by A. D. Ellis
There was never a question about Izzy and me; we were a couple before we even knew what being a couple meant. We were the perfect match; she was the yin to my yang. Our friendship was easy; our more serious relationship later on down the road was easy. We never had to question our feelings, they had been clear from that first day in my driveway. Izzy-bel completed me and I complemented her; we were, by all standards, the perfect couple.
Sex with Izzy was beautiful because our friendship was beautiful. We waited until we were married to have sex; I’m not sure why, it just became an unspoken agreement that we would wait. It wasn’t hard, we had spent this much of our life together and we had the rest of our life together, so waiting was not a hardship. We did plenty of other stuff leading up to our wedding night, but always stopped before it went too far; who would have thought that the punks, the rebels, the bad boy/bad girl couple would be saving themselves for marriage? Maybe that’s why we did it; neither of us ever liked predictability, we didn’t ever do what people expected of us.
Izzy took my breath away the day we got married. Her short black hair was a messy array of black, green, pink, and blue all over her head as she walked towards me in the courthouse. The black flouncy skirt she had paired with a ripped up blue shirt and black tank swayed around her mid-thighs and she winked at me as a reminder of what she’d whispered to me the night before, “Tomorrow, when I marry you, I won’t be wearing any underwear; just keep that in mind while you’re trying to sleep tonight, Punk Boy.” I smirked at her and held my hand out to her as she reached my side. I wore a black t-shirt and dark blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled past my elbows so that my tattoo sleeves showed. My jeans were gray and my black boots were unlaced as usual. “Happy wedding day, Punk Boy.” She leaned in to kiss my cheek.
“I’m glad you get to marry me, Izzy-bel”, I smiled at her and winked as I kissed the top of her head.
Her parents had relented to the fact that their Isabella would never be their pretty, perfect, princess; they liked me just fine and were begrudgingly happy with our marriage. My parents adored Izzy; she was like the daughter they never had. I could see four pairs of teary eyes watching us as we exchanged our vows and made our relationship official and forever.
**********
“I’m nervous, Kyle, maybe we should have practiced before our wedding night.” Izzy, my little rebel who was never afraid of anything, looked at me warily. “What if we don’t do it right?”
I laughed at her. “Izzy, I love you, you love me, we’ve been together since second grade; us coming together tonight will be as perfect as we are. Now, come here and let me love on you.” I grabbed my wife by the hand and proceeded to show her just how much I loved her.
I didn’t expect fireworks and stars like the movies glorify sex to be; making love to Izzy was not mind-blowing but it was perfect. Making her mine, finally, was like putting the last piece of a puzzle in place. My life was complete with my wife by my side.
Kyle
“Letting go doesn’t mean giving up, but rather accepting that there are things that cannot be.” ~Author Unknown
As was normal for Izzy and me, we settled into a perfectly normal, perfectly comfortable routine. Izzy had worked at a record store since high school and she had recently become co-owner of the business that she loved. I had developed my talent for designing and inking tattoos; I opened a shop next to the record store.
We had waited for a while after high school to get married; then we waited five years before we even attempted to have children. We knew we wanted kids, but we also knew we wanted to be Kyle and Izzy Martin and establish our businesses before we added a baby to the mix.
Five years of dinners, movies, setting up house. Five years of traveling, learning how to live together, forming a stronger bond than the strongest bond we already had. After five years, we gave up birth control and decided to have a baby. Imagine our sadness, shock, and disappointment when getting pregnant took years rather than months.
Izzy took it like a trouper and we were determined to keep our strong bond throughout this leg of our journey. It wasn’t always easy, but we clung to each other and carried on.
We had been discussing adoption for about a month; it wasn’t what we had originally planned, but it would allow us to be parents if the baby we so desperately wanted never came along.
Josie
“The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.” ~Virginia Woolf
I blocked out most of my wedding day. I didn’t want to remember a single moment of the day I completely lost my freedom and what little bit of spirit I had left.
While my life was not terrible, it was not what a person would hope for. Although, not much had changed for me except I was now living under Wayne’s rule rather than my parents’ reign. I wanted for nothing; attending social events, speeches, galas, and ceremonies became second nature. Dressing as an object and plastering on a fake smile, I would attend those functions with my husband as his “trophy wife.” I was expected to smile, giggle, and only add to the conversation if I was spoken to directly. Soon most of Wayne’s associates decided I was just a ditzy female with nothing between my ears; this worked to my advantage most of the time because I could smile and let my mind journey to other places while Wayne paraded me around. In my mind I would critique the artwork in the venues we attended; I visualized my own paintings on the walls. I imagined all the stiff suits and their arm-candy in regular, everyday clothes; I pictured the more attractive men with piercings and tattoos while the women spoke their minds, wore clothes they wanted, had careers they dreamed of. My mind was wild and free even if my body had to be confined to the sparkly dress, plastered-on smile, and Wayne’s arm around me.
