by Brock, V. L.
He lifted his finger in the air to halt my words. “You have a choice.”
Choice? I have a choice? He was going to let me choose? For a brief moment I found myself thanking the heavens. I couldn’t withstand that scale of oppression. I’d do anything else, anything other than that. Dread, fear, revulsion, it was all pushed aside to make way for hope and gratitude.
A broadened smile and menacing eyes bore into me and took pleasure from my begging. His hand dug into his suit pants pocket. When he pulled it out, his large hand was masking, what I guessed, was my alternative. Setting it on the wooden surface of the island, I simply stared, silently willing his hand to move. A pack of Marlboro Red was uncovered with the removal of his hand.
What the fuck was this?
My hopeful expression faded into oblivion, and at that moment in time, I would have been more than willing to jump feet first into that void to reclaim it. My gaze scoured up to meet his face––his irrational, deranged face.
Unspoken optimism defeated, I shook my head as my brow knitted in sheer disbelief. He knew how I felt about smoking. Watching my granddad coughing and spluttering, while he fought for breath with an oxygen mask as he battled the final months of lung cancer because of those poisonous sticks, still haunted me.
“Liam––” I besought.
“Choose.”
Salted droplets of misery and distress rolled down my cheeks and over my dried, cracked lips as I stood powerless with my head hanging low.
“CHOOSE!” he shouted, his enraged body physically shaking as he took possession and hurled the platter with the cake I delighted in creating, across the room. I jumped, drawing back from his formidable demand.
Within a split second of the din reverberating around the kitchen and dining room, my fingers were bound around the first glass. Tears came faster as I tipped the raw, slimy goo back, hurriedly. The vinegar tang was intense as the acid burned my lips as it settled into each crack of my parched lips. The quicker I got this done, the quicker it would be over, right?
With one down, two more to go, the pungent aroma of the Tabasco sauce scorched my sinuses, and although it hadn’t even slithered down my food pipe yet, I could already taste it lingering in my throat, paralyzing my swallowing reflex and stripping me of breath. I thought the vinegar burning my lips was bad, I was very much mistaken. The blazing fire which smeared over my tongue and down my throat, as I pushed through on the task ahead, knocked all breath from my body. My ribcage screamed in protest as I fought with every ounce of strength I had to keep my stomach muscles clenched and hold the contents down.
But as my throat opened and my shoulders roiled, the dry heaves which was spawning in my body wasn’t so dry.
Liam was already beside me. I could feel his smirk, and I heard it through his voice when he fisted his hand into the hair at the back of my head and wrenched my neck back. “Be warned, Kady,” soft and enriched, his tone was totally uncaring and laid-back. “I have another three eggs in that carton. If you don’t want to repeat this, I suggest you keep that down,” he sneered.
I made damn sure to take heed of his words. I forced the regurgitated concoction back, and with the finishing line of this sick penalty just beyond one final mixture, I picked up the tumbler, and chucked it back. The lumps of fat sat on my tongue as I strove to force the lump-filled, slimy mixture down my gullet, the odd larger mass loitered and wedged in my throat. My ribs felt compressed, while my stomach contorted and pleaded for my body to expel the disgusting concoctions that lay assaulting it. In my mind, only five simple words were playing on repeat, ‘I can’t do this again’. With that repeating as my mantra, mind over body, the contents stayed put…at least for now.
Breathless and focusing intently on not throwing up, I dropped my head, screwed my eyes closed and allowed a moment of relief to flood through my veins. God I felt sick. “I’m sorry, Liam,” I whispered after a beat. “Can I go to bed now please?” I needed to get away from that room, from that spot. For the first time that I can recall, I needed to get away from him and his torturous, sadistic means.
I lifted my head and fluttered open my lids, feeling the dampness of tears still coating my lashes, as my question remained unanswered and floating in the air between us. I didn’t like what was glaring back at me.
