Page 4 of Toxic
“You made me look like a fool,” he says, spit flying fromhislips.
No doubt the handsomely compensated officers had run to Vic the moment they left the infirmary. It didn’t matter that nothing had happened between the prisoner and me. It didn’t matter that I’d never laid a hand on the man outside of trying to push him out of my personal space. What mattered was whatever fucked-up scenario Vic imagined in his twisted little brain. To absolve my imagined sins, he is subjecting me to his version oftorture.
Till death do us part,right?
I'd gone to the police before to report his abuse. I went so far as to press charges. I was terrified, but I did what I thought I had to do to save myself. But the Honorable Judge Edward Milton—I’d never forget his name—dropped the case. Instead of Vic being punished, I was the one sentenced and written off as an emotionally unstable woman. Now I do the only thing I can...endure.
My eyes move to the stain in the grout, and I start listing the ways toremoveit.
First, scrub the stain with a sponge and some coldwater.
Vic—he hates to be called Victor, as I learned the first night he hit me on our honeymoon—backhands me, making my head snap to the side. The force of the blow knocks me back, causing the hair still wrapped in his hand to rip from myscalp.
If that doesn’t remove the stain, then use a toothbrush withbakingsoda.
“I don’t want you associating with that inmate again, do you hear me? McNair and Summers couldn’t stop smirking at me when they found me. Youhumiliatedme.”
I swallow back the blood pooling in my mouth, my eyes still on the stained tiles. The metallic taste lingers in the back of my throat and burns its way down to my stomach. It settles there, a stone dropped into a pond of bile. Then he kicks me in the stomach for good measure, and the stone disintegrates with the force of my rage. “I understand,” I say, though the word comes out as a quaver. I let him assume it’s duetofear.
His fist tightens in my hair, forcing my head back until his disdainful expression fills my vision. “See that you do,” he murmurs. “When you see him again, I don’t want to hear about you flirting with him. Do youunderstandme?”
He knows there are circumstances when only one nurse is on call, but I nod anyway. There’s no use pointing it out. In times like these, logic only seems to feed Vic’smadness.
“I want to hear you say it.” His words are grit as he spits thematme.
“When I see him again, I won’t flirt with him,” I repeat mechanically, blood dribbling down my chin from where I bit my cheek to keep from saying what I wanttosay.
He reels away, wiping his hands on his suit pants and sneering as I crumple to the floor.The cold tile pressed against my face grounds me, and I dig my fingernails into the piling of the rug instead of intohisface.
“Clean yourself up before you make dinner.” He pauses to peer into the mirror and preen. “I think I’d like steaktonight.”
He leaves me in a ball, blood steadily dripping into the grout. It takes me a minute before I can pull myself to a sitting position. Every scream of a muscle fuels the same flush of rage that inspired me to shove at that inmate. I retrieve a sponge from underneath the sink and imagine what would happen if I did the same thingtoVic.
The only “good”thing about Vic’s fist in my face is it guarantees I won’t be required to fuck him for at least a few days. According to him, he doesn’t fuck ugly. In his way, I suppose it’s an underhanded compliment. Though, it’s his fault I have a split lip and black eye in the firstplace.
I call into work during the time it takes for the swelling to go down and feign the stomach flu. My face isn’t exactly back to normal, at least normal enough to cover the bruises with makeup. Vic’s forgotten what pissed him off enough to plant his fist in my eye, at least for now. Thankfully, I’ve been able to placate him with blow jobs and his favorite meals and he’s returned to a bittersweet temperament. Sweet in that he dotes on me; bitter because I know it’s only a matter of time until he’ll want me to fuck him again. I both dread and crave the release it will provide, but I’m afraid he’ll be able to tell how much touching him turns mystomach.
He chatters as he gets dressed, and I do my best to ignore him. It isn’t as easy as it used to be. Not when I keep imagining what it would be like to pour the scalding hot coffee over his balding head or “accidentally” dump antifreeze in his oatmeal. I never used to fantasize about what it would be like to cause him harm, but each time he beats me, the fantasies get more and more vivid. In the week I’ve been off from work, I’ve started to lose grasp on what’s real and what isn’t as I wait for whatever horrible punishment he has formenext.
“Did you hear me?”Vicasks.
I wince as I dab concealer a little too hard over the bruises surrounding my eye and then blink rapidly. The mental byplay I’d been having where I jabbed my cuticle scissors into the meat of his thigh melds with reality, and I refocus on the mirror and Vic, who’s standingbehindme.
“I’m sorry,” I say once I find the words. They aren’t as easy to force out as they once were. “I was thinking about work. Can I get you a cup ofcoffee?”
He stares at my reflection in the mirror long enough to cause my heart rate to kick up a notch. When he only lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it, I release the breath I’mholding.
“No sugar,” he says as he turns to put on hisshoes.
I follow his movements until he strides down the hall, only then do I relax my spine. I’m not the only one who’s been acting peculiar this past week. Vic’s been overly solicitous, slower to anger, and dare I say it, considerate. It only makes me more suspicious. I’ve been so on edge I have barely been able to eat or sleep. Work will be a vacation at thispoint.
Before he can holler at me to hurry, I manage to focus enough to finish getting dressed. I’d like to leave my hair down to cover the shadows on my cheeks, but it’s against regulations, so I plait it back into a twist. People at work have gotten disappointingly used to my excuses, so I doubt anyone will even bother to ask about my appearance.If I’m lucky, today will be slow, and I won’t have as many patients to treat,either.
Vic is waiting in the kitchen, and I scurry like the good little girl I am and prepare him a thermos of coffee. He watches over my shoulder, and I lift my cheek to receive his kiss as I press the thermos into his hands. I fantasize about bashing it over his skull and can almost hear the sharp crack it would make, how his body would crumple to the ground, and how the blood and coffee would spill acrossthetile.
As he whistles on his way out the door, I decide it’s a good thing I know how to get bloodstains out of grout. Justincase.
There aretwo nurses in medical assessing patients when I get to work, but the infirmary is empty. I spend too much time throughout the early morning replaying the events from breakfast in my head and trying to decide if I’ve finally gone over the edge. It’s why, when I look up and see the last prisoner I want to see standing in the doorway, I freeze, certain I’mhallucinating.