The singularly good part of my new life was that Wayne was true to his word and set up a small studio for me. He had a web designer create a site for me; I could have done this myself but I didn’t want to question him and have it taken away, so I settled for the less-than-stellar site that was made for me. Wayne had numerous canvases and paints and brushes brought in; he set up an account at the local art store, and I was allowed a certain amount each month to spend on supplies. Like a father providing for a spoiled child, Wayne purchased practically every paper-cutting machine he saw in the catalog I had been looking at. I truly wanted for nothing. I was told only to avoid using my real name, Josie Erickson, so I set up my site as “Art by J.”
The first time I sold a painting online I was ecstatic; I ran around my studio whooping and hollering like a banshee knowing Wayne was gone and wouldn’t hear me. Quickly, I tempered my enthusiasm in case the household staff would report my outburst to him. I silently continued to dance around my studio for a few minutes basking in the glow of knowing that someone liked my work. I sold three more paintings that week along with 2 scrapbooks. I had orders coming in for paintings and custom-made scrapbooks. For the first time in my life I felt like I was an actual somebody. I wasn’t Richard and Corinne’s unloved and unwanted daughter. I wasn’t Wayne Erickson’s arm candy and simpering little wife. I was Josie, I was “Art by J.” I was as close to happy as I was probably ever going to be.
That happiness had to carry me along throughout most of my dealings with my husband. Wayne expected me dressed for dinner at 8 pm every evening unless I was informed of an altered meal-time. My husband told me that I was “attractive in an unconventional way;” he said that my lack of voluptuous beauty was the reason he struggled to perform in the bedroom. From our first night together, sex with my husband was a belittling, disgusting, painful event. Thankfully, Wayne did not have a strong libido so I only had to endure this 2-3 times a month.
A normal intimate moment together involved Wayne making me watch pornography so he could get “in the mood.” I didn’t find the images stimulating and often stared unseeingly at the screen so as to make him think I was watching. He once told me that “we’d never fuck if I had to get hard just looking at you.” I was usually grateful that Wayne couldn
’t get it all the way up; it made penetration less painful. I was never wet for him; this was another point that he rubbed in my face.
“How the fuck am I supposed to get turned on when I know all that awaits me is measly little tits and a desert between your legs?” Wayne would sometimes resort to using lube just to get us through the act. He never lasted long and I would just close my eyes and drift off to my own little world. In my own world, the man hovering above me loved me. He kissed and caressed and spoke softly to me. His touch brought me intense pleasure; his words reached my heart, my soul.
I once broached the subject of children with Wayne; we had never used condoms but he’d had me taking birth control since our wedding day. “Fine, if a baby would keep you satisfied, stop taking your birth control. Just know that I’m not taking care of a snot-nosed kid; it will be your responsibility 100%. Your obligations to me will come first, we will have nannies for it when you’re needed at events.”
This was not an ideal situation, but I had dreamed of being a mother and I knew that I could love a child and care for him in a way I’d never known. I pictured holding him to my breast, hearing his first word, watching him take his first steps. Baby-fever hit me and it hit hard. I even took to initiating sex with Wayne when I knew I was the most fertile. After a year, there was no baby. Wayne took me to the doctor to see what my problem was; stating that he shouldn’t have been surprised that there was one more disappointment associated with me.
A week later I received a report stating that I only had a 1% chance of ever conceiving. I was devastated; my dreams of having a child to love and share my world with vanished. I withdrew even more into my shell.
Wayne was getting more and more disgusted with me; the more he despised me, the angrier and meaner he got. He stopped coming to me for sex, though, which was a blessing. He flat-out told me that he just couldn’t get hard looking at me and he had found a couple women to pleasure him so he would no longer need me in his bedroom. He moved me to a spare room near my studio; I reveled in the fact that I no longer had to endure sex with my husband. The sounds of loud, raunchy sex coming from our bedroom at all hours didn’t bother me. I often listened and smiled to myself before entering my studio to block it all out; if he was in bed with her, or them, it meant he didn’t need anything from me and that made my heart soar.
**********
My art was selling, my husband was supposedly screwing someone other than me, and I only had to see him about once a day; my life was acceptable. I didn’t love my life; I didn’t cherish what I had, but I knew many people had it much worse. In my own mind I longed for happiness, I longed to be the strong woman I knew I could be, I longed to break from these chains and run free. Thoughts of surviving like this for the next 50-60 years were depressing and daunting; I adopted an attitude of one-day-at-a-time. I had a secret wish that an opportunity would arise in which I could escape; I didn’t know what that opportunity would look like, but I kept my eyes open.
The first open door came when my parents were tragically killed. Their private jet went down in the mountains as they were returning from a business excursion. The pilot, an older employee of my father, had fallen asleep at the controls and crashed; there were no survivors. I felt extremely guilty when the first thought I had upon hearing the news was relief. My parents had been killed and all I felt was a jolt of excitement and freedom. That night I dreamed of those wild horses running free; I wanted to be like them. I wanted to shake off all restraints placed on me and be free to run until I made the decision to stop.
The reading of my parents’ wills brought another open door for me. I did not expect a large inheritance and I did not receive one. I was given a good amount of money which was to be used “for keeping up appearances.” Wayne, as their son-in-law and business associate, was the biggest inheritor of property and business holdings. Much of their wealth went to charities and foundations so that their names could live on. My ears perked up when the lawyer read the closing statement of my father’s will, “My brother, Robert Decker, is to receive nothing of my property or wealth.”
