After Leland’s torment, Winifred fell into a deep sleep, longer than any sleep induced by sleeping pills.
It did cure her insomnia, but waking up was indescribable. It felt like someone who hadn’t exercised in ages suddenly ran ten kilometers, leaving her muscles sore and body weak the next day. She tried to move but failed and lay back down, feeling utterly useless.
Winifred knew she couldn’t continue like this. She had no peculiar fetish for pain. If one is alive, why not choose to live comfortably?
She began to ponder whether pleasing Leland to make her life easier was feasible or effective.
But the thought was dismissed as quickly as it came. Her cheap pride wouldn’t allow her to grovel before someone she despised, even if it was just an act. Moreover, this person was once the trash she looked down upon, someone she treated like a dog.
When would Leland start hating her as much as she hated him? When would he throw her away without a second glance?
Some people have a condition called unrequited love syndrome. Simply put, they enjoy giving without receiving anything in return. The more their affection is unreciprocated, the more they pursue and flatter the other person. But once their feelings are returned, they lose interest.
So, could Leland have this syndrome?
The more she hated him, the more he couldn’t get enough of her? And if she started liking him, he would discard her?
Lying in bed, Winifred’s only functioning part was her hand. She extended it from under the blanket and noticed the scars on her forearm.
Leland was like a dog; he didn’t even spare this place.
Winifred was extremely thin; her arm was just skin and bones. Biting her forearm was like gnawing on a bone.
Well, dogs do love chewing on bones.
As Winifred drifted in thought, the door opened. Her brain didn’t react much, but her body shuddered reflexively, thinking Leland had come in. She looked over and saw it was a servant from the villa.
Thinking Winifred was still asleep, the servant moved quietly, tiptoeing in to clean up. She first went to the bathroom to gather some clothes and then approached the trash can by the bed.
The trash can was close to Winifred; she could see used condoms inside.
Winifred felt humiliated and closed her eyes to feign sleep. The rustling of plastic bags amplified in the darkness behind her eyelids. Even without looking, she knew the servant was casting a complex gaze at her until she heard the door close again.
She adjusted herself painfully, trying to ease her sore muscles into a fetal position. A book once said that curling up like a fetus indicates a lack of security.
At that moment, Winifred felt exactly like that-curled up with fists clenched at her chest. She admitted she was starting to fear Leland.
The kiss marks on her body were initially just red but turned deep purple by the second or third day.
Her fear of Leland grew similarly; it started small but deepened over time.
But would this fear fade away on its own like kiss marks if left alone?
Winifred closed her eyes again. Her mind replayed scenes like a recently repaired TV showing images after a brief glitch. She recalled something Leland had whispered against her neck last night while she slept:
“Winifred, no matter what happens, you will always be my woman.”
Not necessarily.
Whether she would always be his woman was uncertain. But one thing was sure: he wouldn’t be the only man in her life.
Around noon-she wasn’t sure what time exactly-there was a knock on the door. It opened slightly, and a maid’s voice came through.
“Madam, it’s time for lunch.”
Madam? Who’s madam? She was alone in this room. If she weren’t so scientifically minded and against superstition, she’d think there was a ghost named Madam here.
“Are you calling me?”
The maid repeated herself: “Madam, lunch is ready.”
Winifred felt exasperated and clutched her waist under the blanket: “Leland and I aren’t married; don’t call me Madam.”
“Mr. Burns said so,” the maid replied timidly. “Madam, may I come in?”
Winifred had a bad temper but wasn’t about to take it out on an innocent person. Besides, she didn’t have the energy for it now.
The maid opened the wardrobe filled with new clothes, some still with tags attached.
“Madam, how about this dress?”
“Whatever,” Winifred snapped. “Leave; I’ll change myself.”
The maid placed the dress and some underwear by the bed and turned to leave when Winifred called out again.
“Where’s Leland?”
“Mr. Burns went to work but will return for lunch with you,” replied the maid softly.
Winifred frowned; how could anyone think she worried about Leland? She wished he would die far away from here.
Once alone again, Winifred sat up slowly as strength returned to her body. She leaned against the headboard for a while before moving to sit by the bed and change into the dress.
She stood up shakily and limped toward the bathroom mirror. Her neck bore many marks.
Leland was an animal!
Didn’t he know that frequent bites on the neck could be fatal?
She lifted her dress to inspect bruises on her waist and back too. The pillows and towels under her lower back last night were useless after all.
Looking at herself now, she wondered if going to the police could get Leland arrested.
A minimum of three years’ imprisonment or even death penalty.