In the early hours of the morning, when the sun has barely risen from its slumber, I wait until Brandon walks into our bedroom before letting my towel pool at my feet. His scent permeates the air, I don’t turn to him but I catch a passing glimpse of him in the mirror.

Dressed in a navy blue suit fitted to his body, he is ready for work. I let my hairbrush slide to the floor and squat to retrieve it, making sure to give him a full view of my ass. Our eyes meet in the mirror when I stand, he thrusts his hands into his pockets, offers me a smile. His tie is loose, I should help him with it but I can’t bring myself to move.

“Good morning, wife. How was your night?”

I set the brush to the table and finger comb my curls, loving the attention my naked back is attracting. Seconds roll by, I drape the towel on the chair and offer him a forced smile.

“Fine,” I reply. He loves my hair down so I put it up in a knot at the centre of my head.

The twitch of his eyebrows must have been imagined because his face is set in that cool mask I am accustomed to when I walk up to him. He tries to keep his gaze on my face as I sashay towards him with an extra sway of my hips but his eyes linger on my breasts, my erect nipples longer than they should have. When he realises I caught him staring, he clears his throat and I touch his multicoloured tie with a smile, he never knots it right.

“Thank you,” he says when I am done. I pat his shoulder, smiling at the work I did on his tie and his hand circles my wrist to stop me from leaving. “Are you going somewhere?”

Surrounded by his scent which drills a hole into the box of memories I tucked into my heart’s archive, a corner of my lips lifts. It is easy to lean into him for a hug, appreciate his presence, relish his touch and forget the things that have happened. I rotate my hand in his grasp, he lets go with a smile too fake to be considered a smile and I shrug.

My classes don’t start until two hours and I don’t have to be there but he doesn’t need to know that. I won’t pass on this opportunity to tease and frustrate him. “Yes, school.”

He nods. “Can I drop you off?”

His voice is small, he still doesn’t know I let Clarissa borrow the Audi. My lips press into a thin line, I shake my head and the sadness that blankets his face causes my insides to curl with self-loathe. Brandon sways like he is unable to support his weight, I reach out to steady him and he offers me a weak smile while resting his hands on my shoulders.

“Are you okay?” I ask when he straightens up, scanning his face for any signs I might have missed in my eagerness to punish him. He looks fine, he always does. “Brandon?”

“I’m okay,” he says with a nod, “a bit tired.”

At night when we were both in bed and he had called my name multiple times without a response, his arm slipped around my waist. I was awake, thankful to have his chest pressed to my back, for the warmth he unknowingly provided. When he shifted after I coughed, I was still wide-eyed. The absence of his touch felt like tiny needles on my skin, his frustrations, groans as he turned and tossed pricked me until I fell into a fitful sleep.

“Maybe you need a cup of coffee,” I say, willing the sad look in his eyes to evaporate.

The smile that graces his lips disappears as soon as it comes, I shift my weight to another foot. “Maybe.” He nods, his eyes fall on my chest. “Do you want another car?”

“No.” My brows crease, so do his. “No,” I say with more certainty. “I don’t want another car.” This man resembling my husband, I don’t understand him. His open vulnerability makes my heart ache. I feel guilty. “I’m fine with transporting myself with an Uber.”

A strangulating silence takes over the room, the initial burning desire to punish him ebbs and I let him hold my hand in silence before I start for the wardrobe. Confusion, hurt, anger, loneliness and so many unnameable emotions surge through me, I wipe a lone tear that slides down my cheek and push hangers aside. Why the hell am I crying?

“There’s a dinner after work, I have an extra ticket.” Brandon’s voice comes from far off, I nod, knowing what my answer will be. “Do you want to come? I want you to come.”

Time slows as he awaits my answer, I shake my head. “I can’t, I will be busy.” I don’t need to turn to know my reply hurt him, so I add, “Thanks for asking, some other time.”

I return to blindly sifting through the row of clothes, his voice laced with something new forces me out of my trance. “You are not wearing your ring, you stopped wearing it.”

Sunday was the last time I wore it, after our fight. Only two days. “You didn’t wear yours for a month and I never complained,” I say. Anger courses through me, my hands still on the clothes and I whisper more to myself, “Selfish man, you are a horrible husband.”

