Only when I was convinced that the kitchen was in perfect order, did I stagger down the hallway to the bathroom.
I started the bath, making the temperature of the water as hot as I could stand it. Steam billowed from the tub as I peeled off my clothes to assess the damage. After wiping the fog from the mirror, I stared at my reflection. I forced myself to be extremely clinical, removing myself from the reality of the injuries so that I could gauge how bad it truly was. Separating myself from the horror of my life was the only thing I knew how to do well.
I lifted my hair back and saw a goose egg on the side of my head that was turning purple. The cut was thankfully small and had already begun to scab over, so I let out a short sigh of relief, realizing the evidence was far enough back in my scalp that I could easily hide it with my hair.
My upper arms were another story. They were covered in bright red marks that would certainly become bruises by morning — perfect outlines of Derek's hands. Long-sleeved shirts for the next couple of weeks should cover the damage.
I drew in a sharp, pained breath as I caught sight of the worst of my injuries from his attack. Deep lines and welts crisscrossed my entire back where Derek slammed me repeatedly into the kitchen counter.
"Okay, it looks bad," I told myself. "But it’ll heal. It always goes away."
Over the years, it had never been severe enough to seek out help from anyone or go to the hospital. I could always deal with the damage myself and had handled it alone. I’d always told myself the same lie as I cleaned myself up: eventually he had to grow tired of beating me up.
I shrugged at my reflection. At least I could hide it all under clothes. Derek had always been careful not to hit me in the face, at least not hard enough to leave a mark. It was ironic that, even while he lost control so badly that he beat his wife, my husband still had the wherewithal to leave my face unmarred.
Although once, a long time ago, Derek was so enraged that he punched me, leaving a dark bruise on my cheek. He hadn't actually cared about the mark he left, so much as he was worried about anyone finding out its cause.
"You better not tell anyone how that happened!" he’d threatened me. "If you do, you’ll regret it."
It was not an idle threat, but the truth was, I wouldn't have told anyone anyway. Who was there to tell?
No, this was just as much my secret as it was his. I chose Derek to be my husband and at first I wanted to believe, deep down, that I could help him — change him. All my life, I was the “fixer”. Solving problems and keeping the peace were my special strengths; at least that’s what Mom always told me. Now, after so many years of being told I was nothing — having it literally pounded into me — I no longer believed either one of us would ever really change.
Back then, I’d made up a story about a box of books falling on me from a high shelf. This time, hopefully I wouldn’t have to craft a lie.
After taking stock of my new injuries, I gingerly climbed into the bath and let the hot water soothe my battered and bruised body. It surrounded me, comforted me. Then and only then, did I allow my anger and sadness to break through the wall that usually surrounded my emotions…and the tears came. Sobs ripped through me like waves crashing against the sand.
As I cried, I asked myself repeatedly, what I had done to deserve any of this.
Derek always threatened me…my life, my job, my mom’s store. The store was the ultimate threat and he knew it. The promise I made to my mom was more important to me than my own life, or even happiness, and Derek had used against me…always finding just the perfect moment. If I were to divorce him, he probably could technically force me to sell the store, or buy him out of his share. Either way, I didn’t have the money and I couldn’t bear to part with my mother’s store.
I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the edge of the tub as the tears streamed down my cheeks, and disappeared in the bath water.
I let my head slip under the water, and wondered what would happen if I didn't come up for air. Would anyone actually care if I died? Derek would probably be relieved. Hannah would be sad, of course, but she'd be fine without me around. There was no one else I was close to anymore. Would anyone even come to my funeral?
My lungs burned, instinctively wanting air, needing to breathe. Breathing hurt. I didn’t want to breathe anymore. I wanted it to end.
No more pain.
No more loneliness.
Just when I had given up hope, a profound image flashed through my mind, as if it had danced across the water’s surface above me. It went by so fast I almost missed it. All I could make out was a blonde mess of curls and the saddest eyes I’d ever seen.
I broke through the water, gasping for air, wiped the water from my eyes, and looked around. There was no one in the room. I was alone. I’d imagined it all.
I let my mind go utterly blank. No more thoughts of Derek, of my life, of death —complete nothingness.
I drifted off to sleep.
"Fanny?" Derek called out, and I jolted upright in the tub. The water was cold now. How long had I been asleep? I looked at the clock. Three hours?
"Where are you?" he called out again.
"I'm in the bathtub. I'll be right out."
"Hurry up!" he demanded, but not in an angry way — more impatient than upset. I took the lack of anger in his tone as a good sign. Usually, Derek's guilt kept him from putting his hands on me for at least a week or so. I would need that long, and then some, to heal.
I pulled myself out of the bath, not as slowly as I’d gotten in, but as quickly as my injured body would allow me to go. Slipping into a long-sleeved shirt and sweats, I made sure all the marks and bruises were covered, and I let my hair hang around my face, to hide the bump above my ear.
When I was certain that I was presentable, I swallowed a couple of pain pills, opened the bathroom door, and headed back down the hallway to find Derek.
The first thing I saw was a bucket of chicken, sitting on the kitchen table.
"I thought you might be hungry." Derek pointed to the bucket as he walked in from the living room, beer in hand.
"Thanks," I said quietly.
"Listen, Fan. About this afternoon."
And so it began…
After he had beaten me, I was always presented with excuses in a particularly sterile and unemotional way — never an apology, but always excuses.
I watched television talk shows, and secretly read all the books we had in the store about abusive relationships. There was a vicious cycle to the whole thing. According to what I’d learned, it usually started with arguments about little things. Then the “episode” — as I had come to refer to them — happened. The next step in the cycle was the honeymoon phase, filled with apologies and then everything was good for a while. Then, the arguments would start again.
