Only one day off this week. Sigh. Oh well, gotta keep the lights on; a good friend used to say. Was busy planted some house flowers, cooked, cleaned, watched a movie, and took a nap. So a good only day off. 🙂 Here is part 5 of my story. Enjoy.
“Heya, babe!” The voice was sweet and loving but I knew better. I stood rooted to the spot feet from the front door. His eyes, piercing blue, looked questioning at me. I knew I must still look white. In slow motion he stepped toward me. He looked like he was about to hug me. Before I knew what I was doing my balled up fist struck his startled face. I felt his skin split under my knuckles and his cheekbone tear into my hand. Within a fraction of a second my right hand came around and hit him again. This brought him down to the floor. I began kicking him as hard as I could. I wanted to give him every bruise he gave me. I wanted him to have the two broken ribs that I, at one time, had. I wanted him to suffer like I did. I was yelling profanity at him but barely noticed. Someone’s arms wrapped around me and held me tight. I was being pulled backward away from my punching bag. One more perfectly aimed kick struck him between the legs. Thomas stopped moving and lay on my parents’ floor bleeding and weeping. I realized someone was talking to me.
“Jessica! Jessica! Are you OK? What are you doing?” my father’s voice. I did not even know he was home. He still held my arms pined to my sides. I took a deep breath and let out a slow sigh. My throat was raw but I did not remember screaming.
“What did he do? What happen?” My father pleaded with me as he turned me to face him. I shook my head and stared at Thomas on the floor.
“You…you bitch. You fucking bitch! I will kill you.” Thomas was slowly getting to his feet. His eyes were fierce. I had seen him this mad once or twice before. The last time I was the one with the broken ribs. I remember ever time he touched me. I remember every night he came home drunk and smelling of the bar.
“Leave! Never come back here.” My voice was quiet and calm. My demeanor startled me. I had never been out spoken. I never spoke my mind. I was the quite one that always stood in the shadows. I was slightly amused as the saying goes, “it’s the quite ones you have to look out for.” My smile was small but my eyes were stern. Thomas stared at me wide-eyed, blood running slowly down his chin. With a shaking hand he grabbed the door handle and walked out without a word. The smile widened as I realized I would never have to live through his beating. Again, it was an odd thought to be back in time to change something that I once lived through. I dimly wondered about paradoxes and if I was messing something up. I looked at my scared parents. I sheepishly smiled at them and shrugged. I knew that I would have to give them an explanation. If I told them the truth what would they think? Would I shame them?
“He…tired to…to…” I stammered not able to say it. For the first time tears sprang to my eyes and I broke down. My father’s arms wrapped around me, this time gentler and held me. My mother was cooing and murmuring and patting my head as I completely broke down. In the past, or I guess present, I would have never let my walls down and let my parents in. I had walled off everyone from my life because of Thomas. I could not tell anyone that I was being abused and I could not bring myself to tell my parents I had made a mistake. I was proud and stubborn. I wanted to make my own way and I worked hard for ten years to make my way. A pang of regret went through me as I realized that I had given up ten years of hard work.