Binds Read Online Free Page A

about it. The economy has been back in an upswing and crime is virtually nonexistent. Our country has become stronger than ever with no threats from outside nations, due to the massive buildup of military at Chancellor Brand’s command. He is a modern day Mussolini; coincidentally, the trains do run on time.
    The speech ends to raucous cheers and Donovan slinks back to the table beside me. I stare at the bubbles in my champagne glass as they slowly fizz around in the liquid, trying to find their escape. As the speeches go on and each course is served, I sink further into myself while zoning out and wishing that I were one of those bubbles, wishing for a distraction to get lost in the world amongst all the other bubbles and break free. The next thing I know, I’m snapped back into reality by chairs screeching abruptly across the floor and the sound of women’s gasps. The bubbles in my glass have doubled and tripled continuously and are now covering our table, soaking through the starched white tablecloth and dripping to the shiny floor.
    Donovan is pulling me up again with a painful grip on my elbow and leading me away from the mess, all while trying to rationalize what has just occurred to the lemmings previously seated at our table. “What is wrong with this champagne?” he spits at the wait staff as they approach to assess the situation. “This bottle must have been shaken by someone before they brought it over. This is completely unacceptable. Our guests’ meals have been ruined, and someone will be held accountable.”
    As he continues to berate the wait staff, my eyes linger on my glass of champagne. It is still spewing suds; this is not something that can be explained by a shaken bottle. The liquid was completely placid when it was poured. There is no other logical explanation for what happened and yet, everyone around us seems to be buying Donovan’s tirade, so what do I know? I am not about to question such happenings nor Donovan’s explanations for them in front of strangers anyway. I shake my head, dragging my mind away from the champagne and the bubbles stop coming.
    The waiters swiftly clean up the mess and bring new linens and place settings for the table. Everyone has just been reseated when Donovan turns to me and sneers, “You’re not feeling very well tonight, are you darling?” This is both an out and an accurate prediction for my future. Donovan is displeased with me and wants me gone. Fine, I would rather be alone while I contemplate what’s to come anyway.
    “No, I am suffering from a headache, dear,” I say through clenched teeth but loud enough for the occupants of our table to hear.
    Donovan stands up and pulls my chair out. “You must excuse my wife as she is feeling under the weather and must return home.” The guests at the table give me quick goodbyes and feel betters, and my livid husband escorts me from the room. My legs aren’t matching up to his long strides, so it appears that I am being dragged, rather than led, out to the awaiting cars.
    As the heavy glass hotel doors close behind us, Donovan throws me up against the outside brick façade and my head smashes into the unforgiving wall. I didn’t have a headache before but I will definitely have one now, at least he is not lying to his constituents about that. He grabs me by both of my upper arms and I can feel the bruises forming as he shakes me, once again driving my head into the wall. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you? Had to cause a scene? Well, don’t you worry, Ophelia,” he expectorates my name from his mouth as if it were sputum. “You won’t be able to help yourself tonight when I get home either. I will see you in a few hours, and we will see what kind of tricks you can pull then, won’t we, my dear?”
    I am left shaking in fear, pain, and indignation. Why is he insinuating that I caused a scene? I did nothing but sit at our table and listen silently while all of the peacocks fluffed themselves and