"Ah! Stop talking!" It was midnight, and what Matthew had said filled Erica's mind with horrible images. She buried her face in his arms and repeatedly snuggled up against him, as if she were trying to get into his body. The wine glass in her hand sloshed and threatened to spill.
Seeing her frightened, Matthew smirked, thinking, 'You're already drunk and still want to make me drink? Now, I think you'll have other things on your mind.' He eyed the drink she was holding and demanded, "Put that down! Just go upstairs and go to sleep!"
Erica stilled and nodded meekly. Peeling herself off of him, she made to put the glass down on the table, then paused. It was red wine of a good vintage, too good to be wasted. She took a deep breath and started in on it again.
"That's enough," Matthew snapped. Leaning forward, he tried to grab the glass out of her hand.
His wife had a good grip, though. Blinking at him, she protested, "I don't want to waste this! It's good stuff."
"Oh, fine—then I'll drink it!" Matthew said. She had had enough to drink, and he wouldn't allow her any more!
"Okay, then," Erica said. But she kept hold of the glass and even jerked it out of his hand.
Before he could react, she took a sip of the red wine but did not swallow it down. Her face drifted close to his. Her expression was pouting, and she moved her lips as though trying to speak. Matthew just stared, unable to comprehend her ridiculous behavior.
After a painfully wrong moment with no response from him, Erica swallowed the wine and explained to him, "Didn't you say you wanted to drink it? I was trying to give you some. Why didn't you take it?" She'd gotten the idea from a few romantic novels she'd read, in which the male protagonists gave their love interests wine, water or medicine in this way.
For his part, Matthew had no clue where she could have gotten this idea. Despite himself, he appreciated the effort. In fact, he knew of a way to up the ante.
Gently, he pinched her chin and made her look up at him. With an evil and attractive smile at the corners of his mouth, he said, "I have a more interesting idea. Do you want to try it?"
"Sure!" There was a sudden light in Erica's eyes.
He took the wine glass from her hand and made her lean against the table behind her. Under her curious gaze, he poured some wine on her collarbone and then slowly lowered his head. Erica was completely intoxicated by what he was doing.
They made love passionately in the dining room.
And yet when they were done, Matthew was not satisfied. Not knowing what time it was, he took his exhausted wife in his arms, grabbed the red wine bottle in one hand, and somewhat awkwardly headed to the bathroom upstairs.
If she was so sure she wanted to play games, then he was going to oblige.
Many hours later the next morning, Erica's sobbing voice could be heard from the bedroom on the third floor. Tangled up in the covers in bed, her mind fogged, it took her a long time to wake up and get her wits about her.
In fact, she wasn't even sure where her crying fit had come from. As it started to ebb, she tried to piece together what had happened the previous night. She remembered eating snacks—a lot of snacks—and waiting for Matthew to come back from work. She'd wanted to have drinks with him and apologize.
And now it was morning, and she was alone in bed, her mind terribly fogged. In fact, she hurt everywhere.
Why did she feel like she had been run over by a bus? 'Matthew, you bastard!' she cursed.
Once before, while Erica was in the midst of a fit, she had sworn to herself that she would bang him in his office and the dining room a million times as punishment. At this moment, she didn't think she would ever dare say such a thing again.
She lifted the quilt and inspected herself, wincing. She had hickeys all over her body.
She decided then that Matthew had to have been some kind of a bone-sucking monster in a previous life. Or a sex maniac.
Well, whatever he was before, he was a monster now.
'Matthew the Monster!' Erica thought, her bitterness intensifying.
What was she supposed to do to prevent her from being tortured like this by that man whenever he wanted?
Idly, she touched her belly, and an idea came into her head.
Her period was coming soon! She'd never been so eager to be on it in her life…
Just then, though, she was distracted by an aching pain in her fist. Favoring the bruised joints with her other hand, she tried to think of what had happened.
Minutes passed, and some fragments of memory seemed to come to the surface.
It was puzzling. Erica was left thinking that she'd hit Matthew. Hard. Did she remember it right?
'Oh, no, ' she thought to herself. 'I was going to apologize to him, but I ended up getting drunk and beating him. Or trying to, at least.
No wonder he left me like this. Maybe I brought this on myself.'
Later, in the canteen on campus
Ignoring the curious gazes of many people, Erica chewed a piece of braised pork and swallowed it. Opposite her, Hyatt was taking his time eating a bowl of fried rice.
Her phone rang. "I rented an apartment on the street where you lived. I wanted to meet you by chance. During the three years in high school…" That was Erica's ringtone. She took out her phone and checked the screen. It was Watkins.
While still eating, she answered. "Hello, Watkins."
His voice came crisply over the line. "Erica, have you eaten yet?"
"I'm eating right now." She didn't want to go home to have lunch today, so she'd gone to the canteen. After lunch, she was going to have a nap in the dormitory and then go to classes.
"What a pity," the man said. "I'm calling to invite you to lunch."
Erica smiled. "Maybe next time."
She imagined him shrugging as he said, "All right. Well, I'm also calling to tell you something. Your husband doesn't believe you about Phoebe's miscarriage, right? I looked at the photo Camille sent to the insurance company and found something that might prove your innocence."
"What is it?" Erica suddenly felt much more awake. Aside from her other ordeals, she'd been greatly troubled by having no evidence on her side in this.
Helpful as ever, Watkins explained, "The photo shows an old man standing on the opposite end of the road. When Camille took the photo, he was looking at us. And that was when Phoebe fell onto the ground, right? It seems to me that this old man must have seen what really happened. What do you think?"
Erica put down her chopsticks and asked eagerly, "Yeah, I think so. Can you find out who this old man is, or where he lives?" With an eyewitness to back her up, she would be able to prove her innocence to Matthew!
"That's the idea," Watkins said. "I only just found this clue and haven't had time to follow up on it. I've been busy dealing with the accident, but don't worry. I'll get somebody on this old man's trail. We'll start from nearby." The old man was about sixty or seventy years old and used a crutch to walk. Watkins figured that he probably lived close to the scene that the photo had been taken at.
Erica tried to contain her excitement. "Okay. Thank you so much!" It was true that more friends meant more ways.
She could practically hear Watkins' gentle smile over the phone line. "You're welcome. I'm also responsible for your being set up about Phoebe's miscarriage. Trying to prove your innocence is the least I can do to make things right. I'll have my men look into the old man's whereabouts immediately. As soon as they find out anything useful, I'll let you know."
Erica was so moved that she was about to cry. "You are so kind, Watkins. Thank you. I will treat you to dinner after this!"
"Treat me to dinner? Well, that sounds good! My every attempt to arrange for that has failed up until now. Maybe once we find that old man, it'll work out after all."
"Well, thanks again," she told him. "I've got to finish lunch now."
"Okay, enjoy. Bye!"
Erica was in a very good mood as she hung up the phone. She couldn't wait to expose Phoebe's true colors. When that was done, there would be no way Matthew could continue to defend that woman.
That afternoon, Erica had a class. Afterward, she went to the fruit base with Hyatt.
She picked some fresh fruits—several kinds, but her favorite was the strawberries. At her suggestion, Hyatt got a few of his own. As for the rest, she took them back to the villa, washed them and put them on the fruit plate so that Matthew could have some when he got back.
In the meantime, she decided to give Gifford a call. "Brother, I have something to ask you," she said, controlling her voice and keeping it as pleasant as she could.
"Don't ask me for anything!" barked an irate voice from the other side of the line. Gifford was still going through a migraine because of the trouble his sister had caused him. Hearing her voice again was about enough to make his head explode.