No retort, no comeback, I assume he didn’t hear me and take a step back to inspect the mini boutique in front of me. So many designer labels, yet nothing for me to wear.

A white dress catches my eyes, I pull it out and giggle at the scandalous neckline, the double slits. Knowing Brandon is watching, I slip into the gown without any panties and catwalk to retrieve a pair of flat sandals. He remains mute, his calculated gaze trained on me, at my swinging hips as I saunter into the bathroom to giggle and dump the towel.

On my return, Brandon is wiping the sweat off his brows, one hand in his pocket like he is trying to tame his disbelief. I head to the dresser to get my phone, take a few selfies. The iPhone rings, or, rather, the alarm I had set goes off, I end it and press the device to my ear, grabbing the first handbag I set sight on to make my departure more believable.

“Have a great day,” I mouth to Brandon and nod to the inaudible voice at the other end of the line. His arm snakes around my waist, he pulls me flush to himself. Bringing the phone away from my ear, I cast a furtive glance at the screen and say, “I’ll call you back.”

When the phone is in my handbag and I have schooled my face into an innocent mask, I say, “Are you okay?” The vein in his forehead threatens to pop, his jaw clenches. I run a finger over his lips, then place a kiss on his cheek. “Brandon, I have to go or I’ll be late.”

The shock etched on his face is amusing, I want to cover my mouth, bend over and laugh. I step out of his embrace, he arches a brow and allows a few seconds to pass.

“You are not going anywhere,” he says in a strangled voice. His eyes roam over me, I do a half spin and he chortles. “Not in this...this dress. It’s not even a dress, Elna. Please.”

And he’s right. This cover-up maxi dress with a plunging neckline that leaves half of my breasts in the open, slits high up to my belly button on each side it reveals an unsettling view of my crotch with any slight movement I make. It is best worn at the beach, on a bikini or with a bra and shorts. Or, in the privacy of our room, like now, no underwear.

But here I am, a married woman, standing a foot away from my husband, nipples poking through the translucent dress with a thin strip of material barely covering my vagina.

Putting one leg forward, I smoothen the front of his jacket like one would do to a genius child at a spelling bee and smile. “I don’t see the issue, what’s wrong with my dress?”

His fingers run through his scalp, he lets out a sigh like he can’t believe I am asking and I pout. “Everything, Elna.” His hand sweeps over my dress. “Every damn thing. Change.”

This conversation is dumb, my argument is void. “No,” I say. Folding my hands under my breasts, I chin up. “My body, my dress, my choice. I won’t change because you say so.”

“Your body?” he roars and undoes the single button of his coat while shaking his head. I stifle a giggle, this is the closest I’ve gotten to irritating him.”Your body belongs to me.”

Stumping my feet on the ground, a foreign emotion takes over me, I scream at him with more intensity, “Your body belongs to me too but it didn’t matter when you went off to the barbershop.” I must have looked a scene with the hairs falling over my face, head jerking and finger pointing at no one in particular. Brandon flinches, his eyes go cold, I take a deep breath and tackle my curls. “I will wear what I want, whenever I want.”

“Yes but not this,” he says in a flat tone and my anger hits a new high. “Not to school.”

Balling my hands into fists, I let a smile take over my lips. “Watch me.”

I spin on my heels but I never get to take another step forward because Brandon throws me over his shoulder. Bile rises to my throat at the abrupt view of the floor I get, my head spins and my fists connect with his muscled back in a pathetic plea for him to let me go. He spanks my ass, too hard it silences me and I am quiet for the rest of the walk.

The familiar door of the playroom comes into view, I scramble far away from him as soon as he dumps me on the bed, breasts spilling out. A lump lodges in my throat when he stalks towards me with a whip, I start shaking my head. I am not doing this with him.

“You will wear something else. Anything you like but this,” he says.

On another day, I might have been scared to oppose him. The cuffs in his hand might have done the trick of making me accept his order posed as a request. But not today.

“No.” Brandon climbs on the bed, cuffs my hands to the bedpost and grabs my chin, not so hard it hurts but hard enough for me to stay still. His fingers tease my entrance, I breathe out, “Rose.” His hand lowers to his side, a closed look takes over his face. “Rose.”