SITTING IN MY SEAT on the plane, I feel like a cow being sent to the slaughter. I’m being fattened with Nick’s fake words of flattery, while his hand squeezes my leg reassuringly. It’s his way of encouraging my surrender, but I know what the niceties precede, and I’m not taking the bait.
When we finally pull up to the front of our house—after a dreadful, two-hour flight—my nerves have worn thin from the constant jittering. My mind and body have been at odds with the predicament they’ve been placed in. They’re terrified beyond words. But the suppressed woman inside of me, that’s been bound to a future of discipline, longs to be released. I want to be defiant. I want to stand up for myself, though justifiable fear wills me to comply. It controls me as much as my offender, and it paralyzes me, taking away my confidence to run.
Nick unlocks the door and gestures for me to enter first. He follows closely behind, and when we cross the threshold, the cloak of his civility disappears. He pushes roughly against my back and starts his tirade.
“Don’t you ever do something that stupid again! You’re my wife! You don’t just pick up and leave without me knowing. I warned you! I warned you, Allie.”
I cower before the hit. I know it’s coming. It’s just a matter of…
Ugh…
His fist connects with a solid blow to my cheek. I know it’s not the hardest he can hit me. He could hit me much harder—in a place that would put me to sleep—but he knows that if he does, I won’t be present in this fight. And he needs that. He needs to feel the dominance, so instead, he puts just enough force to do damage, and not one ounce more.
He swings again.
And again.
And again.
I wrap my forearms over my head—while pulling up my knees—to create a protective shield from the blows.
“You will not leave me! Do you hear me?” he bellows as his fist connects one more time. My blood splatters between us. It’s painted on his knuckles, his clothes…my clothes. It drips down my face, and I taste copper on my tongue. It mixes with my tears as they try to wash it away.
I whimper, quietly, to not draw attention to my pain, and crab-walk back into the corner. I try to find a hidden space that doesn’t exist. The walls hold me in place, restraining my body, while Nick stalks me.
He crouches down and grabs my chin. My lip quivers and my body trembles. I try to pull away, but he holds me still. His eyes scrutinize over my face, then the firm line of his lips turns down. His expression turns pained. He scrunches his face with disgust. His eyes close tightly, squeezing out mournful tears. He rocks back onto the floor. He sways madly while gripping his hair.
“I’m so sorry, Pixie. I don’t know what got into me. I’m so sorry.” The spit flies from his mouth as he sobs ugly tears.
My resulting confusion adds to my panic.
What is happening?
He crawls toward me, with an outstretched hand, as if to signal his surrender.
“Pixie, you have to forgive me…please forgive me,” he profusely begs while he wraps his arms around me. “I don’t…I couldn’t control myself.”
He clings to me—as if I’ll leave at any second. I tense beneath his hold. He seems sincere, but I don’t know how to separate the man that beat me a few minutes ago, with the man begging me for forgiveness. They’re inconsistent. The two realities are irreconcilable. My brain is a muddled mess as it tries to work out what’s going to happen next.
Familiar puffiness fills in the points of impact as bruises take form. I was able to buffer most of the blows with my body, so the greater part of the trauma lies in my aching shoulders and back, though my face did not go unscathed. My cheek is tender to the touch. And when I pull my fingers back and look at red smears, I know the evidence has been stained there.
Needing to take advantage of Nick’s moment of clarity, and to be away from his ever-changing touch, I muster enough strength to state what I want more than anything. “I…I need to go. I…I can’t be here.”
I move to unravel him from around me, but he grips me tighter. “You can’t leave. I don’t know what will happen to me if you leave…or what could happen to you. I can’t control it, Pixie. It gets so crazy in here.” He signals to his head and reiterates, “I get so crazy.”
“You…you need to talk to someone who can help you, Nick. I…I don’t know how to help you.”
“NO!…NO! I’m talking to you. You can help me. You’re my wife. I’m not talking to someone else. They’ll think I’m insane. I’m not insane, Pixie. I just don’t know how to make the anger go away.”
“Please, Nick. For me. For us,” I plead while guiding him off of me.
I look into his eyes, and I see that I’m losing him. I’m too weak to fight the battle brewing inside him. He refuses to seek help, and I’m not about to launch a counterattack in a war I can’t win. I wave my white flag in surrender and try to pacify him.
“Okay. I’ll…I’ll help you.” The words are so heavy on my tongue. They feel like a lie. I know I should want to help—to make him better—but right now I want to be anywhere but here. I’ll never be able to see him without the association of violence. I don’t want to live with his daily threats terrorizing me. I want to feel safe. I want to be held. I want to know that the words promised to me are true. That the man I’m with has a heart that’s pure, and not tainted by animosity. That he’s never going to hurt me.
I want…Tyler.