Wave upon wave of goose bumps erupted from my body when I was met with him leaning over the island. His fingertips hooked around the bottom edge of the pack of cancer-sticks and were drawn closer to us. The wrapper was unraveled, the lid was flipped. One of the ten sticks was removed before Liam proceeded to dig into his back pocket.
“Liam, what are you doing? You told me to choose, I did. I did what you said…” Please, please dear Lord, don’t tell me I did it all for no reason. Let that be the end of it. Please…
“Oh, no,” he laughed, a V scored between his eyebrows as he stared at me with a look of pity in his eyes. He placed a lighter on the surface. “You misunderstood, Kady. I meant choose which one you wanted to do first.”
My face crumpled then plummeted. I couldn’t describe how I felt at that precise moment because I was being overthrown by so much. I felt nauseated, fright, sorrow. I felt a form of betrayal melding with stupidity.
“But, because you did such a great job…” he trailed off, his eyes glimmering. Yes, I did. I did as he said without question, and more importantly, I kept it down, if only just. I didn’t have to study my reflection to know that I obviously looked like I was struggling to keep the contents of my stomach where it was. Maybe he would stop this. “I won’t make you do this.” His words were a life raft. As he enhanced his freed words with a brusque shake of his head, I slumped and drew in a liberal breath. I knew he wouldn’t be so ruthless.
I opened my mouth to verbalize my gratitude, when his hand came up to cradle my face. I was leaning into his touch when he whispered on a smirk, “Not all of them, anyway.”
What? I backed-up, pulling away from his gentle hold as his remark hit me full force in the face.
Each tear that fell from my eyes during the time it took me to complete his orders of chain-smoking five of the ten cigarettes in the pack, then having my lungs grated as both fire and chemicals burned and coated my chest, alongside the lightheadedness and ringing in my ears as vital oxygen in my brain was superimposed by the deadly chemicals in the smoke, had Liam smirking even more. He looked barbaric. Sadistic.
By the time I reached the third stick, the grating of my lungs had disappeared, the smoke caught in my chest and throat but I was no longer spluttering. My head was no longer spinning, and the ringing was not as loud as it once was.
By the time I reached my final stick, I peeked up at Liam and I was graced with his eyes, my Liam’s eyes, green and blue speckled ones that displayed his elation, love and adoration toward me. Not sadistic, demonic, evil, merciless eyes that were being bored into me for the past twenty minutes.
Outing the butt of the cigarette, Liam’s arms came crashing down around me. He held me tightly as I went emotionally numb in his hold. No tears left to cry, no fear left to cling onto, no love to help me through…just stillness. In that moment, I felt utterly stripped down. I secretly mused what on Earth I had left to carry me through my days, through my life. Pathetic. That’s how I truly felt.
“You won’t do it again, will you, Kady?” he asked amongst my hair.
Too exhausted to say a single word, I simply rolled my head across his chest in a silent ‘no’.
“Good girl, because I don’t like having to do this, baby. I really don’t like it.” Those words were the last to be spoken, as I was lifted into his arms and finally taken to bed.
“Liam,” I called while rolling out of bed.
It was still dark outside. If it hadn’t have been for the overflow of saliva swimming in my mouth and down my chin, I would have checked the clock for the time. But my stomach was rolling, my ribcage tightened with such force I was sure vital organs were going to get crushed.
“Liam,” I
called again, staggering into the en-suite beyond the base of the bed. I barely managed to flip the light switch before bowling over the toilet and allowing my stomach to be emptied.
I hated being sick. I feared it. And when the burning of stomach acid affected my throat and nose and stopped me from catching a breath, all I could do was gasp and swallow continually in a feeble attempt to quell the paralyzing, fiery sensation.
I succeeded in shouting his name again, and within a few minutes, he was standing in the doorway of our bathroom, watching me as I drowned my face in the bowl and submitted to my body’s heaves. “What?” he asked.
