by WC Child
Because our minds are vast and limitless, we often manipulate our gift. We sometimes distort the truth in an effort to protect our sanity and control the actions of others. In the absence of concrete facts, I had conjured up my own truth, even if it had not been accurate. I had believed everything I had told myself. My focus had been on my own survival. I did what was necessary for survival. Because we are emotional creatures, we are often lead astray by the tricks of our mind. We go in search of half-truths and archaic discoveries that can lead to closure for some or the opening of old wounds for others. My life had taken a self-preservation detour. It was critical that I change directions, now that I had discovered more facts. My mis-truths about my mother’s motives had comforted me in bad times, betrayed me in good times and kept me bound most of the time. Freedom felt good.
Chapter 47
Too Late
The impending doctor’s appointment had me on edge. The night before the visit was filled with much trepidation. I had flashbacks of my last clinical visit and I trembled at the thought of another defeat at the hands of nature. Fear taunted me and I knew I could not attend the appointment alone. Although Ben wasn’t interested in accompanying me, my mother was overjoyed. There was no way she would squander the opportunity to hear her grandchild’s heartbeat. Those memories were meant to be shared by loved ones.
It took about an hour to make it official. The tests confirmed that for the last twenty-two weeks, my body had housed my long-awaited dream. That was the longest I had carried a child. It was a good sign. For now, everything was going well and the baby’s heartbeat was strong. Maybe this time my womb would be capable enough to bear the weight of my deferred dreams of motherhood. We were all smiles when we left the appointment and the official pregnancy pronouncement brought confirmation that my decision to ignore his wishes was the right choice for me.
In contrast, I could not quite get a read on Ben’s true feelings. His mood and his motives vacillated from one extreme to the next. One minute he appeared settled with the idea of fatherhood; other times he was angry. He could be very gentle and supportive when he tried to coax me into agreeing to his termination proposal. Other times he was aggressive and demanded that I take care of our problem immediately. At times, when he thought I wasn’t looking, I believed I detected evil behind his looks of contempt for my transforming exterior.
I hoped he would have been more accepting, but that was not the case. I found it odd that he never touched my stomach or asked any questions about how the pregnancy was progressing. There were no hugs from behind that encompassed both of us; no smiles or expressed dreams about having a son or a daughter and no introduction of himself to his first child. Some part of me still hoped we had a chance at happiness, but the more time that passed, the more I could see the end of this relationship rapidly approaching. I wasn't a naive teen anymore. My time with Adam taught me that this type of relational crisis signaled an impassable roadblock. Usually, no temporary detours would keep the relationship moving forward.
Ben started making his presence scarce. Part of me believed his absence was more about my pregnancy and less about work. But I was fine with the separation. I had used that time to think about me and what I wanted and the possibility of single motherhood. At the conclusion of all my pondering, my response was “so what”. My decision would not be an anomaly. Millions of capable women have navigated these same familial waters without regard to the underlying circumstances. Ben would be back from his business trip next week. There would have to be a meeting of minds that were moving in opposite directions. I was sure his first question would be about the outcome of his petition for me to choose between the baby and our relationship. My mind had not changed about maintaining my pregnancy. He left a note and enough money to complete the “procedure”. He promised to take me somewhere special once I healed. I guess we wouldn’t be taking a trip any time soon. I was sure he hadn’t realized that during his extended absence, the possibility of exercising the termination option became a medical impossibility.
I was not looking forward to our exchange of information related to the status of my pregnancy. After revealing how far along I was and that this matter could not be easily “taken care of” he became totally closed off from me. His body was there, but his mind was elsewhere. After the last conversation, I realized things were not progressing in the right direction. I had reconciled myself to the fact that I may be in this alone. I was not afraid. I was strong enough and willing to let go of the dream man before more nightmares polluted my existence. I saw the looks he gave me. I feared the anger would eventually overcome any remaining good feelings that had been generated from our months of togetherness. I let Ben know that it would be better with him, but still good without him. In the end, he would have to make a choice. I already made mine. I decided to continue with the pregnancy. I was more than ready to stand firm on my decision.
Chapter 48
Tripped Up
Ben’s business trip lasted longer than normal and I couldn’t control the urge to call him. I wanted to talk through our differences while we were apart. I hoped he had changed his attitude about my pregnancy. We talked briefly and I reiterated that I wanted to keep our baby. I was prepared for the onslaught of negativity comparable to the words that accompanied the initial announcement. To my surprise, he appeared to accept the fact that I didn’t, and now couldn’t, end the pregnancy. He promised to be supportive of my decision. That was his response while we were on the phone. I didn’t know what to expect upon his return.
Lately, there had been too much tension between us. During his visit, I wanted us to be normal again. We could allow our physical reunion to restore our bond. Each time we were apart for an extended period of time, it was intense when our bodies reintroduced themselves. We just needed to enjoy each other’s company and use that as a way to close the distance between us. He would be here soon and I wanted our reunion to be free from the negative energy that crowded out our happiness.
