Author's Notes:
Apologies for a slow-ish update -- I've had a writer's block-y couple of days, but I'm back on form now, I think. Happy reading :) x
*
After her conversation with Bill, Margaux couldn't bring herself to leave the bedroom.
She alternated between trying to read, pacing restlessly back and forth, and sleeping -- refusing the offer of food in the evening.
By five o'clock the following morning, Margaux was hungry.
Very hungry. Bill's manner when they had spoken had frightened her. Badly. But she had to accept that she could only keep trying to avoid him for so long. And wasn't he usually asleep at this point in the day anyway? She took her cardigan -- still ever so slightly damp in the sleeves -- from the radiator and pulled it on. She smoothed the front of her skirt compulsively before she opened the door and ventured out into the hall.
The TV was on, and for a second she felt the rise of dread in her belly, until she realised that it was a sports programme; she had come to learn that if there was sports on the television, it was always Robert who was watching it. She padded past the sitting room door, down to the kitchen. The flagstones were uncomfortably cold under her bare feet, but she wasn't about to go past the door again to get her socks.
There were eggs in the fridge -- naturally, how else had Bill made pancake batter? There were also onions, but not a lot else. An omelette sounded like an appealing prospect. Her belly growled as if in agreement. She wasn't entirely certain that it was alright for her to be using the hob, but she couldn't imagine that Robert was going to be concerned enough to get up and stop her -- not at this time in the morning, at least.
Margaux put the egg carton and a red onion on the counter and opened the cupboard near the oven, crouching to look for a frying pan.
As she began to heat the oil, she heard footsteps approaching the kitchen.
"What are you doing?"
At the sound of Robert's voice, she released a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding.
"I'm making breakfast. Are you hungry?"
"...Yeah, go on then."
She set about breaking eggs, and he walked closer. It was easy to take his size for granted when he was across the room, but as he stood behind her she felt as though she'd been shrunk.
"You're a lucky girl."
Margaux suppressed a snort of contempt and opened the drawer. "Why is that?" She looked at the onion on the counter, then down at the space in the cutlery drawer where the kitchen knives should have been. She'd forgotten. She frowned and took out a butter knife. How was she meant to chop with this?
"Having so much freedom. Anyone else would have you tied up in the back room."
"I suppose so." She began to saw the onion awkwardly in half. This was going to take forever.
Margaux waited for him to continue, but Robert was silent, as though he had decided at the last moment not to follow that particular train of thought. She couldn't decide whether that was a good thing -- where had he been going with the conversation?
Fifteen minutes later, Margaux tipped a neatly-folded omelette onto a plate and set it on the table. She hoped the onions made a significant difference to the food, because the chopping had been far more trouble than it was worth.
Robert sat down, the spindly wooden chair creaking under his muscular bulk.
"Your book was interesting."
"Which one?"
"The weird one," he responded through a mouthful of egg. "This is good."
"Thanks."
She wasn't really sure which book he meant. They were all 'weird' in some way, she supposed. She browned her half of the onions, pushing them around in patterns with the wooden spoon.
"What do you need ten million pounds for?"
"Beg your pardon?"
"I was just wondering. Do you need it for something specific?"
"That's really none of your business."
"Well... it sort of is. It's my life being traded for it, isn't it?"
"You make a persuasive argument, but I'm still not going to tell you."
"Alright." She frowned, tipping the eggs over the onions. "I was just curious."
"You know what they say about curiosity, don't you?"
"That it spawned a thousand tired clichés?"
"Cute." She heard the clink of him putting down his fork.
That was quick. His chair scraped back across the stone and his hand moved into her field of vision as he put his empty plate on the counter.
"You're getting far too comfortable, Margaux. You want the fear putting back into you."
"And I suppose you're the one to do it, are you?"
She didn't know what possessed her to bait him. Maybe she was losing it. That happened sometimes in these situations, didn't it?
He gripped the back of her neck with one massive paw. Margaux froze.
"If that ever happens, love, you'll know about it. Don't tempt me."
*
After breakfast, Robert pulled on his coat and told her they were going out.
"But... won't Bill be getting up soon?"
"Not for another two hours."
"He said I couldn't go out any more."
"Nah, see -- he said you'd have to stop going out,
'you' in a collective sense. Now I'm the one watching you, and I say we're going out."
She was silent for a moment. Right or wrong, she wasn't in a position to refuse. She hoped Bill would consider that.
"...Okay."
Margaux couldn't help but feel that she was caught in the middle of some kind of power struggle. What kind of statement was Robert trying to make, walking off with her alone? Had the two men had some disagreement while she slept? She followed him out the door, feeling for all the world as though she were embarking upon a walk to the gallows.
*
The walk was uneventful. Robert soon got bored of what he called the 'repetitive scenery', and took her back.
Margaux opened the kitchen door, and her eyes immediately met Bill's cold glare. He was sitting at the kitchen table in a partially-buttoned shirt. Waiting.
"Where were you, Margaux?"
She opened her mouth to respond, and her throat felt dry and tight. "...Robert took me out."
"Didn't I say, Margaux, that you were no longer allowed outside?
Isn't that what I said to you?"
"Y-yes, yes you did--"
He got up and walked towards her. She backed away, and collided with the door frame.
"Did you think what might happen if you ran into our
friends? How were you going to explain who Robert was?"
He struck the wall to the right of her head, and she whimpered.
"I didn't want to. I said no."
"Is that true?" He looked at Robert, who had walked into the house after Margaux with a casual air, as though feet away a woman wasn't being pinned to the wall.
"She needed to be kept occupied. I made a judgement call."
Bill exhaled sharply through his nose. Seeing the look in his eyes, Margaux felt certain her legs would give out beneath her. He sighed and rested his forehead against hers, bringing his hand up to her face. He addressed Robert without looking at him. "The next time there's a judgement to be made, Robert," he began, his fingers trailing along Margaux's jaw, "see that it's deferred to someone who knows what they're fucking doing. Are we clear?"
Robert grunted a sullen response.
"And as for you --" Bill stood upright, and grabbed a handful of Margaux's hair. "You're coming with me."
He marched her down the hall, and shoved her into the end bedroom -- as he released his grip, she fell, and crumpled awkwardly on the carpet. Bill followed her in, and pulled the door shut behind him.
