Page 82 of We Live Here Now

81

Emily

“Freddie.” I virtually bounce into the kitchen, almost without a limp, and get right up close so he can see I’ve made an effort. I wanted to do this last night but he was tired after work and clearly not in a great mood, but this morning is different. He’s cooking me breakfast even though I’m too excited to eat. I thought I wouldn’t sleep last night, but I was out like a light so I’m fully refreshed. I’m glowing .

I’m wearing a dress, one that I last wore on a date night before I did that awful thing—a different life ago. I smile at him, unable to contain my happiness. I was thinking of hiding one of the three tests I’ve taken in a row—I had to be certain this time—somewhere he’d find it, but I want to look him in the eyes and share the news. Maybe I’ll even be honest about the other thing. I want to go into this with a clean slate, and maybe if I tell him how much I instantly regretted it, he’ll forgive me. Secrets are the death of trust. I’ve kept the tests though—they’re tucked away in the back of my underwear drawer for now. Mementos already. I’m so excited. He’s going to be so happy. I go up close to him and touch his arm. “We need to talk.”

It’s only now that I’m inches from his face that I can see that something’s wrong. His arm is so tense under my fingertips that his muscles might snap. His eyes are dark and angry. More than angry. He looks mad .

“I know about the money, Emily.” He growls at me like an uncaged wolf. “And I know you fucked that wanker behind my back, you disgusting slut. You’re a fucking bitch.”

He steps in close as I try to protest—this isn’t how this is supposed to go, not at all—and then something feels horribly wrong. I’m confused, my eyes widening as I gasp.

“What?” he asks, and then looks down.

“You hit me.” I find it hard to get the words out, he’s knocked the breath right out of me. He actually hit me.

“Oh god,” he says, and then the madness drains out of his eyes and all I can see is fear and my own shocked face in his pupils. Suddenly I’m very afraid, but I have to look down too. Oh god.

All I can see is the knife handle. Where is the knife? I grunt slightly, not able to catch my breath. The knife is inside me. I can feel it, cold in the middle of me.

“Oh god. Freddie.” My words are barely air. It was only a little knife though, a paring knife. It can’t do that much harm, surely. Can it? I grip at the kitchen counter, my whole left side losing strength, and then I see it. The paring knife is on the counter.

“Oh god,” I try to say again, and then I clutch at his chest, trying to keep upright, trying to keep alive, there is a knife inside me, and then I’m crumpling to the kitchen floor, and there must be something, there must be, and then it all goes black.