by Larsen, K
Name, Address, Occupation, Marital status, Previous Injuries. Panic flares low in my belly. I don't want to lie but I’m not sure what to put on the form that won't spark questions. He asked me to trust him. I decide to just put the truth down, well almost, I check single under marital status. He probably won't look it over anyways. When I finish I set the clipboard down on the desk and walk over to the bag.
A few moments later Colin comes out of the locker room, hits the desk tagging the clipboard and then meets me at the bag. I watch as his eyes scan the answers written on the page, his brows furrowing when he gets to the injuries section. His eyes come to mine.
“Jesus Elle, it looks like the left side of your body was crushed. What happened?” He face shows genuine concern.
“Um, me versus tree. Tree one, me zero.” I jest. His concern doesn't lift.
“How much physical therapy?”
“I had enough I promise. I have pins and plates too. I’m bionic.” I’m trying like hell to keep this lighthearted but I’m not sure it’s working.
“How long ago was the accident? I don’t want to push you too hard and cause any injuries.”
“Eight months ago.”
“That’s not a lot of time even with physical therapy.” I look to him feeling deflated but hoping it doesn't show in my eyes.
“So, can I not learn?” I ask.
“We can, I just want to take it slow and I want you to tell me if anything at all bothers you.” He instructs firmly.
“I promise!”
For the next fifteen minutes we stretch and warm up. He keeps babbling on about how important it will be for me to really stretch before and after workouts because of my injuries. I’ve heard it all before from the PT at the hospital but I keep that to myself. I’m more focused on watching him. The way his muscles flex, contract and relax as he stretches and moves. His arms are massive and the plain white tank clings to his chest and stomach leaving little to the imagination. I already feel a light sheen of sweat coating me as he reaches for the tape. “Take off your sweatshirt before I tape your hands.” He says. I glance down at my lightweight zip up sweatshirt. All I have under it is my sports bra. It’s a full coverage sports bra but still.
“Ah. Do I have too?”
“The sleeves will get in the way. I want to be able to see your form and correct it if needed.” He explains. I hesitantly start to unzip my sweatshirt. When the zipper gets halfway down I hear a sharp intake of breath and my eyes dart to his face just as his hand comes to rest on mine stopping me from unzipping further.
“Elle, don’t you have a tank top or something?” His eyes hazel eyes are ablaze and trained on my stomach. Heat flares low in my belly.
“It’s too hot for both.” I shrug. He quickly looks away mumbling something under his breath before disappearing into the locker room. When he comes back he places a wife beater in my hands.
“Change into this.” He nods to the locker room door. I do as I’m told and quickly throw on his tank top. It’s fitted in the chest but runs long hitting me mid-thigh.
“Better?” I ask as I approach him. His eyes scan me top to toe not bothering to conceal the desire behind them.
“Mostly.” He smirks. He reaches out tagging my hand and starts taping it. I watch his hands move efficiently over mine. Skin grazing skin, fingers skimming mine. When he finishes he moves to my other hand and repeats the process.
“Have you ever hit a bag before?” He questions. I shake my head no. He takes my right hand turning it palm up.
“Alright, first tuck your four fingers, not including your thumb, into the first crease of your hand.” He moves my fingers into position. “Bring your hand into a tighter fist, so your nails touch your palm.” I nod doing as I’m told. “Good. Now tuck your thumb over the front of your fingers, right under the joint. That’s it. Now when you strike the bag try to hit with the first two knuckles only. Don’t change your fist position only your elbow and shoulders should move.”
He moves behind the bag and instructs me to hit it. When I do it barely moves and I feel like my hand exploded on impact. I wince in pain. Not what I expected. I wanted to feel powerful but all I feel is stupid.
“It’s alright Elle. Here let’s try something else.” He moves behind me. “Put your left foot forward and your right foot back.” He says as his hands come to my hips and he positions me. I can’t focus with his fingers grazing my waist and I’m suddenly thankful for the thin fabric of the tank top. “Keep your knees bent and put your fists up, leading with your left.” He murmurs low in my ear making me tremble. He smells delicious. His hands leave my waist and come to my wrists. He tucks his front into my back and moves us as one guiding me through the punch as he instructs. “Push off a bit with your back leg. As you extend your arm and fist, swivel your torso so that your fist isn’t leading and your torso is driving your arm.” My right fist connects with the bag again with his arm on top of mine as he controls the motion. The bag sways slightly under the force of my hit. “Feel the difference?” He asks. A finger trails down the scar on the back of my left arm as he steps back but he says nothing. I can’t seem to concentrate with him touching me.
“Yeah I think so.” I say. He moves behind the bag again and tells me to try it again, on my own. Once I’ve got the hang of it we move on to jabs, crosses and hooks. I’m sweating like a pig by the end of our forty five minute session together. He’s encouraging the whole time. Always positive and helpful. I actually feel a sense of accomplishment by the time we’re done. I feel proud.
“Nice job today!” John calls over to me.
“Yeah Elle, lookin’ good!” Ben laughs.
