This chapter is dedicated to KLNHeartbreaker97 who may have been my very first reader on WP and who also left the first comment on "Living With The Choices We Make". I appreciate your support and dedication :)

This chapter picks up the day after chapter 2 where Charlotte went onto the shopping spree and met her old friend Mikey at the mall (who also gave her the weed :) It is republished from draft I and has undergone minor editing.

22 - Honey, I'm Home

Charlotte's POV

The sound of the Latin American song floats through the kitchen and I can't help but sway along, softly humming to the chorus. It's Spanish and the singer claims that the girl is the one he loves. I mildly smile at the notion. Love - it is something I had given up on until I met Tivon. Now, I can almost taste happiness, feeling like a silly teenager who is having her first crush. 

I chop away at the vegetables for the stir fry, my mouth already watering when I imagine the blend of ginger and soy sauce on my lips. Ryan hates non-American food and I take advantage to cook something special for myself anytime he leaves town. He is still up in Chicago, battling to get the truth out of Rena about Noah's whereabouts. I can't wait for my grandson to come and stay with us, the thought of having a small toddler around day in and day out jolts at my heart.

Life was cruel by tearing two sons away from me and I will make sure to do right this time by this little boy. His smile and cute dimples remind me so much of Brent when he had been a baby. Noah is truly the spitting image of his father. There is a bit of Rena in him, too, especially that stubborn frown when he doesn't get his way. This is be one character trait that Ryan would surely beat out of him if given the chance. He hates this type of impertinence in Rena. 

What he doesn't know is that he will soon outlive his purpose - when the custody order is final, I will divorce him. The papers are already drawn up and in a safe in Tivon's office, waiting to be filed with the court. It was the one compromise I had to make after the Thanksgiving holiday to keep his dad and Hannah at bay - and I gladly made  it.

I spin around on the kitchen floor on my way to the fridge, the hems of my oversized nightshirt bouncing up and down to the rhythm of the music. This week has been a good week. First, we got temporary custody on Monday and then Ryan extended his stay to handle matters personally. For all I know, he could be gone for another week - it will be like heaven.

The weather is great and my secret credit card is still below its limit; I am planning on shopping for Noah later since I didn't find everything I wanted at the mall yesterday. It will only be a little bit longer before Ryan cracks Rena - he always gets his way with people when he puts his mind to it. Young Miss Cooper is no match for him.

When I stick my head into the fridge to get the chicken, the nape of my neck tingles and a shudder runs through me. A set of eyes burns in my back and I don't need to turn around to know who it is. This will be so bad.

He clears his throat. "Honey, I'm home."

I close my eyes and feverishly think of an excuse why I am running around half naked with the house being in total shambles. The dishes are still in the sink from this morning's breakfast and the counter is messy from my dinner inspirations. The belt will be a definite but probably not all.

He turns off the radio and the kitchen is left in deadly silence. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Deciding to face him, I straighten and find him standing next to the counter a few feet away. His eyes are dark like the sky during a raging storm. My gaze comes to rest on his hands which are balled to angry fists.

"I-I..." Cold sweat forms on my forehead. "I'm really glad you're home."

He snickers with so much venom that it makes me cringe. "Seriously, Charlotte?" He takes a step forward and I practically crawl inside the fridge. "Is this lie the best you can come up with?" Another step in my direction and my mind screams 'run', but my legs are paralyzed. "Don't I at least get an apology that you practically destroyed my house?"

"I-I...." My mouth is dry like sandpaper. "I was going to clean that up."

My eyes are fixed on the tips of his shoes which slowly edge forward.

"Sure you were." His voice oozes with sarcasm. "There's no doubt on my mind that the house would have been spotless by the time you actually expected me home." He finally stops right in front of me, his words no louder than a whisper. "Say Charlotte, how long has this been going on?"

It's a rhetorical question and I am wise enough to keep my mouth shut. Any word of explanation or opposition will only enrage him further.

