Chapter3

Liam sat across the table from me; unlike Oliver’s casual take, he now picked at my fingers one by one, cleaning them with an almost obsessive precision. “I made this.” He pushed the bowl and chopsticks toward me. “Try it.” I stared at him. A few days of interaction had been enough for me to read this man—his dominance was carved into his bones. I had no doubt that if I said I didn’t like something, he would clamp my chin and force it into me. After all, this was Liam’s ‘own’ cooking. He served so fast that I barely had a chance to move. I secretly buried the carrots I hated under the rice, but he saw through it in one glance. “Eat another half bowl.” He dumped the bowl where I’d hidden the food, refilled half a bowl, and pushed it back with a tone that allowed no argument. I took the bowl and wrinkled my nose. This man was a control freak. Five days. I endured five whole days and finally Oliver came back. Morning light filtered through the curtains; Oliver sat up in bed with a face pale enough to alarm me—he had looked perfectly healthy last night when he was ‘Liam.’ “There’s a smell under the bed.” I said. Oliver knelt to check; when his eyes fell on that moldy patch of pale porridge under the bed, his whole body stiffened. After a long silence I said softly, “That night I thought it tasted bad, so I dumped it.” If he hadn’t turned into ‘Liam’ that night, he wouldn’t have forgotten the porridge he gave me. My nails dug into my palm, waiting for him to say something—about Liam, about this damned secret. Oliver’s hand on the floor showed veins standing out, knuckles white from gripping too hard. In the end he only rasped, “It’s fine. I’ll deal with it.” “Oliver.” I took a deep breath. “We’ll go to the hospital tomorrow, okay?” “No.” His refusal came too fast, almost cutting me off in mid-sentence. I clenched the bedsheet and then suddenly let go— Smack! A slap landed hard across Oliver’s left cheek; a red handprint blossomed on his face. “When did you get so cowardly?” my voice shook. “Your wife is being violated and you don’t say a word? Or did you arrange all of this yourself?” Oliver knelt there, silent as a wall. Rage burned through my reason. Smack! The second slap hit his right cheek. "I want a divorce." Each word was like a knife. "I'm sick of sleeping with a stranger, sick of your lies. About your past, your secrets, you fucking tell me nothing!" Oliver suddenly lunged and wrapped me in his arms so hard my ribs ached. “I’m sorry, I’ll tell you everything...”