“Gee thanks guys.” I laugh along with them. “I had fun. Thanks Colin.” He puts his hand on the small of my back and leads us to the entrance. “Will you come back tomorrow for more?” He prompts.
“Definitely!”
“Ok then. I’ll see you tomorrow, at nine.” He smiles.
“Nine then.” Our eyes lock for an awkward moment as we wonder how to say goodbye. “Well. See ya.” I say turning on my heel. I push out the doors onto the busy sidewalk and want to kick myself. That was really lame wasn't it Jenny? What am I doing?
The walk home is peaceful and quiet and gives me plenty of time to think. I can’t figure out the draw I feel to Colin. I’ve never felt anything like it before. I find myself wondering what he’s doing right now and if he’s thinking about me too. I have the most ridiculous urge to call him just to hear his voice. Even before Ryan I never experienced something like this. When he looks at me I feel beautiful, I feel safe. I can’t really afford to trust anyone but my lawyer or to get involved with anyone but Colin makes me forget all that. He makes me want a life I’m not sure I can have. Jenny, please give me a sign, something, anything. Am I allowed to have this?
2011
I hate it when he’s home with me because I never know how the day will go. If I’ll make him angry. I live for work hours when I can happily pursue my life without ridicule or teasing or destruction of property meant to make me feel inferior. I don’t know what will set him off. If I make the wrong breakfast it could end up dumped all over me. If lunch isn't to his liking plates could be thrown and smashed. If I’m not dressed right I will be screamed at and degraded.
My sister, thank god, is my lifeline. She’s been asking me to leave him for years but the disgrace, stigma and obligation that comes with marriage and divorce keeps me where I am. My soul rots and degrades more each passing day. She begged me not to marry him in the first place. She said something was off. He wasn’t quite right. She said he had mean eyes.
I used to be a happy person. A person with a sparkle in her eye. I was carefree, easy going, fun, and knew joy on a regular basis. I’m smart. I have a college degree from a good school. I’ve built a career from my degree and I’m good at it. I had friends. Lots of good friends. I used to go out. I was passionate about life and love and myself.
None of that person exists a
nymore. She’s been stripped of all redeeming qualities. My friends still occasionally try but they just don't like the way he treats me or that I put up with it. They don't understand why I don't just leave. They don’t understand because they only hear him, but they’ve never seen the hot chili thrown at me because it was not his liking, they’ve never seen him pick up my plate and hurl it across the room screaming. They’ve never seen me scared and cowering from him. If I left would he take it further?
I daydream about leaving him all the time, but don't, because what would I tell people? He’s not really done anything wrong. He’s never hit me directly. He’s not cheated on me that I know of, although I have my suspicions. He’s a hard worker. He just tells me with actions and words at least twice a day how pathetic and disappointing I am.
His touch makes me cringe and I harbor so much resentment towards him that I don't like looking at him anymore. He sits on his couch, eyes glued to the TV ignoring me, beer in hand from the time he arrives home until we go to bed. There is no partnership between us, I am responsible entirely, for our household and he gets to live in it. It’s odd really, six years ago I never would have put up with this kind of behavior. I would have been appalled. I certainly wouldn't have rolled over and just taken the shit he dishes out. I honestly don't know when or why or what it is about him that makes me take it.
If it wasn't for my sister I’d have nothing. She is the only joy left in my life. She loves me no matter what. She is my rock. My confidant. My only family and my best friend. We can have entire conversations without actually speaking. Luckily my husband doesn't seem to care about us spending time together...as long as his dinner’s on the table when he gets home and his lunch for the next day is packed. I spend as much time as possible with her to escape my marriage. She gives me glimpses of the old me back. She makes my soul feel light again.
At thirty, I’m afraid I won't find a better man so I lie and tell myself I’m in love with him. I will die sad and unhappy but married for years and years and he will think he lived a good life, a happy life. It’s unfortunate sure, but I resigned myself to the truth of the situation a long time ago. I know at some point his rage won't stop at inanimate objects, that it will turn towards me but what can I do really?
Our fifth wedding anniversary is coming up this month and I dread the plans he’s made. I will be expected to look nice, smile and exude happiness during whatever we do. This could be simply a night out or an entire weekend away. If my skirt is too short or I look too nice he will make a comment and I’ll have to change. If I don't want to put out he will try extra hard at foreplay after I say no repeatedly, which actually turns me off and dries me out even more than if he skips it all together. If I want to relax and do something I enjoy, like swim or read, it will become an issue of me ignoring and neglecting him. I can't win with him so I just don't try anymore. I wait for him to instruct me and follow orders hoping that it doesn't result in screaming or a mess.
Fuck off.
I can see your cooter in that skirt.
Do something with me.
Get a fuckin job.
Why isn't the house clean?
Stop spending my money.
Why are you such a bitch?
Why can't you cook?
You’re being cunty.
You’re getting fat. Again.
Why can’t you do anything right?
That shirt barely covers your tits, slut.
Those shoes make you look trashy.
I threw up last night when I got in ...clean it up.
You’re disgust me.
You’re worthless.