How did I not know my father had a brother? I filed this information away in my brain thinking it could be useful one day. Was Robert Decker like my father? Or was he the complete opposite? If my Richard had never mentioned him, I held hope that Robert was nothing like my father.
After my parents’ death, Wayne’s disposition changed and not for the better. Nothing I did was good enough. It was if, now that he didn’t have to put up with me to please my parents, he was angry with me and himself for having agreed to the marriage in the first place.
He was not satisfied with me coming to dinner or attending events; he began having women over for dinner and demanding I stay hidden. He hired women to attend functions with him; telling his friends and associates that I was under the weather or at a spa vacation or in treatment for a mental illness. He gained much sympathy for having to put up with a wife such as me. I gained a new appreciation for being away from my parents and my husband. I kept waiting for the chance to leave.
I secretly had a lawyer draw up divorce papers which I would serve him with after I had fled. I continued swindling money away every chance I had. I had the lawyer in charge of my parents’ will deposit the money I was gifted into a newly opened personal account under my maiden name. I looked up Robert Decker and memorized directions to get to his home in Torey Hope, Illinois. Then I waited.
My opportunity to leave didn’t arise for another whole year. During that time, I got a little more courageous and daring; I would venture out into town and browse the little stores. Wayne would have forbid this had he known about it; I usually tried to disguise myself, wearing a hat and large sunglasses. My husband was of the impression that anything his wife would need could be ordered and I shouldn’t be rubbing elbows with the locals. He also told me more than once that it would be an embarrassment if any of his clients or associates saw me. We lived in a huge, thriving city so I didn’t understand what his issue was with me going out. True, I was usually drawn to the more ‘indie’ or ‘bohemian’ areas of our large city, but his rule of me not venturing out had just gotten to me and I decided, no matter the backlash, I would take little walks around our city.
On one such day, I happened upon a newly opened tattoo parlor. I was drawn to the artwork displayed in the window. Wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans, I entered the shop. I was instantly in love with the rich, vibrant colors and the strong, solid lines of the designs on the walls, the patrons, and the artists themselves. I spent an hour in the shop, chatting with the artists and some of the patrons. I was amazed at the creativity and devotion the artists showed. A tattoo became something on my bucket list; a list which was ever growing. I knew most of what was on my list would never be deemed appropriate for a Decker/Erickson to do; that didn’t stop me from keeping a mental list of the things I dreamed of doing one day.
Upon returning home from my walk, I found Wayne waiting for me. I was taken aback because he shouldn’t have been home for at least three more hours. The backhanded smack against my cheekbone and the ringing in my ears were the only warning I got that he was angry.
“You disgusting little waste of space. Did you think you could go slumming it in a tattoo parlor and I wouldn’t find out about it? Imagine the embarrassment I felt when my secretary came back from picking up lunch from my favorite little deli only to tell me she swore she saw you walking down the street. I only send her to that part of town for the deli; it’s a slum area, there’s no way my WIFE would have been there! I sent my driver to look for you and he reported back that you were indeed in the area and he observed you walk into a tattoo shop and spend over an hour in there. So help me God, if you marred your body with that dirty ink, there will be hell to pay. No wife of mine is going to be seen in public with trashy ink all over her body. What were you thinking, Josephine?!” The second smack landed harder than the first, but it also woke something up inside of me. I held my cheek and took a moment
to gather myself as he continued ranting and raving.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes; I imagined those wild horses, corralled inside a gated fence, busting out of their holdings. I watched in my mind as they broke free and ran away from their prison. Be smart here, Josie. He mustn’t know you’ve left until you’ve had time to get away. Appease him until you can leave.
“Wayne, I’m sorry. I noticed the artwork in the window and I was drawn to it as an artist. That’s all. I didn’t get a tattoo; I’d never embarrass you in that way. Please forgive me.” I groveled to him and prayed that he would accept my apology.
“Damn straight you’ll never embarrass me that way. I think this art hobby has gotten much too out of hand if it’s pulling you into dirty tattoo parlors. Your punishment for your actions today is the loss of your business for the time being. Your studio will be locked and your website will be shut down. In time, IF you can prove you can be the respectable woman I need you to be, I may reconsider letting you back into your little hobby.” Wayne sneered at me as he watched the life drain from my face; he knew he’d taken the only thing that could hurt me.
My final door had just opened.
**********
The plan I had hatched in my mind involved my art business; I was counting on it for income. Now it was gone. Luckily, thanks to the sales I’d already had and the money I’d been saving and the money from my parents, I had enough to live on for quite a while; I could attempt to set up my business again once I was settled.
I left the next morning; Wayne was going on a three month business trip to Tokyo. The timing was ideal. My hope was that he wouldn’t know I was missing for the entire three months; although, I knew he would check up on me with his staff. I had to hope I would get as much time and distance between us as possible.
My entire plan hinged on getting to Torey Hope and finding my Uncle Robert. I was so very nervous, but I had nowhere else to turn. If my uncle was anything like my father maybe I could at least find a hotel in Torey Hope and stay there long enough to plan my next destination.