CH.3

 

At 10 am sharp, the moving crew of four large, burly men arrived to empty our modest city apartment of all our belongings.

I trailed behind the massive truck carrying our furniture and possessions in a taxi, giving them directions to the new, high-end neighborhood.

My stomach churned with anxiety as we approached our new home, knowing that this move would only serve to further isolate me from my support system and give Richard more control over my life.

Achrafieh Hill contained only three luxurious mansions spaced extremely far apart - each one trying to outdo the other in grandeur and excess.

One particular property occupied a massive, sprawling area surrounded by towering iron gates and a security checkpoint. It was not our new place, of course—Richard didn't make that much, at least not yet.

But I had no doubt he aspired to own such a fortress one day, further cutting me off from the outside world.

I paid the taxi driver and headed over to the four brawny workers, addressing them as formally and politely as I could muster, given my current foul mood.

My head was pounding from lack of sleep and the stress of the move.

"Please just put the heavy furniture as it was arranged in the old apartment - the living room set right after the entrance, the bedroom suite through the door on the left, and the office pieces on the right."

The four of them nodded understandingly. Perspiration was already beading across their foreheads and staining the armpits of their navy blue uniforms from lugging the heavier items.

"I'll handle moving the smaller boxes and accessories myself so we can finish this as quickly as possible," I added in an earnest tone, trying to inject some warmth into my voice despite my inner turmoil.

"Yes, Mrs. Maine." Their gruff crew leader, a man appearing to be in his late 40s with a potbelly straining against his sweat-stained shirt, responded gruffly on behalf of the rest.

He made a little check mark on his clipboard, no doubt having been briefed on my married status and name by Richard.

I pursed my lips in disgust at having to use my husband's surname - the name that now tied me to that cruel, sadistic monster.

The name I had been robbed of any choice in taking, along with my independence, identity, and sense of self-worth.

Every time I heard it, it felt like another nail in the coffin of my former self.

"Good luck," I muttered, raking a hand through my sweat-dampened messy bun as I watched them haul the heavy couch and armchairs inside first.

The furniture seemed to mock me with its familiarity - each piece held memories of arguments, threats, and violence that I wished I could forget.

The workers made quick progress, getting the entire bedroom set situated next, followed by Richard's precious home office furniture and accessories.

I was heading towards the kitchen, lugging a boxed-up microwave, when I noticed two of the burlier men carefully carrying one of Richard's prized objets d'art—an enormous classic oil painting by some renowned artist whose name I could never be bothered to remember.

The irony of Richard's love for beautiful art while treating his wife so uglily was not lost on me.

"Be extremely careful not to scratch, bump, or damage those paintings in any way," I warned them.

The last time one of his precious artistic investments had suffered so much as a speck of dust, the punishment he doled out was...severe, to say the least.

My ribs ached at the memory.

"There will be dire consequences if anything at all happens to them."

Fear and apprehension crossed their features as they processed my words but didn't verbalize it.

"We'll be real careful, ma'am. Don't you worry." The burlier of the two grunted.

I slowly made my way towards the kitchen, the boxed-up microwave's weight already making my arms and lower back ache from struggling under the strain.

I wonder how a sadistic, emotionally bankrupt bastard like Richard can sanctify and revere art in such an unhealthy way when it's not even suitable for his cruel, barbaric nature. Perhaps he saw the paintings as possessions to be controlled and admired, much like he viewed me.

It took a little over an hour to get all of our belongings carefully situated inside the cavernous new place.

After the moving crew had finished loading everything in and departed, I went back outside to retrieve the last few stray boxes of small vases, picture frames, and knickknacks.

The late morning sun beat down on me, causing sweat to trickle down my back.

That's when I discovered with a roll of my eyes that they'd carelessly left my massive, 6-foot-tall wedding portrait leaning against the exterior wall of the villa.

The gaudy, intricate thing was even bigger than me!

"Unbelievable! Damn, incompetent workers! Just like the backward man who hired them," I muttered under my breath, glaring at the oversized photo.

The sight of it made my skin crawl.

In it, I was wearing an elaborate, corseted white lace gown that had been tailored to my petite frame, while Richard cut an imposing figure beside me in a sleek black tuxedo from a designer I didn't even want to think about how much it cost.

We both had fake, plastic smiles plastered across our faces, but his was tinged with arrogance while mine looked somewhat strained around the edges.

I remember how uncomfortable I felt that day. I had already sensed that something was off, but I was unable to put my finger on it.

"Why are you grinning like a delusional idiot?" I laughed bitterly at my former, naively optimistic self.

"You didn't expect the man your family pressured and cajoled you into marrying would turn out to be such a vile, abusive, narcissistic prick, did you, poor, foolish thing?"

If only I could go back in time and warn that innocent girl of what was to come.

Realizing I was carrying on a one-sided conversation while talking to myself, I shook my head slowly and angrily kicked at the thick glass covering the large portrait with the pointed toe of my designer high heels.

"Fuck!" The physical pain in my foot was almost a welcome distraction from the emotional anguish roiling inside me.

I wrapped my arms around the edges of the heavy, cumbersome frame and lifted with a groan of immense effort.

My sore muscles strained against the weight. "I don't know why the living room needs to be decorated with a huge fucking picture of us acting like we're deliriously in love. It's enough that we have to exhaust ourselves putting on that fake, happy couple charade around others all the damn time."

I heard a car engine rumbling as it passed by on the street behind me but paid it no mind.

I was too focused on struggling to carry the monstrosity inside before my arms gave out completely.

"This is...so much heavier...than I thought..." Each step was agony, my body protesting against the abuse I was subjecting it to.

I took one trembling step forward, then another. My lower back was already screaming in protest from the awkward angle and immense weight when suddenly, my very soul felt like it was about to depart from my body.

My arms were reaching their limit, muscles quivering with exertion.

"Damn you, Richard!" I cried out in anguished desperation, knowing I was about to embarrass myself by dropping such an expensive piece.

The thought of facing his wrath if I damaged it sent a chill down my spine.

Before I could let the portrait come crashing violently to the ground, I felt someone's strong fingers grip the lower edge of the frame and take at least half of the weight off me.