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Chapter 2

Alicent

First, I have to get Logan a gift.

My mind whirls, and all I can think about is last night’s incident when Logan’s anger flared up because I failed to obey his demands quickly enough.

I glance down at my elbows, noticing I still have a little red mark on it where he pushed me against the wall sharply to get out of his way. I know that tomorrow or the following day, it will start to turn purple—as it always does.

Today, we mark ten years of marriage. It’s terrifying how swiftly time has slipped away; I was a mere seventeen when our relationship began. Even though the main reason at the time was to change my surname. I left behind Alicent Dove in the desperate hope that Alicent Watson could have a chance to survive.

I wear a baggy black sweater that has seen better days over my brown tank top to cover all my bruises. At least this time, I don’t have a sprained wrist because I definitely can’t afford to pay any hospital bills.

After taking the amount to pay our expenses, I will clean out everything in my bank account so I can buy Logan a beautiful watch. Which isn’t that much since my job as a preschool teacher barely pays our bills.

I think he’ll like it. My husband has been complaining that his current one has become very worn out. He said that must be the reason why no one will hire him.

I hope this gift brightens his mood a bit.

This will be the beginning of the rest of our lives—

“Ouchie! Oww!”

I sprint desperately from our bedroom to the kitchen when I hear our son crying in pain. Logan isn’t here. He went to another job interview.

As soon as I see Azrael, my heart clenches, and I want to do whatever is necessary to stop his pain. He has his back bent, bouncing around as he holds his little hand tightly.

Az is so tiny for a nine-year-old boy and so fragile, even though mentally he seems much older than his age.

“Oh, buddy! What happened?” I approach him, touching his back. I lift my hand, inviting him to place his smaller one on top so I can get a look at what’s happened.

Az looks up, “I cut my finger,” he says in a weak voice. His green eyes, the same color as mine, are filled with tears.

I keep stroking his back until he places his pale, trembling hand over mine. I examine the cut on his red finger, gently touching it. Though it bled a ton, the cut didn’t seem too deep, but it was at least two inches wide.

“Poor baby,” I say, directing his finger to the kitchen sink to disinfect.

Around where he was bouncing, there was a pool of blood on the floor.

“I’m not a baby, Mom,” he makes a point of reminding me as his bottom lip trembles before he wipes away his tears with the top of his forearm.

I frown down at him. “I told you not to use the knife, Az! It’s dangerous! You could cut yourself, like what just happened!” I say as I clean his finger with soap and water.

“I just wanted to make a peanut butter sandwich before we left, Mom. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s my job to take care of you, buddy. Next time, you ask me, okay?” I tell him firmly. When he doesn’t respond, I demand, “Okay?”

Az sniffles sadly before saying reluctantly, “Okay, Mom! I’m sorry.”

I dry his finger with tissue paper and grab the First-Aid kit from the last sticky yellow drawer in the kitchen cabinet. This apartment is practically crumbling. It’s so old that it feels like it’s barely holding itself together. It was the only place where we didn’t need to drop any cash for a deposit when we snagged it. Once we got here and scoped out this sketchy neighborhood, it all made sense.

I apply petroleum jelly before covering the cut on his finger with an adhesive bandage specifically for his sensitive skin. My little angel’s got a severe lactose allergy—his skin’s crazy sensitive even without any dairy messing with it. That’s why I always carry the EpiPen with me. I’d endure going hungry myself than have him suffer without his meds, and that’s precisely what went down last time I had to buy his medication.

Az looks at his finger, wiggling it back and forth. “It hurts,” he says.

I give his finger a little kiss with a loud noise and give him a smile, “There you go! Now you will get better!”

Az lets out a big sigh like he’s been holding his breath forever. “Thank you, Mom!” He says. Az gives me a soft smile before he rubs his eyes with the hand that doesn’t have the cut on his finger.

“You’re still in trouble for using the knife without me watching over you, buddy!”

I quickly wipe up the blood from the floor before heading to my bedroom to grab my purse so we can leave. “Let’s go, Az!”

Before bailing out of the apartment, I make sure to grab Chel’s trench coat, though I don’t even recall when she left it here.

Even though she is my best friend—well, my only one, actually—she remains oblivious to my secret past. The same goes for my husband, even though he’s got his suspicions.

Chel is the director’s daughter at the school where I work, and she’s part of the administrative staff there. Every time I have a day off, she’s always pushing me to pick up extra shifts so I can rake in more cash. I really appreciate her looking out for me like that.

Today is one of the rare days that I don’t work on my day off because the teacher who needed me to cover for her ended up making it to class at the last minute.

Which is perfect because I have the whole day free to surprise Logan.

My heavy purse lightly bumps my bruised elbow as I lock the door, and I mutter out a hiss in pain.

I will avoid doing anything that might provoke him into making him feel like hurting me again.

🐺 🐺 🐺

Although I park my old car in front of Chel’s beige house, I leave it running because I’m worried it might not start up again if I shut it off.

Then, I hurriedly make my way towards her driveway, securely clutching her trench coat on my left arm. I washed and dried it carefully for her, and then, to ensure its pristine state after, I placed it in a clothes cover to protect it from wrinkles.

The moment I get close to the white door, the highest volume of ‘Beautiful Liar’ by Beyoncé and Shakira hits my ears from inside. My fist frantically pounds on the door, but Chel doesn’t answer.

With a gentle twist of my free hand, the doorknob turns, and the door creaks open. It has become a habit for me to enter Chel’s house like this since she never remembers to lock the door.

If my best friend lived in my neighborhood, this absentmindedness could really put her in harm’s way.

With the infectious beat of the music filling the air, I can’t help but move my shoulders in a dancing motion and let my hips sway as I walk inside her house, almost singing along with the queens as they croon ‘He won’t be the one to cry’.

“Chel?” I shout over the loud music, but she still doesn’t reply. Despite living alone, Chel has a remarkably large house. My whole apartment could probably fit in her living room. The constant disarray in her house makes it unsurprising to find her clothes thrown on the floor.

I follow the trail of clothes until the sound of the moans becomes increasingly audible over the pulsating beat of the loud music.

Immediately, my eyes widen in surprise, and my breath instinctively catches in my throat as I quickly take a step back. Although I’m standing just inches away from Chel’s bedroom door, which is half open, I’m sure she didn’t hear me.

Shit! I shouldn’t be here. Thank goodness Az stayed in the car!

At least she’s getting laid. I can’t even remember the last time Logan and I had sex.

I’m about to take more steps back and walk away.

But then I hear a grunt.

Wait. No. I must be wrong. This grunt I’m hearing—which I know so well—must be because I just thought about him.

However, abruptly Logan’s voice rings out clear as day through the loud music, “Fuck! Chel! You have the best ass I’ve ever fucked!”

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