When she came home in the evening she would draw the curtains in her mind and pull the gate shut behind her. This was her private place, her private hell. And hell is where you are sent when you are bad. Very bad. Maybe tonight would be different she thought, perhaps he would arrive home and take her in his arms and hold her tight, squeezing away all her fears.
She opened a bottle of wine and set it on the table, wanting everything to be beautiful and serene, everything to be calm and perfect. She had put candles in the bedroom; loved the warm flicker of dancing light around the bed. Their lovemaking would be magical and exciting and warm and gentle.
Had she heard a car? Her stomach fluttered and that excited nausea that she knew so well came and went with the rumble of the car as it passed. The storm in her belly subsided and slowly she allowed herself a moment of peace before the performance began.
She really needed his closeness tonight. It had been a long time since a touch or a look, her body and mind were screaming out for it, clawing and grasping at everything to try and milk out that little drop of affection and love that she craved.
It definitely was a car this time, the sound was unmistakable. It came into the drive and purred innocently to a stop.
She flapped around to make sure that everything was just right; then sat casually on the sofa with her magazine, a very together lady. Her insides were by now on the high trapeze; she had trained her mind so well that this was really happening. He would come through the door, kiss her before anything else and then ask how she was. Could he get her a drink? Did she need anything? Reality was relegated to the shed somewhere at the bottom of her garden, not to be admitted let alone faced.
Feet crunched on the gravel path and then the key in the lock. For a fleeting second her fears seeped back into her mind and plummeted down to her stomach. She felt sick. What mood was he in. Had she done anything wrong. All within point zero six five of a second and then, normal again.
He came through the door and flicked a glance at her as she rose to greet him. She tried to meet his eyes but they were on the stove by now. His voice said, “Been out doing nothing all day? You can’t fool me. Remember, I know you.”
And as she turned towards the kettle, “Make me a coffee bitch.”
She heard him snort with humour at his own words as she filled the kettle and switched it on. She had accepted his way of talking to her. He needed an outlet and she didn’t mind. She understood. His anger was with others not her, so it was okay, even therapeutic for him to let his feelings out.
She still understood as his fist hit the side of her face.
Oops
13 years ago
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