He jumps into his typical lecturing mode, stomping around in the kitchen. I have heard it all before - at least a hundred times. How embarrassing I am, that neighbors or the postman or God only knows who could stop by the house at any moment and be welcomed by a total slut who is parading around in inappropriate clothing. All this would be damaging to his reputation and career. What would people think of him if his wife couldn't even get the basics right and was a total slob on top of that?

At some point, my mind drifts off, checking that I didn't leave any evidence of last night's fantasy endeavor behind in the bedroom. My stomach is tight in knots, my heart racing in the back of my throat. If Ryan finds out what I have been doing behind his back, he will probably beat me to death. Any form of self-gratification is an absolute no-go for him - he firmly believes that only deranged women would engage in this type of behavior.

The candy bars and sweets are hidden again under the floor board in the closet and all ashes from the joint that Mikey gave me were disposed of in the toilet. The room has hopefully being aired out long enough to get rid of the hint of smoke that was still lingering this morning. My favorite porn DVD is back on the shelve in the cover of 'Gone With The Wind' - a movie Ryan wouldn't watch if his life depended on it. I should be in the clear.

"Charlotte, are you even listening to me?"

The malice in his voice temporarily clenches my chest. "Of course, honey." My eyes stay glued to the floor. "You were telling me how dreadful these Jehovah's Witnesses are who just walk aimlessly around the neighborhood, getting into everybody's business."

It has been his latest pet peeve and he has been raging about the religious followers for months now. Hopefully, he hasn't moved on to a new hate group or I would be screwed.

A short grumble confirms that I hit the jackpot and I exhale, thanking my lucky stars.

"So..." He pauses and I know my punishment will be next. "What do you think I should do to you?"

Preferably nothing, but there is no chance in hell for that. I stay quiet, not moving an inch. Any fight or flight would be futile and only make things worse.

He strolls over and halts in front of me, his fingers entangling in my long hair. With one sharp jolt, he forces me to look at him. His fingers run alongside my cheek before tracing my lips. "Why, Charlotte?" He sighs. "Why can't you just behave like a normal wife and not make me angry all the time?"

I bite my trembling lip, the tears having long dried up. After twenty six years of marriage, feeling the belt was an almost daily occurrence. There is always something I say or do that gets him going and if I'm not the culprit, someone else sets him off, but I feel his anger regardless.

"I'm so sorry, Ryan. I swear it'll never happen again." The words flow mechanically from my mouth without any emotion. They won't make any difference and we both know it.

"Do you think you deserve to be punished?"

I nod repeatedly since this is what is expected of me. It's his game that I have learned to play over the years. The more submissive I am, the less pain I will feel in the end.

"How about the belt? Do you want me to get it?"

My head bobs up and down like one of those bobblehead toys. Just as usual, I am terribly sick to my stomach, my breath so shallow that I'm amazed my knees haven't buckled yet.

His eyes scan the kitchen with a deep wrinkle on his forehead. "And when I'm done, I expect you to clean up this shit and cook me something decent." His hand sweeps over the counter, sending the board with the vegetable strips flying. "I was going to take you out, but you don't deserve being rewarded, and I'm not going to eat some Gook food."

He storms out, his steps echoing through the reception as he runs up the stairs. I squat down next to the mess on the floor, my fingers gathering up the vegetable pieces in a pile. A few tears drip down my chin and I wipe my face with my palm. The anticipation of the upcoming ordeal sends shock waves through my body.

The shattering of glass just before the loud shout freezes every part of me. My hand clutches my mouth to suppress the shrilling cry when I realize it must have been the bottle. How could I have been so stupid to forget? Ryan doesn't tolerate alcohol around the house under any circumstances, but the Baileys had just been too tempting. 

His curses hollow through the house and I am sure he is going to beat me to a pulp. My body propels automatically forward, getting out of the house and away from him the only thought left on my mind. I dart to the backdoor, my fingers frantically turning the key. I rattle the door, but it doesn't open.

