Broken Dreams Boxset

by Rebecca Barber

  “Just leave me be, Joel,” I asked as I fought to my feet. “Does it make you feel like more of a man? To throw punches and hurt me? Does it? Do you feel better watching me bleed?” I dared.

  I know it was dumb to antagonize him, but I wanted him to know what I thought. It was about time he knew. I had been silent for too long. Now Joel would hear the truth. Whether or not he accepted it was not my problem. I had to live through to tomorrow. Something that would seem simple to everyone else, but right now, staring at the hollow man in front of me, there was a very real possibility that I wouldn’t.

  “Why can’t you just shut the fuck up, Gillian? Do you want me to hit you?” he roared, his hands once again going for my throat. If I could have shrieked in pain I would have. His fingers dug into the bruises he’d already left there. I felt my body and my resolve weaken. He was winning.

  Once again black spots began to dance in my vision, and I thought I was going to pass out. But Joel let go. Just as I was beginning to fade, he dropped me and once again I was on the floor. I was on my hands and knees, gasping for breath. That close to the white plush carpet I noticed that it was speckled with blood. No doubt my blood. I found myself praying that Joel didn’t notice as it would just exacerbate the already out of control situation.

  Joel turned away from me, running his hands through his hair. I watched him curiously as he spotted the blood on his hands. It was strangely satisfying to watch him as he realized what he’d done. “You’re an arsehole,” I mumbled meekly, still on my hands and knees.

  “Fuck you, Gillian. Fuck you!” He turned on me. If I had thought he was angry before I had never seen this level of rage.

  He landed another blow, this time to the back of my head. I fell face-first into the floor, squashing my nose as I landed and releasing a geyser of blood. It was then that I blacked out.

  When I woke my head was spinning. I ached everywhere. My head was heavy. I reached out with shaky fingers and touched my forehead. I had a large bump above my eye the size of a tennis ball, and my face was covered in thick patches of rust coloured dried blood. It took a moment to work out where I was. Even when my eyes focused, I didn’t recognize where I was. It was then I spotted Joel leaning against a door frame smiling sadistically. He was leaning against his walk-in wardrobe. I was perched on the end of his bed.

  I hadn’t been in this room since he’d boxed my things up all those years ago. It wasn’t what I expected. It was clean, but it was more than that. It was sterile. I guessed it hadn’t been that way until recently. There was nothing in here. The dresser was bare. There were no clothes balled up on the floor. All his shoes were lined up neatly in the cupboard. The only thing that didn’t surprise me was the pile of women’s clothing in the corner. A varied array of lace and leather in all colours piled in a heap.

  Struggling to sit up, my chest felt like someone had dropped a ten-tonne concrete slab on me. I guessed that I had a few cracked ribs, and probably a broken one as well. I opened my mouth to say something, and Joel held up a hand, stopping me dead.

  “For once you’re just going to shut that fat hole in your face and listen. You did this. Not me. You’re the one who ruined us. You fucked my career and my life. I was happy before you. You’re the leech who wouldn’t let go. I should’ve known better but I felt sorry for you. Then you got knocked up and I never even knew if it was mine. But you had no family and I married you. Out of pity. But I never loved you, Gillian. I deserved better than you then. And I sure as hell deserve better than you now!” Joel said calmly.

  I watched him talk and realized that was what he truly believed. It didn’t matter if it was true or not, in his heart, no matter how black it was, that was what Joel believed.

  “Is that so?” I asked daringly. “How am I responsible for ruining your life? Did I force you to grope your receptionist? To tell your boss to go fuck herself? Did I make you tell your client she was a plastic Barbie that you wouldn’t screw if she paid you? If you want to blame someone for ruining your career, Joel, look in the mirror. You did that. No one held a gun to your head and forced you. You did that all on your own.”

