Submit to Me, Gentlemen

"Mama… I don't feel good…"

His voice was so weak. I forced my heavy eyelids open.

My hands were numb and burning at the same time. When I looked down at my wrists, I saw the rope had cut so deep that my skin had turned colors.

I couldn't remember how long I'd been kneeling on the floor.

The marble was ice cold, seeping through the thin fabric of my skirt and straight into my bones.

And Leo—my baby—lay there with his eyes shut tight and his brow furrowed, murmuring over and over in a voice barely above a whisper:

"Mama, I don't feel good. I don't feel good…"

Tears spilled down my face before I could stop them. He was only three feet away from me. Three feet. And I couldn't reach him.

Not far from where he lay, my husband Justin was making sounds with his lover, Vivian.

"You get more intoxicating every time," he breathed. "You dirty little thing."

Justin kept driving into her—the same man who had torn into me in the dark of our bedroom, now buried deep inside Vivian, moving in and out of her without stopping.

Vivian cried out, loud and sharp, like she wanted to shake the ceiling down.

Her breasts were pressed flat under Justin's hands and mouth, crushed against the cushions of the sofa.

Justin's hands gripped Vivian's waist, but his eyes—his eyes were fixed on me. He didn't slow down. If anything, he moved harder, faster, as though my presence in the room was the thing driving him over the edge.

The way he looked at me made me want to be sick.

"Well, look at that. The little bitch is finally awake."

The moment Justin saw me watching, his movements turned savage. Vivian's moans pitched higher.

"Harder, baby—I'm close, I'm so close—"

While they chased their pleasure, Leo's voice was fading.

Fear wrapped its hand around my throat and squeezed. I dragged in a breath and screamed at them:

"Justin—something's wrong with Leo. Let me go. Let me go—"

"Darling," Vivian said, breathless and smug, shooting me a look soaked in contempt, "your wife is ruining the mood again."

She let out an exaggerated moan, dragging her fingers in lazy circles across Justin's chest.

"Tell me something." Her voice dropped, thick with satisfaction. "Who's better—me or Ella?"

A brief pause. The kind a man performs when he already knows the answer and only pretends to weigh it.

"You." No hesitation. "It's not even a question." A short, contemptuous laugh. "Ella is—" He made a dismissive sound. "A corpse, Viv. That's the kindest word for it."

A corpse.

Four years of marriage. Four years of learning to read his moods before he had to voice them, of sanding down my edges, of making myself smaller, softer, easier—whatever shape he needed me to be.

I had always believed that if I tried harder, gave more, swallowed more of myself, he would eventually turn around and see me.

He never did.

And Leo.

He had never once reached for Leo on his own. When Leo was just learning to say Dada, toddling along the sofa with both hands outstretched, Justin had shoved him away like he was an inconvenience.

The pain in my chest was blinding.

But none of that mattered right now.

Leo's breathing was wrong. His crying was wrong.

A feeling seized me—sudden and absolute—that I was about to lose him.

I couldn't hold myself back anymore. I threw my whole body forward.

The rope snapped my arms back at the shoulder joints.

"No." The word tore out of my throat raw. "No—please, let me go, he can't breathe—"

Everything on the sofa finally stopped. Vivian rose from the chaise, fluid running down the inside of her thighs, and moved without any urgency whatsoever.

She walked up to me and stood there, forcing me to look at her—at her body, still carrying the scent of my husband.

She leaned down close to my ear.

"Your man is mine now," she said softly. "As for the kid—don't worry. I'm not going to let him die. I just gave him a few peanuts." She paused. "He's allergic, if I remember right."

You—

The moment I understood what she'd done, every bit of strength left my body.

Did Justin know?

Of course he knew. I had thought he simply didn't love me—but I never imagined he would let another woman hurt his own child.

"Justin." My voice was shaking. I held it steady by force. "You can do whatever you want to me. I don't care. Just untie me and let me take Leo to the hospital. Please."

Vivian pressed two fingers to her lips, as if trying to contain a smile.

Justin looked down at me from above, his voice dripping with mockery. "Are you done performing?"

"He knows," Vivian said, once the laughter had died down enough to speak. Each word was precise, deliberate—set into place like stones. "He knows exactly what kind of woman you are. I'll admit you're a convincing actress—the wounded wife, the devoted mother." Her gaze swept over Leo, brief and completely empty. "But Justin isn't a fool. Save the act. If Leo were actually allergic to peanuts, he'd already be gone."

"He is—" My voice had almost nothing left in it. "He's only four years old. Whatever you think of me—he is four years old—"

Leo let out a shriek.

Piercing. Terrible.

Then silence.

Something in my chest snapped clean in two.

The rope was nylon—thin, but knotted tight, coiled twice around my wrists and lashed to the iron window bars, cutting off the circulation until my skin had gone purple.

But in that moment, I would have broken both my hands off at the wrist before I let Leo go without a fight.

I pulled against the rope with everything I had. Just when I was on the edge of giving up—

The knot gave.

I crossed the floor on my hands and knees and gathered my son into my arms.

He buried his face against the curve of my neck, making small, ragged sounds—the worst sounds I have ever heard in my life.

"Ella—"

I heard Vivian move.

I didn't have time to turn around.

The blow came from the upper left—heavy, and it shattered on impact.

The floor rose up to meet me in a slow, strange way. My cheek pressed against the cold marble. Leo was still in my arms, but the world in front of my eyes was going dark.

It took me until almost the last moment to understand: Vivian had just hit me with a vase.

Leo was in my arms.

Beneath my palm, I could feel his heartbeat—and it was fading.

His breathing. I could barely feel it anymore.

"Leo…"

His name caught in my throat and stayed there.

I knew that if I went under now, I would never see him again when I woke up.

Maybe God heard me.

My vision cleared.

I hauled myself upright with Leo held against me, my whole body screaming with the effort. Behind me, I heard Vivian laugh—bright, cruel, delighted.

"Justin, she just won't die. Honestly? I think I'm enjoying this."

I didn't look back. I put everything I had into moving forward—just forward, just out, just away from here with my son.

When Vivian's footsteps started up again, my heart slammed so hard I thought it would crack my ribs open.

"Let them go."

Justin's voice, flat and bored.

"Don't ruin the mood."