Our reunion didn't go as I had planned. It had been nearly three weeks since we had been in each other’s company. Nature’s obligations caused my body to blossom with fullness and curvature as it marched cheerfully toward motherhood. The welcome embrace was cold and Ben appeared annoyed when my stomach made contact with him. He quickly moved backward. HIs movement signaled his continued unacceptance of my decision and set the tone for the remainder of the evening. I endured forced conversations and one syllable responses as his focus centered on anything but me. I began to wonder why he even bothered to come over. He appeared to be content to direct his attention to the artificial lives being lived out on a television screen, rather than deal with the pressing issues of our lives. Before I became totally exasperated, I announced my plans for a shower, hoping that the hot water would be both physically and mentally refreshing.
After I turned on the shower, I realized how desperately I wanted to salvage the remainder of our evening. We had often enjoyed each other’s company in the steamy shower and I longed for that type of connection again. This solution could be beneficial for both of us. I could put on some soothing music, light a scented candle and invite him into the shower where he would be welcome to partake of anything he could put his hands on.
His back was to me when I entered the room and I could hear him talking to someone on the phone. The words I heard coming from his mouth rocked me to my core.
“No, I haven’t forgotten about our anniversary. I’ll be home tomorrow night. Daddy loves you too, baby. Now can you put mommy on the phone?”
“Hey baby”, was all my mind could absorb before my feet rebelled. They wouldn’t move any closer to him. They acted as if they were stuck in cement. I audibly sucked in air before quickly putting my hand over my mouth so no sounds of anguish could escape. I began to reverse my steps and quietly removed myself from the room, not daring to take my eyes off him. I slowly retreated until his voice was no longer distinct and became no more than muffled sounds.
Just a few more steps remained until I could be within the confines of my impromptu safe haven. Then, I would be able to exhale.
I was careful not to close the door with the force appropriate for my anger. It found the proper connection before I released the knob and allowed the mechanism to rest in the jamb. I stood there momentarily feeling as if I were in a mental coma. I kept trying to push the pause button on the infinite loop of words that would not stop playing in my mind. “Daddy”, “Anniversary”, “Baby”. Who was he calling “Baby”? That was his term of endearment for me. My mind suddenly slowed down enough to encapsulate the true meaning of his spoken words. My internal voice kept uttering what my heart refused to accept, but what I knew to be true. This man was married and already had a wife and a child. He had completed my dreams with someone else. My dreams had been ambushed by reality. This life that we had spent months building was no more stable than the houses of those two little pigs that got blown away by the big bad wolf. I, too, had been blown away by my own married wolf in adultery-ready clothing.
Eventually, I released the door knob and engaged the lock. Unexpectedly, the clicking sound invited dormant emotions to rapidly force their way to the surface. Those emotions took me back to my youth and the feelings harbored by an innocent child who brutally became the victim of a sexual predator. I remembered when the bathroom had been the only safe place where I could express my true feelings after being assaulted. Once again, I was trapped between four small walls trying to make sense of things that were beyond my reasoning and control. In my youth, I had been physically assaulted; this time I had been mentally abused. The parallels between then and now could not be ignored. I thought I had moved far beyond the clutches of my past, yet there I was being confronted by quarantined memories and bitter thoughts.
Chapter 49
Mirror, Mirror
Retreating into the bathroom with his secret had been one of the hardest but the most rational courses of action. I had not been sure how to responsibly react to what I had just heard. Even though I could still hear the truth ringing in my ears, I didn't want to acknowledge its significance. I had invested too much of myself into this relationship for it to just be the lie it turned out to be. I needed my version of the truth to validate our union. But I was unable to find an unblemished fact that would devalue his spoken words. His audible truth, not my internal narrative, had prevailed. It was time to acknowledge his facts and surrender.
It had been all I could do to keep from crying out in pain while remaining in the solitary confinement of the bathroom. My hurt and anger told me to confront his lies and deception right then and let the chips fall where they may. I had nothing to lose since he was not now, nor had he ever been truly mine. I quickly decided that course of action was irrational. It would liquidate the power of the unexpected truth I struggled to conceal and contain within the bowels of my safe haven. I needed to remain calm to somehow find logic in an illogical situation. I hoped the hot shower would wash away some of the sting of the recent revelation. I stood quietly under the continual flow of the water. I allowed the constant stream to drown out the hurt with sounds I could control. But there was not enough water in the ocean, let alone the hot water tank, to calm my mind and soothe where I ached.
My tears flowed freely down my body as they carved out their escape route to the drain. My mind replayed our first time together and the beauty of our union. But those memories couldn’t roost before the words and figures with no faces, wearing name tags that read “child” and wife” crowded them out. They pushed my dreams into oblivion. They couldn’t remain, given the exposure to the truth. The shower stall became my momentary support system and the gentle hand in my back that kept me from buckling under the weight of disappointment. The water eventually began to lose its warmth. I was forced to think about what awaited me at the end of my impossible attempt to remove the essence of Ben’s touch from my pregnant body and my disorganized mind. I was not ready to accept defeat. I wanted hope to caress my protruding middle and tell me that all would be ok. I waited on it until the water turned cold. I was forced to exit the shower with only his truth.