Seeking a window of opportunity between lurches, I lifted my face and transfixed my unsteady gaze on him. He was standing with his arms crossed, his eyes hardhearted. I noticed he was in his gray sweatpants and white T-shirt. I briefly wondered why he hadn’t come to bed yet, while tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Please, help m––” My shoulders hunched, my body tightened while the remains of my gut were cast into the toilet. “Please, help me,” I gasped between lurches.
“I’m in the middle of a very important phone call, Kady,” he hissed then disappeared from the doorway back into the bedroom.
Phone call? At this hour? I didn’t know what time it was, but I knew it was definitely late, or early, whichever way you look at it.
When he came back to the bathroom, my head was resting on my forearm, tears and sweat melded on my face as I heard his bare feet padding toward me over the tiles. “Here,” he mumbled.
Gathering as much energy as I could physically muster, I pulled my head up and away from my arm. The pillow and tiny, thin comforter which he had thrown down on the floor was studied. The hefty sensation of abandonment crushed me both internally and externally. “Liam…”
“Self-inflicted, Kady. You wouldn’t be in this state, had you not done what you did. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very important phone call to get back to.”
“Liam, please don’t leave me. I need you,” I begged. Nevertheless my beseeching words went unheeded and he turned on his heel, walked away closing the door behind him and left me to appease my stomach after such brutal assault, on my own.
The contents of the bowl were flushed. Falling back onto the pillow, I pulled the barely there blanket over my trembling body. Like an unmanageable canine, I curled up on the cold tile, adding my wrongdoings of the day to my ever growing list of delinquencies in a hope to have it burned into my mind, and avoid a repeat penalty.
For the remainder of that night, I licked my wounds and silently apologized for just being me.
Chapter Fifteen
May 2012.
Thirteen months before the accident…
Days blended into weeks. Weeks blended into months, and before I knew it, every moment of my day was shrouded by one objective: to make Liam happy.
After the dreaded night I spent laying curled up on the cold bathroom floor, I came to realize that, with each passing week you slip back into the comfort zone and old habits get reestablished. The relationship as it was would be fine once I had paid penance to Liam’s standard. He would be happy because I’d fulfilled his demands and showed responsibility for my actions, and I would spend the following few weeks with both the memory of my punishment, and the behavior which caused the need for the vile act to be set forth, still freshly laid in my mind. Focusing intently on those two major factors helped me to see things from a different perspective. And so, every waking moment of my day was spent concentrating on those factors profusely, and in doing so, there was no reason for Liam to be overtaken by the demonic entity which I was used to seeing.
Each moment I spent observing my behavior: not speaking unless I was spoken to, making sure that if I was to buy clothing, it would be something that I knew definitively that Liam would approve of. Near enough everything on my rail in our closet, at that point, was the same just in a different color.
Some would consider my acts as a weakness, ones of a person who had to continually walk on eggshells. Did I consider it as such? No, I didn’t. I was being mindful, I was being empathetic of what my partner wanted me to be, and I was making sure with every blurred day which passed, that I was remolding myself into someone he was proud of, and not falling back into the ways of the old Kady Jenson.
Time was mostly spent in the kitchen. Over the interval I had picked up quite a knack in baking. Nothing could describe the warmth I felt in my heart and the pride in my blood at seeing the huge grin I’d be rewarded with as Liam came home from work, kissed my temple and salivated over my next surprise creation, knowing full well that I had made it especially for him. In saying that, as much as I enjoyed concocting coconut cakes, lemon, chocolate etc., etc., I came to the realization that I was a moth, and the heat which surrounded me was my flame.
Following Liam’s discovery of my act of self-harm, I’d come to an embarrassing conclusion. People tarnish the unknown and the misunderstood. No one could possibly understand how an act which provides pain could even help in that moment of dire urgency. I’d lost control, not in the act, but in the buildup. That act, that moment of insanity or weakness, it gave me back an element of control, I felt it the instant the heat penetrated my flesh. If I wanted to keep something which was solely mine––my own little secret, my own sliver of control––then enveloping myself in an atmosphere where little mishaps happen, would be the perfect way to keep my secret and draw a veil over the topic. I’m not going to lie; it was an aid, an aid which was vastly becoming a necessity. Granted, the gradual accumulation of blemishes over my thighs would probably disagree with the conclusion of facilitating.
