Page 4

Willow

The bitter cold of the January afternoon was a harsh contrast to the warmth of Jack’s Jaguar. The irony that the current weather was a reflection of my life. It was draining, managing a facade and the real thing.

On the metro, I held onto the pole closest to the door, my music on shuffle blasting through my headphones, allowing my mind to wander. Like every homeward commute, fear automatically seeped through my pores, wondering and preparing myself for what waited for me at home.

After seven years together, I stupidly hoped that he’d be thrilled to see me after a long day at work, maybe have a glass of wine as I walked through the door or to have dinner ready. I was realistic enough to know that would never happen and I pitied myself for holding out hope.

Cain worked for an estate agency in Kenton, a few blocks away from the home we rented.

Since the pandemic, he’d been working from home unless he was attending property viewings or finalising contracts.

Jack and Mike had offered a similar set-up, but I’d opted to visit the office as soon as the first lockdown was lifted, grateful to have the opportunity to get out the house.

It meant I was out of his control for at least eight hours a day, but it didn’t stop him from frequent check-ups, though.

The metro slowed for every stop, then sped up as it departed.

I could drive. I’d passed just after my eighteenth birthday, and the office had plenty of spaces, but Cain had staked his claim on the household car, refusing to share.

I’d consequently grown fond of public transport or walking everywhere.

My commute meant I’d be in the house as little as possible and pretend my reality wasn’t my reality as much as possible.

You’d think this could be a bad thing, but for every spiral I’d send myself down there was an internal battle to stay alive, to protect myself.

It hadn’t always been like this. I used to be happy, we used to be happy.

I lived freely, laughing without restraint and making decisions on a whim depending on my mood.

We met in the final months of my third year of university.

He was the admin for my student accommodation and helped when my key snapped in the door.

I was bowled over by the dark hair and piercing green eyes.

Feeling the metro slow for a final time, I glanced at the digital sign confirming my stop. I hopped off and sloped up the stairs to the main street. The light was fading quickly for 4:30 p.m., the streetlights flicked on as I passed them, providing a warm glow to the otherwise-shadowed street.

I traipsed through the grounds of a mental health hospital.

As a child, I’d been warned of the horrors inside, the dangerous patients, terrifying innocent young Willow.

Over time, the horror stories lost their power, and I could walk through the grounds unafraid of the monsters hiding.

After all, I had one waiting for me at home.

Twenty minutes later, I turned onto the corner of the typical British street.

Three bed, semi-detached homes with walled front gardens and driveways filled with a car or two.

Most windows glowed with the warmth of a loving resident inside, dinners being eaten, homework being completed or television being watched.

It was now completely dark with only street lights to light the path. I crossed the street and walked up to the large hedge, perfectly manicured by our retired neighbours. It blocked the view of the main street from our bay window.

I pushed my shoulders back to feign confidence and took a deep breath before stepping forward and rounding the hedge wall into our driveway.

Glancing towards the bay window enclosing the living room, I found exactly what I’d expected – a slight glow from the lamp at the back of the room and curtains parted with the tall slender figure of my boyfriend. He was encased in shadows, but I knew his beady eyes were watching each step I took.

I placed my key in the lock, turning until it clicked. Before I could grab the handle, the door snapped open, and Cain glared at me. The porch light lit every feature I avoided thinking about.

Dark hair, his fringe permanently gelled cleanly to the side. He was pale with a five o’clock shadow that added a grey tinge to his skin.

He wore a white open-collared shirt, his silver chain necklace peeking through, and grey trousers. He had a slender figure, his clothes wearing him, not the other way around.

Despite his harsh gaze, I forced my breathing to remain calm and stepped over the threshold, pushing past him. Shutting the door, he was silent as I removed my coat and bag. He stayed in the doorway with his arms crossed, taking up as much space as possible.

“You took your time.” His voice was eerily calm. The calm before a storm, laced with threat. Cain had a faint Geordie lilt to his voice, like he was trying to push away from his northern identity, like he felt better than that .

I ignored him, turning away from him past the stairs into the kitchen at the back of the house. He followed my movement, leaving less than a metre as if he expected my next step.