Tears blur my vision as I battle with the key to no avail. It finally dawns on me that I have been turning it into the wrong direction and the lock finally clicks when I focus my full attention on the task. The chain is next, but my hands shake so hard that I can't even get a grip. Ryan's voice is coming closer and he is fuming - this will be my last chance to get away.

The door finally swings open and I run out on the porch. My bare feet stumble on the steps and I fall, my knee scraping the gravel. Pain shoots up my thigh and I whimper. Glancing over my shoulder, my heart skips a beat - Ryan is standing in the doorway, watching me intently. A small smile curls on his lips, he is enjoying the hunt. The belt hangs loosely from his right hand, the fingers of his left one enclose tightly the handle of the broom. It is his most vicious weapon after the fire poker.

My legs develop a mind on their own and carry me forward towards the shed in the garden. For a second, I consider screaming for help to alert my neighbors, but Ryan would kill me if they called the police again. I tried this stunt years ago which ended in my hospitalization for three months and Ryan receiving a reprimand at work. When he was through with me in the end, I was glad I had teeth left to chew. He had made it abundantly clear that I would not be so lucky next time.

The grass is still wet from the night as I push forward, the shed closing in. He isn't in any kind of a rush and is just toddling off the porch. I pant, my heart racing so fast that it just seems one continuous beat. For a second, I catch my breath when dark spots dance in front of my eyes. My knee throbs with every step, my shirt clinging to my back.

He whistles softly a children's lullaby while he is approaching, it is the same one I used to sing to Brent at night after he had been beaten by his father. Ryan's eyes burn like deadly coals, his teeth exposed in an ugly grin.

"Run, Charlotte, run because it won't be pretty when I'll catch you." His words are a low hiss, just loud enough for me to hear.

My legs carve in and I crawl forward on my hands and knees, hot tears falling into the grass. I gasp for air as I slowly close the gap towards safety, defending the bit of an existence I have left with everything I got. I finally reach the shed and slam the door shut behind me, reaching on my tiptoes for the keys on top of the door frame. My fingers fumble for nothing, all that's up there is dust and spider webs.

When the door is forced open, I fall hard on my butt and wince. Ryan takes up the entire door frame, towering over me like a messenger of wrath. When he leaps forward, his hand encloses my throat and I struggle for air when he lifts me up without any effort, pinning me against the wall.

"Now you even smuggle alcohol into the house behind my back." His voice chills every fiber in my body. "That is totally unacceptable after what happened to Jared."

My legs kick into emptiness while I fight for air. My lungs burn and the blood in my ears mixes with my hammering heartbeat. His lips move, but I cannot hear him any longer, all my brain screams for is oxygen.

I choke and when my eyes threaten to pop from my sockets, he finally releases me and my body drops to the ground. I cough and splutter while my mouth and nose automatically suck in the much needed air until my ragged breath evens.

I squint at him, wanting to set one matter straight, even if he killed me for it. "I wasn't the one drunk the night he died."

He pales, his eyes reduced to small slits. "What did you just say?"

My brain refuses to repeat the words, my instinct of survival finally taking over. A gag is forced into my mouth, muffling my screams and pleas when he decides to have a go at me. My torment seems to be going on for an eternity, the belt eating into my skin over and over before the tip of the broom handle crushes into my ribcage. When there is nothing left in the world but raging pain, pounding mercilessly through every inch of my body, I finally give up and surrender myself to the coldness of the dark.

So the first chapter back in the present and Ryan shows once again what he is capable of. Hopefully, he hasn't gone to far this time and Tivon's worst nightmare is coming true.

Ryan also showed in this chapter the full extent of what he is capable of. As psychologist, he enjoys the emotional torture with his little cat and mouse game just as much as the beating. Please leave comments (feel free to rant and rage) and even though this chapter was hard to read, I would appreciate a vote if it deserved it.

The next edited chapter will be already posted on Friday - we will be back at the jail, finding out how Rena is holding up. Thanks for reading and hopefully, see you then.