It was a Thursday late afternoon and Liv and I were sitting at the dining table huddled over the swirling steam from our coffee mugs, chatting about random crap, but mostly, just catching up. It seemed like forever since we last had a decent, in depth talk and just enjoyed the company of one another. She seemed to always be busy with this new guy of hers.
When Liv’s throaty voice traveled over the table, I was already drawing the ceramic from my lips, and lowering my mug onto the coaster. “Chick, can I ask your advice? And I mean I want total honesty.”
This should be fun. One thing I knew was no matter what was said, nothing was going to sully our friendship. We may not have had the same beliefs and values but as adults, we respected that contrast. I nodded. “Shoot.”
Her plump lips were caressed with a swipe of her tongue before her chest expanded then deflated on a troubling sigh. “Do you think I’m in the wrong for fucking that guy?”
The edge of my mug was unconsciously traced by my middle finger, as I concentrated distantly on the action and on my words. “The guy who is in a pretty stable relationship and using you as a mistress, all the while his poor girlfriend is the one preparing his meals and making sure he has a nice home to return to, after finishing his rendezvous with you?” the sardonic tone in my voice went unmasked as I spewed my words.
“There’s no need to be so harsh, Kady. But yes,”––Peeking up, I noticed her rolling her eyes––“that guy.”
For a moment I pushed myself back in the white leather seat. A hissing, gargling sound came from my lips as I sheathed my teeth and sucked in a breath through the diminutive gap. “I think that there are plenty of men out in the world who are single. I also think––” drawing a pause on my words, with a scowl, I eyed Liv circumspectly. “We’re going for brute honesty?” I quizzed.
The frantic nod of her head told me to continue.
Okay, she’d asked for it. “I think that you’re being heartless and insensitive.” Hazel eyes glazed as fire and affront shone through her panic. Opening her mouth to speak, I cut her off with the lifting of my index finger then pressed it against my lips like a tutor in kindergarten. She took my advice and grimly shut her mouth. “It’s code. A woman shouldn’t betray another woman like that. How do you think she’s feeling?”
The slight snigger which followed the shake of her head tr
iggered a form of incense which heated my blood and knotting my stomach. “It’s not my fault she can’t see what’s happening in front of her eyes, Kady. Why should I feel guilty?”
“Because you’re breaking up a happy home,” was the simplest, most pungent reply I could mutter.
“If it was a happy home,”––she took another sip of coffee and swallowed before resuming with her head held high and conceited––“then he wouldn’t have come to me in the first place.”
Who was this woman sitting in front of me? She looked like Liv, but the Liv I knew for many years wouldn’t stoop as low as that. Although a stripper, she demanded to be treated with respect. I couldn’t understand why she would demoralize herself to the extent of believing she had conviction in being ‘the other woman’, like it was her right.
I was about to bite back on her last statement when I heard the front door close and Liam came strolling through the bottom entranceway of the living room, into the dining room. He skimmed over my regard and focused directly on the woman opposite, her tousled brunette hair draped over her shoulders. “Liv,” he spoke her name but made it sound like a question, as though silently asking ‘what the fuck are you doing here’?
“Liam,” she replied over the brim of her mug when she lifted it to her mouth.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” The black leather and gold trimmed briefcase was set carefully down on the glass surface of the table as he turned to me, practically ignoring our guest. “Hey, baby,” he muttered my greeting and as he pressed his lips to my forehead, I smiled, like it was an honor to have this PDA.
“Liam, how was work?” I asked like any dutiful wife would. My body was left cold when he strolled to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of mineral water.
“It was good. The final plans have been set, what was left of the old Williamson Estate is now knocked to the ground, so I can get the team in ASAP.”