  “Excuse me?” Joel warned. “Are you trying to tell me it’s my fault? Don’t you get it? It’s you!” He roared so loudly the windows rattled. “It was all you, Gillian. I was running on no sleep because of your children. The moment I walked in the door each day you did nothing but bitch and whine about your day. Why would I want to come home to that? You made me what I am. You call me a monster, that’s okay. But I am only the monster that you created.”

  After a long moment, I looked at him and saw no one I knew. “Okay,” I offered, standing up. I clutched at my stomach with my broken wrist, using the other one to steady me on my feet.

  Once standing, I caught a glimpse of what I looked like in the mirror. I had no idea how I was going to explain this to anyone, but right now I didn’t have time to care. I began shuffling towards the door, every movement causing me excruciating pain.

  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he asked almost cheerily.

  “I’m getting out of here, Joel,” I answered honestly, hobbling another few steps. I didn’t see him coming and I didn’t hear him.

  With one sharp yank of my arm I was thrown back down, this time landing on the bed. As scared as I was, I was grateful for the mattress cushioning my fall. “You think I’m going to let you just walk out of here so you can run to the police? Or my mum? Or your fucked-up bitch friends? Or your daughter? You’re not going anywhere until I say you are! Do you hear me?” he boomed, pinning me to the bed.

  Tears filled my eyes. I tried forcing them away, but they just kept coming. A steady, silent stream trickled down over my still stinging cheeks. Defeated and alone, I dropped my head backwards and stared out the doors. Daylight was completely gone. I had no idea how long I had been unconscious, but staring out the door I could see the reflection of the moon and the stars dancing on the pool’s surface. It looked so peaceful out there. I wished I could enjoy it. Instead, I forced my fuzzy head to focus on Joel.

  He was standing arrogantly beside me, glaring down, his arms folded across his puffed-out chest. The shoulder of his shirt was covered in dried blood. I guessed it was mine from when he carried me into his bedroom. Part of me wondered what’d happen next. How long would he make me stay? Was it just until I conjured enough strength to fight back and get out? Or was I here until someone found me? The thought scared me. Chances were if I was here until someone found me, by then they’d be finding my dead body. A part of me hoped it’d come soon. I had already been treated for a broken wrist and now I was guessing it wouldn’t be long before I was back in hospital, this time sporting broken ribs, concussion, and possibly some internal bleeding. I wasn’t in a good way and even I was not naïve enough to believe I was going to walk out of my house unscathed. I knew there’d be scars. I just hoped I’d still be breathing to tell their story.

  Glancing at Joel I saw him take a long swig of bourbon straight from the bottle before screwing up his face. I wanted to ask for some. It might dull the pain. But I couldn’t even string the words together.

  After another big gulp, Joel looked at me with confusion. “Tell me this, since we have some time together. Are those arsehole kids even mine?”

  I was flabbergasted. How could he even ask that? Who else’s kids did he think that they were? “You’re kidding me, right?” I wiggled about, sitting up.

  “Hey! I have every right to ask. You’re a frigid bitch. Every time I touch you, you think I don’t see you cringe?”

  “That’s got nothing to do with sex. That’s got more to do with the punching and kicking and strangling than anything else.”

  “I doubt I even fucked you three times! So, they can’t all be mine,” he reasoned, another mouthful of bourbon.

  The bottle was half empty and Joel’s speech was beginning to slur. I knew from experience that it took a lot to get him drunk. His body was so used to it, it had adjusted. B
ut maybe if I could keep him drinking, maybe I’d be lucky enough and he’d pass out so I could escape.

  When I didn’t answer he snapped again. “Bitch!” he said, grabbing my face and twisting it, forcing me to look at him. “I asked you a question. Fucking answer me you whore,” he demanded and issued another slap, reopening the cut on my lip.

  Licking at the blood, I looked up at him defiantly. “I’m not surprised I wasn’t very memorable for you. I’m probably the only one you’ve had sex with in the past ten years who hasn’t left you with some memorable rash or itching. But yes, Joel, they’re all your kids. And God knows I wish they weren’t.”

