THE NEED FOR SELF-PRESERVATION provides me with the motivation to finally leave the safe confines of the bathroom. My body’s pleas for food and water has become too much, and I have to give in to my hunger. It isn’t easy. Despite its urgings, my stomach tries to revolt. But I’m able to choke down half a slice of dry bread, giving me enough energy to clean myself up a little.
I spend the rest of the day reflecting on the events of the past twenty-four hours, trying to make sense of how it all went wrong, and where to go from here. At well after midnight, Nick finally stumbles through the door. The smell of alcohol on him is strong, and it blows into our room when he enters. I keep my eyes shut, listening to him shuffle around. He lumbers toward the bed, cursing profusely every time he runs into something. He’s plastered. I can only guess what would’ve caused his need to drown himself in liquor. Hope makes me believe that there’s an ounce of remorse eating away at him.
After we got married, Nick opened up about his estranged parents. He let me into a part of his life that he kept under lock and key. Pain radiated from his eyes when he explained the abuse he endured by the hands of his father. The beatings. The confinement. When he was old enough to leave home, he was on the first bus to escape that life.
When he described what it was like, he allowed himself to break down and be vulnerable. He was scared that he was becoming like his father. At times, he said he felt so angry that he struggled to contain it. It was something I never understood because I never saw that side of him. He didn’t show me aggression. He always seemed so in control.
At least before now.
It’s like his demons have taken over. They’ve possessed the good parts. They’ve spread like ink, discolouring the goodness he tried so hard to hold on to. Now, there’s nothing that can bleach away the stains—the memories—left behind by his actions. They’re horrible flashbacks that I can’t unsee. Unfeel. But if he were to atone for his sins—get help—I’d stand by him. He’s my husband, and I love him. For better or worse. Because beneath everything, there is a good man. One that needs to be found again. The man I fell in love with.
I stiffen when he positions himself behind me. My body still remembers what he’s capable of. But when his muscled arm lowers over my waist, and he snuggles into my neck, it loosens slightly. The sound of his breath slows when he falls asleep, and the soft purr of his snore finishes settling my nervousness.
My Nick is back for tonight.
I wonder how long he’ll stay.