Dragonfly Freed

With a minimal amount of hesitation, I shove my hand into the crawlspace opening, frantically looking for the bag. I feel dusty, old wood and a few cobwebs as I sweep my hand around. Panic creeps into my belly, working its way up to my ribs and neck with each second that passes without contact with the bag. Finally, my fingers brush across the plastic. All the tension leaves my body with a sigh of relief, leaving behind seeds of anxiety for later.

The bag is about half full of cash. Last time I counted, I was about $350 shy of what I need to finally be free. With what I managed to make today, I knocked off a hundred from that. I pull apart the top, dropping today’s earnings in the bag. As far as Nik is aware, I was working a four-hour shift and then had to go grocery shopping today. But I placed the groceries for pickup last night so I could work an additional hour and a half. My fingers slide the bag shut and place it back in its hiding spot.

With the knowledge that I’m about a week from getting far away from here, I work my way down the step stool. Hopefully, Nik will go on one of his “business” trips this weekend so I can pick up a few more hours. When he’s out of town, he’s too busy to even wonder what I’m doing with my time. Then you add on that he usually spends the trip without sleep, he’s too exhausted to even look at the cameras until his third day back. By then, the footage has been deleted - he’s paranoid that someone will hack into them and find out what happens behind the closed doors.

My feet fumble to the floor and I hurriedly put everything away. With a glance to the clock, I have about four hours before I need to start dinner. I scan the house, going room to room, double checking that everything looks perfect. It does. Everything is in it’s place. I dusted before work today and I can do some other light cleaning while dinner is in the oven tonight. Even without all that, the place still looks unlived, untouched, too perfect. Exactly how he likes it. As long as I set an alarm, I can take a nap. It’ll also give him cameras to check what I’m doing; in case he has questions tonight.

With that small amount of security, I head to bed.

I give the switch for the oven light a quick flick, checking on the stuffed peppers. They look almost done, only about 5 more minutes in the oven. I glance at all the dishes in the sink, content that it’s the only real chore I have left before I can sit down tonight. I roll my sleeves up and get to work on the dishes. He hates it when I use the dishwasher, for some odd reason, so everything has to be done by hand. Unfortunately for me, I absolutely hate doing dishes by hand. The slimy foods and having to scrub at everything and then the amount of water I have to use just to get rid of suds... Hate it.

Before I moved in, when I would come over for dinner and a movie, he would let me use the dishwasher. But, he always made it clear how much he hated that I used it. Eventually, I would wash them by hand just to appease him once in a while. When I moved in though, it wasn’t a choice anymore. I got one of my worst beatings from him by using the dishwasher while he was at work. That was before I knew about all the cameras in the house.

I pull the stuffed peppers out and let them cool as I finish up the dishes. I’ve got about ten more minutes before he should be home, so I try to whip through the dishes as fast as I can. He hates waiting for dinner.

Just as I am drying the last dish, I hear the garage door open. I put the pan away and quickly wipe down the counter and the sinks. I put the dish strainer underneath the sinks and pull my sleeves back down. Just as the door opens, I’m fixing Nik’s plate.

His boots land with a thump on the floor when he takes them off and I hear him clamber his way through the house to the kitchen. I set his plate down in front of his usual seat. After setting his beer down next to his plate, he finally sits down. His work jacket is resting on the couch and his hat ended up on the counter in the kitchen, with his keys and badge.

“Welcome home,” I say. I’m ashamed to admit that I’m the epitome of a meek housewife right now. He simply grunts in response, chugging half of his beer. I pick up the things he’s scattered all over the place and put them all where they belong. He insists that if they aren’t where they need to be in the mornings, then his day will be ruined.

Once that’s finished, I finally plate my own dinner and grab a glass of water for myself. My seat is to his left, so he doesn’t have to “look at my ugly mug” after a long day at work. The silence is always so thick and it’s the one thing I haven’t gotten accustomed to. The silence is the most unpredictable thing he does. It could mean nothing. It could have several different meanings at one time. It could be the calm before the storm, or it could just mean a movie night.

The one thing I have learned though, is to not break the silence. He will do that when he’s ready. It’s my job to just sit through it and be as quiet as I can while also going through the motions. So, I’m sitting here, making extra effort to ensure that my teeth don’t hit the fork. My bites are small enough that it doesn’t require excessive chewing. My pinky rests against the tabletop to keep the glass from clanking against it when I set it down. Other than my arms moving as I eat, I’m perfectly still. Even as my legs start to tingle and all my joints ache to move.

“Do you have any appointments for next week?” His abrasive voice finally breaks the silence.

“No, I don’t. After our conversation about the expenses, I decided to take a break. I have plenty of P.T. exercises and meds to get me through the next month and a half.” I take a sip of water and breathe through my anxiety. “Do you have plans next week?”

“There’s word traveling about several riots happening all over next week. So I probably won’t be around to take you anywhere.” His voice is full of distaste and scorn at the thought of more riots. I simply nod, knowing better than to discuss the topic with him.

“Okay.” I keep eating, not sure how to keep conversation going without irritating him.

“I highly suggest you pick up some more shifts at work, so you’re not here alone all week. Plus, that will give you some extra funds for medical expenses starting next month.” He sips his beer and looks at me, ensuring that there is no discussion to be had.

That last statement has what little anger I can manage flare up inside. I’m sure my income pays for more than half our bills and I don’t really need to work more. But, he manages the money and for all I know I could only be bringing home four hundred a month.

“I’ll ask around. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a few shifts to pick up.”

Just like that, back into the silence. We finish dinner without another word. He gets up and goes for his nightly shower, leaving me to clean up the kitchen. I give a pointed glare to the bathroom door, wishing that I could just tell him every thought I have about him. But I swallow the anger and simply think about my plan to get out of here. Next week will be the perfect time for me to go.