He treats me as if I’m simply a piece of trash that can be discarded at any time. There is no silver lining in life. He’s a one upper...if you had a bad day his was worse. If you’re sick, he’s sicker. I’ve never seen the man give change to a homeless person, hold a door open, or give up his seat for someone. He’s never done anything that normal people just do because it’s what people do. There is no kindness. You’d think that by now I’d be hooked on booze and pills or some shit like that but, surprisingly I’m too resilient for all that. I still have hope. Things will get better... they have too right? I mean it’s not a crime to hope that your husband will change. It might be completely stupid and naive but it’s not a crime. What if I leave him and then he gets it and changes. I’d be alone and he’d be cured and move on with some young thing and treat her like gold.
When he drinks heavily, it’s a different story. I contemplate leaving without a damned thing but the clothes on my back. He’s extra nasty when he drinks and extra horny. I hate the way he smells and the permanent sneer that resides on his face as long as there’s a beer in his hand. He makes lewd jokes that he thinks are hilarious but are offensive. He gropes me openly and it’s embarrassing. If we’re in public I have to pretend to be too intoxicated to notice his awful behavior. It’s a wonder he hasn't been in a drunken brawl yet.
He also drives drunk. I try to convince him to let me drive but sometimes it just starts a bigger fight between us. My parent’s lives were cut short by a drunk driver. It’s how Ryan and I met- at a benefit to raise money for a don't drink and drive campaign. My life over the last four years with him has become a shirt storm so thick that I can't see my way out. He loves me. I know he does. He loves me the only way he knows how and it would wreck him if I left him. Still, it’s not enough to stay, I know, but I do anyways.
He’s that guy who torments little kids and finds it amusing. Kicks dogs when no one’s looking or tosses a cat harshly. The guy with no filter who tells raunchy jokes and doesn't understand when no one laughs. The passive aggressive guy who’s mean, cutting remarks are masked in teasing so that others think he’s funny. The guy who will pick up the pot of soup on the stove and dump it on the floor or you after claiming it tastes like shit. I have small burn marks from where it splattered still.
It’s exhausting really, living with it. Excusing it. Overlooking it. Tolerating it.
PRESENT
DAY 6
I wake up early giving myself enough time to eat and get ready before I’m due at the gym. My nerves are on edge. One part of me can’t wait to see him again but another part keeps reminding me that I’m not prepared to have a connection with someone. My only goal was to escape Ryan and attempt to accomplish my list. I don't know how long it will last, if Ryan’s still looking for me or if I’m caught what will come of it. Everything's up in the air. Emotions swirl around inside of me but the one that keeps coming to the forefront is that I want to trust Colin. I want him to know me.
“Back for more.” John greets me when I enter the gym.
“Yup. Can’t seem to stay away.” I tease.
“Colin’s waiting for you.” He nods in Colin’s direction. The man never fails to take my breath away. He’s seated on the mat by the bag we were at yesterday, an ear to ear grin on his face. His hazel eyes burn into mine as I make my way over to him.
“Morning.” I say shyly.
“Morning. Glad you came back.”
“I told you I would.”
“Yeah well... I wasn’t a hundred percent convinced you would.” He says honestly.
I sit next to him on the mat and start stretching. Every once in a while glancing up and catching him staring at me.
“What?” I ask finally.
He shakes his head and smiles coyly. “I just can't seem to take my eyes off you.” The blush that crawls up my neck tells me my face must be bright red.
“Ready?” He asks smirking.
“Yes.” He pulls me up by the hand and tapes my wrists, his fingers lingering when he’s finished.
“I want to work on combinations today.” He tells me.
For the next hour I perfect my jab, cross, hook until sweat is dripping down my back. By the time I’m out of the locker room and feeling a little less swampy I’ve decided to ask Colin over for dinner. For some reason I’m feeling bold. He walks me to the door, hand at the small of my bac
k as always.
“See you tomorrow, same time?” He asks hopefully.
“Actually. I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight.” I keep my eyes trained on his shoes. Two fingers come to my chin lifting it to his face.
“I’d love to.” He says softly. I try to keep my face splitting smile from emerging but it’s a lost cause.
“Really?”
“Elle, I told you I wanted to get to know you. I meant it.” He states. “What time should I come over?” His dimple makes a brief appearance making the thoughts in my head jumble.
“Ah… right…can you come for six? I’d like to cook you dinner.” I tell him. His eyes sparkle as his fingers drift from my chin to my jaw resting just behind my ear. He sweeps the pad of his thumb over the apple of my cheek and says. “I’ll be there.”
I am a complete spaz all afternoon. I clean the cottage like a maniac even though there really isn't anything to clean. I talk to Jenny like she's there making fun of me for being neurotic. I spend two hours in the grocery store debating over what to make and changing my mind four times before settling on steaks, a goat cheese salad with fruit and green beans. By the time I’m home and finished marinating the steaks my focus shifts to what I should wear. I don’t have a lot of options and I’m out of time to go shopping. Everything I own is on the bed spread out as I repeatedly hold things up and look in the mirror before tossing them back on the bed. Eventually I settle on a jean skirt, black and tan cowboy boots and a cowl neck tank top. It looks nice but not too nice.