Spotlight – Back to Square One, We Head! [analysis]

“Ah yes, ‘the principle of the matter’. Tell me this Stephanie where is the ‘principle of the matter’, when it comes to a woman never supporting her man? You’re my woman, but whenever I have a difference of opinion with someone, be it a landlord or business partner, you always take the other person’s side!” he pointed out accusingly.

“I side with whoever I feel is right. If you’re wrong, I’m not going to pretend you’re not, simply because you’re my man.”

“Well, that’s what any woman who really supports her man does. But then again, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, because you don’t really think of me as ‘your man’ anymore, do you?” he challenged, abruptly changing the entire direction of the exchange.

“What are you talking about?” I asked uncertainly.

“What do you think I’m talking about? You sit there and have the nerve to tell me you’ll take my son to someone who can keep a steady roof over his head, like I’m nobody. Unless you are having another affair, I assume that ‘someone’ is your father so, let me tell you something, Stephanie, and if I were you, I would listen very carefully, because I’m only going to say this once I might not have the kind of money or influence that your dad does, and I might be a nobody to you, so you can go whenever you want to, but I’m somebody to C.G. I’m his father, and he won’t go anywhere unless I say he can.

Remember that, and then think very, very carefully before you ever threaten me with my son ever again,” Chris growled as he bent low over me. And then straightening up, he strode from the room.

Although he had spoken in an even tone, and had not raised his voice, the look in Chris’s eyes bent over me in such an imposing manner, left me feeling something I had not felt around him for quite a while now – ice-cold fear.

Over the next couple of days and weeks, our home was filled with an uncomfortable tension. Although no harsh words were exchanged, there was a frosty distance between Chris and I, and it was only compounded by the fact that while he no longer asked me to accompany him anywhere, he made me feel like a prisoner in my own home as he constantly kept calling at awkward intervals to find out if I was still at home where he had left me.

As if that was not bad enough, he even went as far as calling saying he was very busy and would be home late, only to show up a few minutes later, as though he were trying to catch me out in some sort of deceit.

While I was faintly irritated by his underhand spy methods, I was not particularly bothered by them as there was no chance of him catching me in a lie since I had mentally resigned myself to my fate, and I lived my days as though walking through a foggy haze, not caring about what was going on outside the four walls of my home.

Although I had previously been rather particular about the way I looked and dressed, I slowly stopped caring about my appearance and would spend entire days strolling around the house in nothing more than a gown with uncombed hair. I reasoned that since there was nowhere to go, and no one coming to see me, why bother with the hassle of getting all made up but a doctor would probably have declared me clinically depressed as I had in effect lost all interest in living.

As I slipped further down this slippery slope of depression, it got to a point where only C.G was able to elicit any form of emotion from me. I would spend hours fooling around the living room floor with him, not bothered about the mess we were creating, or that the house chores had not been attended to.

Source : The Observer

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