I woke up with a start, my breathing considerably heavy and my eyes puffy. Had I cried myself to sleep again? Apparently I had. Mostly I tried not to sleep at all; the less I slept the fewer nightmares I had. It would be the same thing time and time again. Walls closing in on me, a window on the other side of which Noah stood, smiling at me. I tried to break the barrier between us but time would always run out, the walls would always close in on me and I'd wake up screaming for release.

I wondered if Zach heard the screaming, if it had any effect on him. Since the day the doctor came to see me Zach and I had not met. I was glad for once that in the huge house, two people could live together without having to see each other. He lived on the first floor and my room was on the upper one. It was convenient for both of us since Zach could come and go as he pleased and I could enjoy the solitude. The only people I ever met were members of the staff, women who'd come to clean and the butler who'd come to serve me food. I hated being waited upon but something in me never allowed me to leave the confines of my room. The house wasn't mine, I didn't belong here. I had no right to walk around the place like I owned it.

I pulled the robe around myself, seeing as how I was shivering in my silk nightgown. My things had been sent from the house and I'd had quite the breakdown the day they arrived. My clothes, shoes, books, old photographs, all of it came to me perfectly packed in boxes. I laughed bitterly to myself as I remembered the fact that they hadn't sent a single thing which could possibly relate to Noah. The gifts he'd given me, a framed photograph, the occasional teddy bear, some jewellery, none of it was there. My mother must've thought that it was for the better, to not have any reminders of the past in my new life. If only she knew that my new life was more like purgatory, maybe then she'd have taken pity on me and sent me the things which reminded me of the one good memory that I could associate with my old life.

I walked up to the balcony that was attached to my room and took in the fresh morning air. It was around six in the morning and the time by which I was usually awake. Mist drowned everything in it and made my surroundings look cold and dreary, almost lifeless. Every day I woke up to hope that something would change about the place, that something miraculous would happen and I'd finally learn to accept the place as my new home, but it didn't. The Price mansion stood looking as formidable and grim as ever and as something that I'd never accept and nor would it accept me. It was loyal to its owner after all.

The sound of tyres screeching made me jolt and I looked down to see Zach's Ferrari racing inside the gates. Wait, had he been out all night? I gazed at the red vehicle, waiting for its owner to emerge, so imagine my surprise when the first person to come out of the car was wearing high heels.

My heart stopped. My first thought? Maybe Olivia had come back, maybe he'd found her. Maybe just maybe my life could be saved. The person who came out however was blonde and wearing clothes that even my sister would shy away from. Zach came out and walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. There was a slight clumsiness to his walk, a tell-tale sign of him being drunk. I gulped as the two continued to have an intense make-out session in the foyer. I waited for the pain to come but it didn't, I felt nothing. He could do whatever he wanted, I didn't care. I tore my eyes away from the two and headed to the bathroom to take a shower.

Two hours later as I was randomly changing the channels on TV, I heard the sound of something shattering from outside. The help wouldn't come till about nine so there was only one person or rather two that could be here and I started panicking, realizing that I didn't want to see either.

The sounds continued to come, loud sounds of things being thrown on the ground, of objects being violently broken and that's when I realized that it was enough. With a determined look on my face I left the safety of my room, only to find the living room in complete and utter apocalyptic condition. Everything had been turned inside out and everything which could potentially be destroyed had been reduced to pieces. Lamps were broken, vases shattered, paintings strewn across the floor and cushions ripped open. In the middle of it all stood Zach, looking absolutely murderous and when his eyes found me, his rage if it was possible increased tenfold.

To be completely honest, I was terrified. He looked so angry, so furious that it automatically sent a chill down my spine. I began to walk away from him, retreating carefully so as to not attract attention but I wasn't careful enough. Zach caught up to me before I could make it back to my room, grabbing my arm and pushing me against the wall. I felt sickened as I smelled the alcohol in his breath, his grey eyes boring into mine. I cowered against his touch, his grip on my arm never losing its firmness.

"Zach," I whispered, hoping he'd catch the pleading in my voice.

"Shut up! Shut the hell up," he all but yelled at me and I instinctively closed my eyes, terrified of what was going to come now. Would he hit me? Did he hate me so much?

"You ruined everything," he growled, running his free hand through his hair.

I looked at him questioningly, tears stinging my eyes as I fought to hold it all together. I'd been dreading this moment, waiting for him to break and blame me for ruining his life. I wanted to tell him that this was as hard for me as it was for him but I doubt he cared. The alcohol in his system had taken away his rationality and there was nothing I could do to make him see sense.

"I couldn't be with that girl I brought home! I couldn't touch her without the guilt eating at me. You did this to me," he spat and I was left speechless.

He pushed himself off of me and struggled to walk straight; he was about to fall when I quickly ran and caught him, his weight crushing me. He muttered a few more incoherent things, things I knew were directed to hurt me. I tried my best to support his weight and struggled greatly to get him to my room, which was closest to where we were. I managed to get him on the bed, laying him down more roughly than I intended. I took off his shoes and placed a blanket on him.

I stared at the sleeping form of my husband and hard as I tried I couldn't find it in myself to be angry at him. He wasn't at fault; what he'd been subjected to was not what he'd earned. He hated me, I knew that and I was far from loving him but there was something I needed to do, something which would heal his heart.