  “Well, they aren’t anything like me,”

  “Thank God for that.” Another punch in the stomach.

  By now I was in real trouble. Even after the initial pain from the punch directly in my stomach had subsided, I was filled with sharp stabbing pains. Doubling over, I could barely move. I wondered how I would ever be able to stand again, I curled myself into a ball on the end of Joel’s bed clutching at my stomach.

  “I knew you were an idiot, but I didn’t think you were so dumb to keep pushing me. How much of a fuckwit are you?”

  Lying there, scared, broken, and bleeding, I decided I had two choices. I could force myself to stand up and finish this quickly, which would probably mean I would end up copping another few punches and possibly worse. Or I could start to surrender and this would drag on for hours. In the moment I was trying to think, a kick landed in my kidneys. It was more excruciating than everything else he’d ever done. I howled in agony. That just angered him further. The decision was no longer mine. I was completely at the mercy of Joel’s vicious temper. Even hoping he would tire himself out wasn’t an option.

  “When I ask you something, you answer, bitch!” he ordered.

  I tried to unwind myself from the ball I had been squished into and as I tried to stretch out I realized how much trouble I was actually in. I was sure that when I went to the bathroom next, if I ever went again, I would undoubtedly be peeing blood. “Fuck you!” I forced out with the last ounce of courage and energy I had.

  As Joel’s fist collided with my face, I felt one of my teeth shaken loose. Then he was on me like a man possessed. Pinning me to his bed with all his weight, I was helpless. He had his knees either side of me, holding down my wrists. It was the most unbearable torture I had ever been subjected to. My cast was cutting into my arm. Joel was yelling obscenities into my face, covering me in tiny drops of bourbon-soaked spittle. The smell made me want to vomit, but I couldn’t move. With Joel’s weight pressing down on my stomach, the cramps were getting worse.

  I closed my eyes and prayed. I prayed for strength to survive. I prayed to be released. I prayed to be saved. I prayed for a miracle. But I was not dumb enough to expect anything.

  “You’re nothing but a dumb slut,” Joel slurred, grabbing a handful of my shirt and twisting it so tightly some of the stitching gave way. That only encouraged him further. Moments later, I had no shirt on. It was now nothing more than a ball of rags tossed on the floor. Suddenly I felt exposed. “Who’s this for?” Joel asked, flicking my bra. It was a black lacy bra that I ‘d worn because it was the easiest to find. No one had ever seen it, but it only seemed to enrage Joel further. “Answer me, whore!” he boomed.

  My voice was shaky. “No one,” I muttered.

  “Liar!” he declared as he threw another vicious punch to my face.

  Tomorrow I was going to look like a freak. If there was a tomorrow. I was already expecting the lump on my head to probably require stitches if I managed to get medical attention. By the end of the night, a couple of teeth missing, and probably two black eyes. The way things were going, it would be a miracle if I was even alive come sunrise.

  As I recovered from the latest punch and my vision stabilized, I watched as Joel took another long swig from the bourbon bottle. Even though he was still on top of me, now was the best opportunity I had. Slightly off balance, I wiggled my broken wrist out from under his leg and punched him with all my strength in the balls.

  Instantly he fell off me and onto the floor with a feral howl. When I dared to peer over the edge, I saw him writhing about in pain on the floor. Feeling slightly satisfied and finally free, I jumped up the best I could and made for the door.

  I wasn’t quick enough.

  Forgetting himself, Joel grabbed my ankle and brought me down on the floor with him. Another well-timed punch to my kidneys and I was as incapacitated as he was.

  A strange and unexpected truce fell upon us. Instead of attacking each other we both lay there, twisting about in pain. As I rubbed at my back, I watched Joel begin to scramble to his feet. Forgetting about my pain, I forced myself up.

  Then there we were. Husband and wife standing in our bedroom face to face. Both in pain. “I hate you, you miserable bastard!” I screamed with everything I had.

