But then he seems to get it. He picks up his clippers again and goes back to work.
I hurry into the house as fast as I can and slam the door behind me. Right by the window, there’s a spectacular arrangement of flowers. I would say every color of the rainbow represented. Andy brought it home last night from work to surprise me, to show me what a spectacular husband he is when I am “well behaved.”
I peer beyond the flowers out the window into the front yard. Enzo is still working out there, the sharp clippers in his gloved hands. But he pauses for a moment and looks up at the window. Our eyes meet for a split second.
And then I look away.
FORTY-SEVEN
I have been in the attic for about twenty hours.
Andy marched me up here right after Cecelia went to bed last night. I’ve learned not to argue. If I do, it’s another stay at Clearview. Or maybe when I try to pick Cece up at the school the next day, she won’t be there and I won’t see her for a whole week, while she’s “out of town.” He doesn’t want to hurt Cecelia, but he absolutely will. After all, if the police didn’t arrive exactly when they did, she could’ve drowned in that bathtub all those years ago. I brought it up with him once, and he just smiled at me. That would’ve taught you a lesson, wouldn’t it?
Andy wants another child. Another little person who I will love and want to protect, who he will use to control me for years to come. I can’t let that happen. So I drove to a clinic in the city, gave a fake name, and paid in cash for them to insert an IUD. I’ve practiced my perplexed expression when the pregnancy tests come back negative.
This time my transgression was spraying too much air freshener in our bedroom. It was exactly the same amount I always spray, and if I hadn’t used it at all, he would have locked me in there with something malodorous, like a rotting fish. I know how his mind works now.
Anyway, somehow last night the air freshener was too much and it irritated his eyes. My punishment? I had to pepper-spray myself.
Oh yes.
He left the bottle of pepper spray in the dresser drawer. Point it at your eyes and pull the trigger.
Also, keep your eyes open. Or it won’t count.
So I’ve done it. I sprayed myself with pepper spray just to get out of this goddamn room. Have you ever been pepper-sprayed? I don’t recommend it. It stings terribly, and right away, my eyes started to tear up like crazy. My face felt like it was burning. And then my nose started to run. A minute later, I felt it dripping into my mouth where it stung and tasted terrible. For several minutes, I sat on the bed, just struggling to breathe. I could barely open my eyes for nearly an hour.
It was definitely worse than a little air freshener.
But now it’s several hours later. I can open my eyes again. I still feel like I have a sunburn on my face and my eyes feel puffy, but I don’t feel like I’m going to die anymore. I’m sure Andy will want to wait until I look more like my usual self before he lets me out of here.
Which means it could be one more night. But hopefully not.
The window isn’t boarded up, like he keeps it sometimes, so at least I have some natural light in the room. It’s the only thing keeping me from going completely crazy. I walk over to the window and peer out into the backyard, wishing I were out there instead of in here.
That’s when I realize the backyard isn’t empty.
Enzo is working out there. I start to back away, but he happens to look up at the window at the exact moment I’m standing there. He stares at me, and even from the third floor of the house, I can make out the darkening look on his face. He yanks off his gardening gloves and stalks out of the yard.
Oh no. This isn’t good.
I don’t know what Enzo is going to do. Will he call the police? I’m not sure if that would be a good thing or not. Andy has always managed to flip these things around on me. He’s always one step ahead. About a year ago, I started stashing some money in one of my boots in my closet, saving up in hopes of escaping him. Then one day, all the money disappeared, and the day after, he forced me up to the attic.
About a minute later, a fist pounds on the attic door. I step back, cowering against the wall. “Nina!” It’s Enzo’s voice. “Nina! I know you are in there!”
I clear my throat. “I’m fine!”
The doorknob jiggles. “If you are fine, open the door and show me you are fine.”
It hits me at that moment that Enzo is speaking pretty good English. I had been under the impression that he understood some English and spoke far less, but his English seems excellent right now. His Italian accent isn’t even that thick.