Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Not wanting to dwell on that, I pull off the covers to make the bed. It’s only then that I notice the hundred-rand note neatly tucked underneath the box of diamonds on the nightstand. My chest constricts, something ugly overriding any physical satisfaction I derived from taking that risky plunge.
The money shouldn’t make me feel cheap. I know my value. Yet a voice in the back of my head whispers that I sold myself. I can’t deny that I sold my body in exchange for Leon’s silence. No matter what decent term Leon prefers to call it, sex worker or wife, I have become a whore. Slapping a less derogative title on it doesn’t change what I am. There’s no point in hiding behind denial. All that’s left to do is take the money and add it to my slowly growing stash. I earned it with my body. It buys my humiliation and degradation. It may as well—hopefully, one day—buy my freedom.
It hits me then.
I’m turning into my mother. I’m slowly but surely letting my new life take root, growing into a lonely and undervalued person. I’m growing into the very life I wanted to save my mom from.
How ironic.
I suppose this is exactly what Leon wanted when he planned his revenge, to turn me into arm candy, a nobody who doesn’t matter. I underestimated him. His heart is even colder than what I thought. How foolish of me. This is so much worse than how I thought it would be. Not only are we bound by our hatred, but we’re also bound by our silence. I can’t talk about last night, about his drinking, and he won’t talk about this morning, about me trying to kiss him. We’ll grow old in this silence, ignoring the issues that matter and pretending they don’t hurt.
At least I won’t be dependent on him for money. It would’ve been so much more humiliating if I had to rely on him for material necessities too, living in someone else’s house on someone else’s money. The only way to survive is to build a life for myself outside of these walls, a life where Leon can’t touch me. Work will have to become my escape.
The doorbell pulls me from my depressing thoughts. I cross the floor and answer the intercom that’s fixed to the wall.
“Hi, Violet. It’s Zelda. Are you busy?”
“No,” I say, grateful that I’m already dressed, because I can do with some female company. “Come in. I’m on my way down.”
I push the button to open the pedestrian gate and go down the stairs as fast as I can, which is slow by average standards. After last night’s uncomfortable position, I’m very aware of my aches and the strain every step puts on my hip.
When I open the door, Zelda stands on the doorstep with a basket of rusks in one hand and a bunch of orange daisies in the other. She’s wearing cutoffs and a yellow T-shirt with a bright red sun in the center. Her ankle boots are paired with orange and yellow striped knee-highs.
She shoves the gifts at me. “I baked the rusks.” Her smile is crooked. “I haven’t been to the shops yet, so I picked the flowers on the pavement.”
“Thank you.” I step aside for her to enter. “This is so kind of you. Would you like some coffee? I was just going to make a fresh pot.”
She walks inside and looks around while bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Nice decorations. Very ethnic.”
I lead the way to the kitchen while she follows.
“I’ll just put these in water,” I say, leaving the basket and the flowers on the table.
She plops down in a chair. “I wanted to check on you to make sure you’re okay after last night.”
My laugh is uncomfortable. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
“I’m also here to apologize in case it seemed as if I was snooping. Sam and I just happened to be outside. We were up late, talking. When I saw the state of your husband, I was worried about you.”
I open and close cupboards, looking for a vase. “You really don’t have to explain. If anyone should apologize, it’s me.”
“Are you kidding?” She jumps up and walks to the cupboard next to me. “Why should you say sorry for something Leon did?” Going on tiptoes, she takes a vase from the top of the shelf. “Here. This is what you’re looking for.”
My cheeks heat as I take the vase. It’s obvious I don’t know my way around the kitchen. I hide my embarrassment by turning to the tap and filling the vase with water. “I guess it doesn’t say much about me if my husband goes out to get drunk on our honeymoon.” Not that it’s a real honeymoon, but that’s what it must look like from the outside.