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He didn’t come home early Sunday morning, as he usually does. He didn’t come back last night, and he’s not here now. I haven’t heard from Eric since he threatened me and stormed out of my hospital room over a week ago. He hasn’t tried to reach out to me since that day, and I damn sure wasn’t reaching out to him. I didn’t know where he was, and I didn’t care. He had no right to threaten violence on my family or me. I never thought he was that kind of man; I always thought he was perfect. Not a monster that would say the things he said to me that day.
When I got to the kitchen, I picked up the Vicodin tablet sitting next to my glass. I popped it in my mouth and splashed red wine to the back of the dry throat to wash it down. Booze and pills were the only things that seemed to be keeping me sane.
On my trip out to the pool, I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror as I passed by. I stopped and did a triple take just to make sure the image floating by was me. I no longer recognized myself. I had no idea who the pale face staring back at me belong to. She had dark circles under her eyes. Worry in her face—loneliness in her spirit.
I asked, “What is wrong with me?” as my wine glass went crashing onto the walnut parquet floor. I wanted to spit as my eyes revealed my image in the mirror. I would rather go blind than to look at myself for another second.
I went into the half bath and grabbed my wooden handle hairbrush from the sink. I ran back out to the hallway to see if my reflection had changed. I went to the mirror, praying fear wasn’t still etched all over my vacant face, but it was still there. Worse than before. I couldn’t stand to look into my eyes for another minute, so I slammed the handle of the hairbrush into the mirror. I kept hitting the mirror until the last piece of glass made it to the floor.
I cried as I stared around my immaculate home. Everything was perfectly in order, not broken and dark like me. As I stood in the lavished living area, I thought about running a broken piece of glass over my wrist and end it all. I might as well because I have no life without Eric. I can’t start over; I’m not capable of living a healthy, happy life without him. It would be too painful, and I wasn’t accustomed to pain. The easy route would be to kill myself; I just want to close my eyes and never wake up.
Now I was crying hysterically. I couldn’t control myself. I was in such agony, and I just wanted it to end. I wanted it all to stop. I wanted this hurt to go away so I could rest.
When I picked up one of the broken pieces of glass down by my feet, my hand started to rain blood after I carved open a big chunk of flesh.
I screamed and bolted through the house from pain. Once I made it to the kitchen, I plopped down in the middle of the floor, holding my bloody arm. In-between the excruciating pain in my hand, all I could do was ponder my life and what a mess it was: No degree. No career. No children. And now, no Eric. What a joke! I couldn’t do anything right.
“Katie, my God, KATIE! What happened to you?”
Eric charged toward me when he came into the kitchen from the garage. He was more alarmed than I was with the souls of his shoes slipping around in my blood as he tried to get to me.
“Katie, I’m calling an ambulance!”
When he went for his phone, I stopped him. “Don’t please . . . I don’t want our street crawling with fire trucks and rescue squads. I don’t want anyone to think something is wrong in here.” I was in so much pain I felt as if I would blackout at any moment.
“Katie, there is something wrong, look at you.” He looked down at all the glass. “What happened?” He asked, “What did you do?” now looking right at me.
“Eric, . . . I don’t know . . . I don’t remember.” I was so woozy I could barely speak.
Eric got up to grab a few towels and to call nine-one-one after I begged him not to.
My voice was only one octave above a whisper when I said, “Eric, I love you.”
“Here, put this around your arm.” He held my arm up as the dispatcher told him to do.
“You don’t love me anymore. I can see it in your face. You don’t . . .Oh, Eric.”
“Is that what this is about? You hurt yourself because you think I don’t love you anymore? Katie, I am a busy doctor. You knew that when I married you. I love you with all my heart and soul, but you and your sisters cannot bring a PI into our marriage. That’s not how this works. Not with me.”
I could hear the sirens from the ambulance in the short distance. “Eric, I didn’t know what to do, where to turn. You leave me here with access to any and everything I want except-you. Why . . . why can’t I have you, Eric? I need you . . . the man I married. Not . . . not a man that is constantly abandoning me. And surely not a man that would call me a wicked bitch.” Eric looked away from me when I spit his words back out to him. “I’m not a wicked bitch; I’m just a woman desperate for her marriage to work.”
“Katie, this is not the time. You’re hurt, and you need to get to a hospital.”
I begged, “Eric, please just tell me . . . What is out there that keeps you away from me? I know it’s not just your practice . . . it’s not your patients . . . what is it? Who is it? Who is out there, Eric? It’s something or somebody that takes you away from me.” When the doorbell chimed, Eric went to get up from the floor, but I grabbed his shirt. “Just tell me, Eric. Tell me . . . who’s out there? Who is it? . . .”