Page 49 of Uprising

Since Darius got re-elected it feels like one constant rotation of public outings, meetings, cutting ribbons, acting and playing the part of First Lady.

I don’t know why but I thought this would be easier, that it would get easier, once the wedding was done, once Darius was in for another term. I guess I was kidding myself, self-soothing in a way. I wanted to believe that once this season was passed everything would return to quiet, to me just hiding away, inside, away from all the gossip, and the stares and the exhaustion of people.

But I don’t have that. It seems I will never have that. Now that he’s put a ring on my finger, and after the incident almost immediately succeeding that, it seems Darius is determined to flaunt me at every opportunity. I’m a circus pony, a performing monkey. He dusts me down, covers me in glitter, and parades me about for all the masses to stare at, for everyone to admire.

Even my time with Lara now is being limited though no one has spoken the words. No, they’re too clever for that. But too often I’m being hurried away, called away, made to attend some appointment that apparently supersedes the needs of a desperately lonely, desperately heartbroken six year old.

But what’s the worst are the other times, when Darius wants me. When we’re alone. He seems to have gone into overdrive now, as if knowing that there’s no physical impediment to me getting pregnant is spurring him onto ensuring I am as soon as possible.

And I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know what I can physically do to ensure that never happens. I can only hope that my body is so broken that biologically speaking it puts my own survival ahead of the need to reproduce.

And the only sign that’s happening is that I haven’t yet had a period, which means I’m not ovulating. Though I don’t know whether Darius is in tune enough with women’s bodies to understand that little nuance. From the way he’s fucking me, I’d say not.

With every test he makes me take I grow more and more fearful that the result will be positive but so far, somehow, I’m till dodging this. It’s the only way I can fight him now.

I’ve stopped answering back. I’ve stopped fighting in any meaningful way. I’m too traumatised by what he did, by the fact that he murdered that girl as if it was nothing.

I knew he was a bastard, I knew my father was capable of such acts but I guess I was kidding myself that Darius wouldn’t be. I thought he’d simply outsource it, that he wouldn’t sully his own hands with such acts.

I guess I was wrong there too.

And that thought, the fact that he will willingly pull the trigger makes me so much more fearful for Lara because it will only take one time, one instant, one moment where I’ve pushed him too hard and he decides the best way to punish me is by murdering her.

I can’t let that happen.

I have to do everything I can to ensure that doesn’t happen.

And that means submitting, in every way, giving him what he wants.

My heart sinks as I think about it, as I realise this is my life, it’s so much worse than it was with Paris. At least Paris gave me some freedom. At least I had Bella, and I had hope.

Here I have nothing except my daughter. She’s the only shining light in all of this.

But she’s also the very thing I have to get out of here, I have to protect her because sooner or later Darius is going to snap, he is going to lash out, and it’s going to be her face he slams his fist into.

I tuck her in, read a bedtime story. Darius is out somewhere tonight, out with Otto, and the rest of his arsehole cronies. He left Carter to stay and watch us and though he’s not come up to our level, I can hear him pacing about below, making enough noise to let me know he’s there, just looking for an excuse.

“Mummy?” Lara whispers.

“Yes baby?”

“Why doesn’t god love us?”

“What?” I frown.

“Mrs Bates used to say if I was good then god would be good to me. But I don’t think I’ve been naughty. And I don’t think you’ve been naughty, so why is he punishing us?”

I steel my breath. How the fuck do I even answer that? I don’t believe in god, I’ve never even mentioned the ‘g’ word before so I don’t know where this is coming from. “Who is Mrs Bates?”

“She used to look after me, in the house, before Daddy came and took me away.”

I feel my shoulders sag. “It’s not that simple baby.”

“In what way?” She says. “I’m good. I am good. And I know you are too…”

I hug her, trying to hide the tears that are threatening to spill. “It will be okay baby. I promise you. This is just the bad part in the story, the bit where you think the monster is going to win, but it won’t last forever.”

“It is lasting forever mummy. It is.” She sobs.