Nicholas Sparks - Safe Haven

Kevin stared at her. “Your hair looks good,” he said.

“Thank you. She did a good job.”

Katie went back to the cutting board. She began to cut the tomato, making a long slice.

“Not too big,” he said, nodding in her direction.

“I know,” she said. She smiled as he moved to the freezer again. Katie heard the clink of cubes in his glass.

“What did you talk about when you were getting your hair done?”

“Not much. Just the usual. You know how stylists are. They’ll talk about anything.”

He shook his glass. She could hear the cubes clink against the glass. “Did you talk about me?”

“No,” she said.

She knew he wouldn’t have liked that and he nodded. He pulled the bottle of vodka out again and set it beside his glass on the counter before moving behind her. He stood, watching over her shoulder as she diced the tomatoes. Small pieces, no larger than a pea. She could feel his breath on her neck and tried not to cringe as he placed his hands on her hips. Knowing what she had to do, she set the knife down and turned toward him, putting her arms around his neck. She kissed him with a little tongue knowing he wanted her to, and didn’t see the slap coming until she felt the sting against her cheek. It burned, hot and red. Sharp. Bee stings.

“You made me waste my entire afternoon!” he shouted at her. He gripped her arms tight, squeezing hard. His mouth was contorted, his eyes already bloodshot. She could smell the booze on his breath, and spittle hit her face. “My only day off and you pick that day to get your damn hair done in the middle of the city! And then go grocery shopping!”

She wiggled, trying to back away, and he finally let her go. He shook his head, the muscle of his jaw pulsing. “Did you ever stop to think that I might have wanted to relax today? Just take it easy on my only day off?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, holding her cheek. She didn’t say that she’d checked with him twice earlier in the week if it would be okay, or that he was the one who made her switch salons because he didn’t want her making friends. Didn’t want anyone knowing their business.

“I’m sorry,” he mimicked her. He stared at her before shaking his head again. “Christ almighty,” he said. “Is it so hard for you to think about anyone other than yourself?”

He reached out, trying to grab her, and she turned, trying to run. He was ready for her and there was nowhere to go. He struck fast and hard, his fist a piston, firing at her lower back. She gasped, her vision going black in the corners, feeling as though she’d been pierced with a knife. She collapsed to the floor, her kidney on fire, the pain shooting through her legs and up her spine. The world was spinning, and when she tried to get up, the movement only made it worse.

“You’re so damn selfish all the time!” he said, towering over her.

She said nothing. Couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t breathe. She bit her lip to keep from screaming and wondered if she would pee blood tomorrow. The pain was a razor, slashing at her nerves, but she wouldn’t cry because that only made him angrier.

He continued to stand over her, then let out a disgusted sigh. He reached for his empty glass and grabbed the bottle of vodka on the way out of the kitchen.

It took her almost a minute to summon the strength to get up. When she started cutting again, her hands were shaking. The kitchen was cold and the pain was intense in her back, pulsing with every heartbeat. The week before, he’d hit her so hard in the stomach that she’d spent the rest of the night vomiting. She’d fallen to the floor and he’d grabbed her by the wrist to pull her up. The bruise on her wrist was shaped like fingers. Branches of hell.

Tears were on her cheeks and she had to keep shifting her weight to keep the pain at bay as she finished dicing the tomato. She diced the cucumber as well. Small pieces. Lettuce, too, diced and chopped. The way he wanted it. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and moved slowly toward the refrigerator. She pulled out a packet of blue cheese before finding the croutons in the cupboard.

In the living room, he’d turned the volume up again.

The oven was ready and she put the baking sheet in and set the timer. When the heat hit her face, she realized her skin was still stinging, but she doubted that he’d left a mark there. He knew exactly how hard to strike and she wondered where he’d learned that, whether it was something that all men knew, whether there were secret classes with instructors who specialized in teaching such things. Or whether it was just Kevin.

The pain in her back had finally begun to lessen to a throb. She could breathe normally again. Wind blew through the seams in the window and the sky had turned a dark gray. Snow tapped gently on the glass. She peeked toward the living room, saw Kevin seated on the couch, and went to lean against the counter. She took off one pump and rubbed her toes, trying to get the blood flowing, trying to warm her feet. She did the same with the other foot before slipping her pumps back on.

She rinsed and cut the green beans and put some olive oil in the frying pan. She would start the beans when the steaks went in the broiler. She tried again not to think about the phone beneath the sink.

She was removing the baking sheet from the oven when Kevin came back in the kitchen. He was holding his glass and it was half empty. His eyes were already glassy. Four or five drinks so far. She couldn’t tell. She put the sheet on the stove.

“Just a little bit longer,” she said, her tone neutral, pretending that nothing had happened. She’d learned that if she acted angry or hurt, it only enraged him. “I have to finish the steaks and then dinner will be ready.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. He swayed slightly.

She smiled. “I know. It’s okay. It’s been a hard few weeks. You’ve been working a lot.”

“Are those new jeans?” The words came out slurry.

“No,” she said. “I just haven’t worn them for a while.”

“They look good.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He took a step toward her. “You’re so beautiful. You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

“I don’t like hitting you. You just don’t think sometimes.”

She nodded, looking away, trying to think of something to do, needing to stay busy, then remembered she had to set the table. She moved to the cupboard near the sink.

He moved behind her as she was reaching for the plates and rotated her toward him, pulling her close. She inhaled before offering a contented sigh, because she knew he wanted her to make those kinds of sounds. “You’re supposed to say that you love me, too,” he whispered. He kissed her cheek and she put her arms around him. She could feel him pressed against her, knew what he wanted.

“I love you,” she said.

His hand traveled to her breast. She waited for the squeeze, but it didn’t come. Instead, he caressed it gently. Despite herself, her nipple began to harden and she hated it but she couldn’t help it. His breath was hot. Boozy.

“God, you’re beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful, from the first time I saw you.” He pressed himself harder against her and she could feel him. “Let’s hold off on putting the steaks in,” he said. “Dinner can wait for a little while.”

“I thought you were hungry.” She made it sound like a tease.

“I’m hungry for something else right now,” he whispered. He unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it open before moving to the snap on her jeans.

“Not here,” she said, leaning her head back, letting him continue to kiss her. “In the bedroom, okay?”

“How about the table? Or on the counter instead?”