“I said you too—” he raised his voice.

“I heard what you said, Cain,” I interrupted nonchalantly making my way round the kitchen to the fridge to take out the chicken I’d marinated last night.

“There’s no news. I had meetings and came home.

It takes over an hour to get home, especially in rush hour.

” I wasn’t wrong, it did. What he didn’t know was the long commute was an avoidance tactic.

“So you say,” he snarled. “I’ve been waiting. Dinner isn’t ready.” He unhelpfully pointed out the obvious as I turned the hob on.

I sighed. He’d been capable of cooking in the early years, but now it was something to hold against me.

“Well, Cain, I don’t know what to say.” Suddenly, he was behind me, pressing his front into my back, my hip bones pressing into the hard countertop, his fingers piercing the skin on my waist.

“Oh, I think you do. Why don’t you share, Willow?”

As he said my name, his fingers pressed harder. I clamped my eyes shut as pain radiated through my flesh and hip.

“I-I was going to say, I-I’m ma-making food now. It w-won’t take long.”

I relinquished my stubborn attitude – self-preservation felt far more favourable. He pushed me further into the cabinet before releasing me and stepping away. “Good, it’s the least you could do. Nothing gets done around here.”

He was heading out of the kitchen as I cleared my throat and squeaked out, “I forgot to say—” He stopped at the door, his back still to me and hands bracketing the door frame. “Elle is coming over this evening. She has dresses for the gala.”

Cain let out a humourless breath, bowing his head before turning to face me.

“You forgot to say?” He leaned on the small kitchen island between us.

“Does anything pass between your thick. Fucking. Skull?” With every word he stabbed his bony finger into the countertop.

Taking a deep breath in, he pushed off the island and stood straight, faux facade returning.

“Good job I have no plans tonight.” And with that, he left the kitchen.

Cain insisted on being around whenever I’d see Elle.

Our meetups were less frequent, but they had to happen at my house.

He’d been known to cancel arrangements or leave work early just to make sure he was there to keep an eye on us.

It was probably for the best, because knowing Elle, she’d drag me out, never to return.

We ate dinner in silence across from each other. He watched me through every bite, and I avoided his gaze. When we’d finished, he dumped his plate in the sink while I carefully placed mine in the dishwasher.

The doorbell rang and before I could answer it, Cain was halfway down the hall to the door and flinging it open.

I rushed from the kitchen to welcome Elle.

Peering over Cain’s shoulder, I found she wasn’t alone.

Her twin brother, Silas, was behind her and glaring at Cain.

He was a foot taller than Elle and a few inches taller than Cain.

You’d never know it, but Silas was covered in tattoos beneath his clothes.

They cut off at his wrists and his collarbone.

He was a teddy bear, but he could also snap your neck like a twig.

“Silas. Elle, ” Cain whined out a sorry excuse for a greeting.

“Hi Cain, can we come in?” Elle confidently replied before pushing past him and entering the house. She was followed by Silas, who pushed past so firmly that Cain’s shoulder flipped him sideways, his back bouncing off the door.

My best friend rushed to me and wrapped me in a hug as best she could with her arms full of garment bags. I smiled genuinely. Pulling back, I took her in properly.

While I had never dyed my hair, kept my make-up as natural and had only pierced my ears at ten, Elle was the polar opposite.

Her once blonde hair was now dyed red, beautiful hazel eyes which were framed by the perfect lash extensions, and cat-wing eyeliner.

She had her nose, lip and multiple piercings up her ears.

Both arms were sheathed in tattoos, with more hidden from view.

Elle was unapologetically Elle, while I was so lost as I pretended to be a version of Willow that had never existed.

Behind her, Silas pulled me in for a hug.

I froze a little, aware that Cain was watching our every move. If talking back would cause a problem, then attention from another man definitely would. Instead, I offered a one-armed hug and pulled back a second later.

Slipping from his embrace, we moved into the living room, Elle shuffling through with her arms full mumbling that it wouldn’t have harmed her oaf of a brother to help her with the bags.