Cold Blood by Robert Bryndza

Author:Robert Bryndza [Bryndza, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2017-09-19T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Seven

SATURDAY, 16th SEPTEMBER 2017

Max has heard nothing from Charlene and Thomas. He came home late last night, drunk, and demanding food. I gave him a plate of pasta. I’d made it earlier in the evening, but after a few hours in the pan it had dried out. He shoved a forkful in his mouth and then spat it out.

‘What’s this?’

‘I made it earlier. I didn’t know when you’d be back,’ I said. I was sitting opposite him at the kitchen table, and I had that familiar sinking feeling of dread when I knew things were about to turn bad. It’s like the air starts to buzz around my ears, and a cold trickling feeling starts in my stomach. I begin to sweat and shake, because I know, whatever I do, however I answer, it will be wrong.

‘This is fucking dog food,’ he said, stabbing at it with his fork. ‘You think it’s okay to feed me food not fit for a fucking dog?’

I tried to catch my breath as I started to cry.

‘Oh, turning on the tears now, are we?’

‘You’re scaring me!’ I cried.

He threw the plate of pasta at the wall behind me. I felt the sauce splatter my back.

‘Why are you just sitting there? Clean it up.’

I pushed back, the chair scraping as I slowly got up.

‘Clean it UP!’

I flinched as he came around the table, grabbed the back of my hair and turned my head to the wall. A streak of red was smeared down it. ‘What is this shit? I work my arse off and you make this shit.’

I squeezed my eyes shut. Trying to clamp down my emotions, but tears escaped and ran down my face. I thought things had been getting better, but then this shit had happened with Charlene and Thomas, and now he was taking it all out on me.

‘Would you eat this?’ he said, still gripping my head and picking up a handful of the cold pasta.

‘I did eat it…’ I didn’t get the rest of the words out because he shoved a handful of the pasta into my mouth and rubbed the rest over my face. I tried to spit it out, but he kept his hand on the back of my head and the other pushing the sloppy mess into my mouth. I could feel it slipping to the back of my throat, and I couldn’t breathe. The sauce was in my eyes and it stung and I couldn’t see. Max suddenly let go and I dropped down on the floor heaving and trying to get my breath.

I heard the back door slam and the lock turn. I cleaned myself up, and the mess, and it was then that I saw he had taken my phone.

This can’t continue. I’m going to leave him. When he comes back, I’m going to have a knife ready, and I’m walking out.

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