  “Fuck you!” he retorted, grabbing me by the shoulders. When his head collided with mine, I fell backwards, but Joel held me upright. Then every emotion that Joel had ever felt toward me exploded out of him in a torrent of anger. I was thrown across the room and went straight through the glass door, landing in a waterfall of shattered glass.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  JOEL

  I shocked even myself as I watched Gillian fly through the glass door. I’d wrongly assumed she’d just hit it and slide down like she had all the other times. Instead, I watched helplessly as she went straight through, bringing down with her a shower of glass.

  For a long time, I just stood there frozen to the spot. Too afraid to move, I waited and watched for Gillian to get up, to open her eyes and say something. But too much time had already passed and she hadn’t even twitched. I could see the blood pooling beneath her leg and knew things had gone too far. Forcing myself to take a step, I placed one trembling foot in front of the other until I was standing beside her.

  She was not doing well at all. Her arm, the one that hadn’t been broken, was twisted at an unusual angle. Never a good sign. As she fell, I’d watched it happen almost in slow motion—falling backwards, arms flailing behind her as she tried to cushion her fall. But the tiles and concrete had been beneath her too quickly. I don’t think I’d be able to ever get the sickening crunch as she hit the ground before bouncing. Then nothing. An eerie stillness.

  Now standing beside her, Gillian looked angelic. My broken angel. Without moving her, I could see a large shard of glass sticking out from her leg, causing the thick red blood to flow. Her whole body was covered in tiny scratches and scrapes and parts of her chest were imbedded with tiny glass fragments. Her eyes were closed and she didn’t seem to be breathing. The blood was gathering on the tiles and flowing between the cracks, trickling into the pool, turning it a light shade of pink. Bile rose in my throat. My stomach contorted at the sight of all the blood and bruising.

  Squatting down beside her, I reached for her hand. A tiny voice in the back of my head was screaming that it was all a trick. That just like in the horror movies as soon as I touched her or got too close, her wide eyes would shoot open and she’d kick me or punch me or attack. But I ignored the voices. How could she do that? There was too much blood and her skin was the colour of snow.

  Tentatively I reached out and took hold of her hand. It was cool and clammy but it never moved. I squeezed her fingers gently, bending down to whispered to her, “I’m so sorry, Gillian. I promise if you wake up for me, I’ll get the help I need. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. All you need to do is open those beautiful eyes for me. Please, Gillian. Please open your eyes.” Gillian didn’t move. Not even a muscle.

  I lifted her arm in hopes of shocking her back to me, but again, nothing came. Her body seemed lifeless; she was slipping away from him. Suddenly, consumed with guilt and terror, I dropped her arm and jumped away from her. “I’ve…I’ve killed her,” I muttered to myself, as tears welled in my eyes.

  I’d done some pretty shitty things in
the past, but this was by far the worst. If I thought things were bad before, I had no idea what was going to happen next. If Gillian died I knew I’d never recover. The kids would never look at me the same way again. That was if I ever saw them again. I could very well end up spending the rest of my lift in a jail cell. Petrified and with a million thoughts running through my head, I took a step backward, tripping over one of Lucas’s discarded toy trucks that lined the edge of the pool.

  As I windmilled backwards, I swore, “Fucking kids. Leaving their shit everywhere.” As my head hit the concrete of the pool edging, I saw my life flash before my eyes before I splashed into the cold water.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  GILLIAN

  It was a little after nine the next morning when my eyes began to flutter. I was lying in the back of an ambulance, Rhiannon beside me, clutching my hand desperately while a young nurse stabbed me in the arm with a needle. “It’s okay, Gillian,” she said, squeezing her hand. “It’s all over now.”

  THE END

  Also by Rebecca

  Standalones

  Shattered Dreams

  Broken Promises

  Playing Games

  Marked

  Played

  Benched

  Finding Your Place Series

  Coming Home

  Running Away

  Believing Again

  Meet the McIntyres Series

  Taking Charge