia are an unwelcome duo that has been tormenting me.’ Pausing for a deep breath, she continues, ‘When Abel is away, sleep evades me and I spend the night tossing and turning. But when he is with me, my mind finally quiets, and I can finally rest.’

I take a thoughtful sip of my wine and nod in understanding to show my support as she speaks. ‘Abel truly loves and cares for you,’ I whisper softly, the words carrying the weight of truth.

‘It’s funny how different people can be,’ Nirali muses. ‘He’s always been patient and kind with me, even when I was too scared to speak to him for months. He never pushed me or made me feel uncomfortable, but rather respected my boundaries and gave me space.’

“Three months!” I exclaim and she nods.

While he embodies the virtue of patience, Saint is the embodiment of impatience.

Her words spark curiosity in me. ‘How long have you known him?’ I inquire eagerly.

‘Seven years,’ she answers, her eyes glowing with fond memories. ‘And he’s been my rock through every obstacle life has thrown my way. He always puts others before himself, without ever expecting anything in return.’

I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy for her perfect relationship. ‘When did he propose?’ I ask, hoping to glean even more insights about their love story.

‘Four years after we met. We’ve been married for three years now,’ she reveals, beaming with happiness.

I can’t help but compare her fairy tale romance to my own situation.

‘I’ve only been married to Saint for two weeks, but it feels like a lifetime,’ I confide in her.

Nirali doesn’t judge me or dismiss my struggles. Instead, she encourages me to be patient and understanding. ‘Give him time,’ she advises.

‘Sometimes, the best things in life take a while to unfold.’

But I know deep down that my husband is different. ‘Not with him. The man is a psychopath,’ I declare, feeling a wave of resentment wash over me.

‘True, it’s a rare sight, Saint showing any form of emotion,’ Nirali observed, and a laugh escaped me. ‘Saint’s smiles are like hidden treasures, not for many to witness,’ I replied. Nirali’s eyes widened in amazement. ‘You’ve witnessed it?!’ she exclaimed. ‘Well, not the kind that warms your soul,’ I confessed. Nirali brushed it off, ‘Who cares? You’ve seen him smile, that’s something Abel’s been trying to achieve forever. But ever since he-‘ she hesitated, realizing her mistake. I was left puzzled and prodded, ‘Ever since he what?’ but Nirali clamped up, regretting her slip of the tongue.

Nirali squirms restlessly in her chair, each passing moment adding to the thick cloak of discomfort hanging between us. Suddenly, the once-pleasant vibe has vanished. In its place, an eerie silence looms over us.

I can’t help but narrow my eyes in suspicion.

There’s no denying it – this family is hiding something, something ominous and unsettling. I can feel it in the air like a looming specter just waiting to pounce. The thought of uncovering their secrets fills me with a sense of dread I can’t quite shake.

‘Tell me, how much do you know of Saint Nirali?’ I probe, hoping to unveil some answers.

‘I know very little, only what Abel has shared with me. And honestly, I’m worried about you, Irena,’ Nirali admits honestly.

Despite my trepidation, I take a sip of my wine, hoping it will quell my unease. But it’s no use – questions continue to parade through my mind like a twisted carnival.

What secrets are they hiding?

What sinister plans do my uncles have for me?

Have they truly handed me over to the devil himself?