Even after being physically cleansed, I still felt dirty. I began to comprehend the gravity of the situation that we both were facing. Someone other than me had been betrayed as well. It appeared there was a family to consider that wasn't mine. I had assumed a role in a tragedy I never auditioned for. I inadvertently became an accomplice in the violation of someone’s sacred vows. Given the limited amount of available options that would leave someone in a non-envious position, I was concerned about what the future would hold for me. It was becoming painfully obvious that I would be the odd-man out.
The layers of conflict that surrounded me in the makeshift isolation chamber included my past, my present and my future. I stood pensively in front of the foggy mirror trying to compose myself before facing him again. Mirrors hold no bias. They are always forced to present the truth, no matter how we choose to filter the light. My soul had been stripped naked. I stared at the totally exposed being in the mirror. I momentarily entertained the internal dialogue that kept soliciting my skepticism in order to mask the sadness within. I recalled the same feeling the night his handprint tattoo accented my face. In both cases, I knew the truth when I heard it and felt it. Looking at the spot on my face where he had imposed his will, the word fool appeared and began to flash like a neon light. The words desperate, gullible, needy, pathetic, blind, and finally, mistress, each took their time in the spotlight. They summarized the ugly side of our time together and emphasized how insignificant I had been. The initial battering incident should have been enough for me to cut all ties with Ben. That moment had been my way out, but I chose not to take it. I had contradicted my standards to conform to his and my selfish desires. Little did I know that doing so would have changed the direction of my life and ushered in consequences I never imagined were possible. I had been standing too close to the mirror to see the true reflection and direction of our relationship.
Despite how our things appeared before I entered the bathroom, the status quo could not remain upon my exit. There was no way that I could willingly lay down with a married man again. I was sure my skin would revolt the next time he touched me because of my aversion to this type of infidelity. I had no duplicity in the betrayal of his marital commitment, but I felt distressed by my entanglement in their lives. I was so ashamed at how I had been so eager to give myself away, mind, body and good sense, to become a temporary physical distraction to that man for the price of a cup of coffee and a few meaningless gifts.
Uncertainty lurked beyond the confines of the bathroom door. I wondered how I would react when our eyes met again. Because I could not reveal this betrayal until I was ready, I had a role to play and I had to be convincing. In my script, the last twenty minutes never happened and I was still grateful Ben had returned from his business trip. I had to appear to still believe the lie that was staring me in my face and ringing in my ears. I took a deep breath, swallowed my resentment and prayed my face would not reveal my broken heart. To my relief, Ben was asleep. I didn’t have to face him. I wouldn’t share a bed with him ever again and I didn’t have to explain the reason why. I quietly made my way to the couch, unaware of the parts of my past that followed me down that corridor.
Chapter 50
Rewind
The moment my body stretched out on the couch, I realized how emotionally exhausted I had become. I felt numb; as if I had been bathed in Orajel. The past saturated my mind with yesterday’s pain and toyed with my emotions. The whirlwind of emotions merged my past thoughts with my current circumstances until I was caught up in a vortex of pain that surrounded me from every direction. I was both a child and adult whose story of exploitation had been essentially the same.
My first attacker silenced my objections with his hands. I covered my own mouth to prevent the sounds of pain caused by the mental attack from being heard. I once sat in a cauldron of hot water
trying to cleanse my broken body. In contrast, I stood with my face toward the steady stream of water, hoping for a cleansing as well. I was still unable to control tears that escaped from my eyes and meandered down any part of my body they encountered. I was content to allow the water to dilute my tears, in an effort to release the pain. Once again my abuser had the ability to lie in the bed of a willing woman, yet he chose to abuse me. A couch would once again be my default destination and my resting place after another assault. The contradiction that waited for me in that bedroom down the hall would never physically explore me again. But I would yet again have to recover from being abused by a man, with his gift to me being the bearing of maternal fruit produced by his seed.
Waking up made me realize I had fallen asleep, even though I felt as if the four hours since my last cognizant thought had not passed. My mind immediately cycled through the evening’s events. I fought to bring calmness to my spirit. The past invaded the present. The two realms joined forces in the destruction of any internal peace I hoped would occur before the morning gifted me with yesterday’s sorrow.
The overwhelming feeling of being assaulted caused me to react as if I were still in the moments following the destruction of my innocence. I began to think of all the things I should have done back then. I even blamed myself for portions of the disturbing outcome. If only I had told someone, if only I had defended myself harder or found a way to cry for help, my mother would have saved me. My entire life would have been different. My mother would have never spent those critical years away from me and he would have spent the time he had earned in jail. That had been a pivotal time in our lives. It bothered me that he never expressed regret for his actions and the pain it caused in our lives. It was apparent that the pain he had inflicted on my innocent, virginal body was still viable. He had devalued me as a human being and I didn't know how to rid myself of the anger unearthed by a similar circumstance. My mother had carried her rage for years until she visited retribution on my attacker as a surrogate for the one she couldn't punish. I believe it had freed her from that dark time and had healed portions of the small child whose carefree existence had been snatched away, without regard to the burden and shame she would be forced to carry on shoulders too weak to support such heavy life weights. It would be the night I settled the same score. I was determined to punish the punisher.