But I never reached the Honeymoon phase.
I never got the apology.
Derek would go from one explosion directly into building up to the next. As an abused spouse, I almost felt gypped that I didn't get the apology and honeymoon.
At least that would be something.
Derek released a loud belch that snapped me away from my thoughts.
"Dad wants me to do this big presentation in Astoria at the end of next week. I'm under a lot of pressure. The last thing I need is to come home to a dirty house. I snapped. I hope you can understand."
I nodded. "I'm sorry, Derek. It won't happen again."
"Good. I was serious about selling the bookstore though. If you can’t keep up things at home, you have no business running that store.”
“I understand. I can do both.”
“I don’t even know how you can keep that place open. No one reads anymore, and if they do, they buy books on those websites.”
“I’m doing it for my…”
“Your stupid mom, I know. But the building alone is worth enough to pay off our house and all of our bills.”
“Please Derek, don’t make
me sell the store.”
He paused and I waited, my breath held. “For now, you can keep the dumb store.”
“Thank you, Derek.” I let out the breath that I had been holding and relaxed, just slightly.
“Now that we got that settled...eat." He motioned to the chicken and I gingerly picked up a drumstick.
I curled into one of the chairs at the table while my husband stood at the kitchen counter. We ate in silence, neither having anything to say to the other.
After a number of long, quiet minutes, Derek began speaking. "So, I'm going to be gone early in the morning. Earlier than normal."
"Everything okay?" I asked.
"I have to drive down into Corvallis. My dad hired this idiot, Dylan, to do a bath remodel over there. He botched the job, we fired him, and now I have to go and clean up the mess.”
"That's not good.” I wasn't sure what the appropriate terminology to use was, but decided to keep it straightforward.
"I know," Derek said, nodding. "I have enough to deal with as it is, without going around, fixing other people's fuck-ups, ya know?"
I nodded. Impulsively, I decided to take advantage of Derek's calmer mood and tell him about Landon.
"Listen, Derek. I hired a temporary helper at the store today," I said, not making direct eye contact for fear of giving away too much.
"Oh yeah? How old is she?"
"Well, he just graduated from college. I think he's mid-twenties or so."
I closed my eyes and prepared for the worst. I expected him to yell or to stomp around the house or throw some sort of tantrum. When that didn’t happen, I opened my eyes to find Derek smirking at me.
"You hired a guy? Is he gay?"
"No!" I responded a little too quickly and immediately backtracked. "At least I don't think so. That's not really important, is it?"
He laughed. "His name isn't Dylan, is it?"
I smiled, ever so briefly. My husband had made an exceptionally rare joke.
"No." I shook my head. "His name isn't Dylan."
"Good," he responded. "I think it's a good idea then."
"Good?” I was confused. Why wasn't he angry?
"Sure! Maybe this new guy will give your sister something to do, like a new toy to play around with, so she'll stay out of our hair."
"Oh sure. You're probably right.” I pretended to laugh with him, relieved, but just a hint of jealousy tugged at me with the thought of Hannah being with Landon. I shoved the idea away. Landon and Hannah were free to see whomever they wanted, even if it was each other.
I was not free to be with anyone except the man that had beaten the crap out of me less than four hours earlier.
That night, as was part of the post-beating ritual, Derek wanted to have sex. He left my shirt on to hide any reminders of what he’d done earlier — reminders that would certainly kill his mood. When it was over, Derek rolled over and fell asleep almost immediately.
As I lay there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling and listening to my husband's snoring, I couldn't help but acknowledge the loneliness that surrounded me.
No one would miss me if I disappeared off the face of the earth.
The thought of my earlier contemplations of death returned. Would anyone care if I were gone?
Would anyone even look for me if I ran away?
Tears of disappointment and loneliness slipped over my cheeks and into my hair.
I rolled up onto my side, into a ball.
In the darkness, I whispered, "Don’t I deserve to be loved? What could be so wrong with me?"
Chapter Six
The next morning, I woke up stiff and sore. I carefully rolled out of my bed, groaning in pain, and made my way into the bathroom. The extra-long shower helped. Letting the warm water flow down my body, I tried to loosen up some of my aches and pains before I had to leave for work.
As I walked into the bedroom, I took a brief moment to glance out the window. To my dismay, I saw bright sunshine pouring down through the trees.
"A warm day. Just what I needed."
I dressed in a long-sleeve shirt and loose pair of jeans that wouldn’t rub against the bruises, too much. All the evidence of what Derek had done to me was hidden under my clothing. Twenty-four hours earlier, I’d been more concerned with my wardrobe selection for a very different reason.
"What a difference a day makes," I said to myself.
I left my hair down to cover the goose egg. The swelling over my ear had gone down some, but the dark purple bruise was still there. It had gotten bigger, and it now spread out over my scalp.
After I was dressed and ready to go, I walked down the hall into the kitchen and found Derek's coffee mug and breakfast plate sitting on the kitchen table — a test — and one I would not fail again.
Landon stood outside the front of Turning Point, waiting for me, one hand behind his back, obviously hiding something. Although I moved slowly, it was my best attempt to walk as normal as possible, and act as though everything was fine. All I wanted to do was grip the exterior brick of the store for support, and hold onto my stomach to ease the pain. Derek's signature move was a swift kick to the gut, and I winced, remembering at least four of those last night. But for Landon's benefit, I did my best to fake normalcy.
"Are you okay?" he asked as I pulled out my key and slipped it into the lock.
"I'm fine," I answered him curtly, hoping he would just stop.
"You looked like you were in pain just now. Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine! Okay?” Maybe a bit of rudeness would shut him up.
"Okay." Landon retreated as he pulled his hand out from behind his back. In it, he had a single red rose. He held it out to me. “To thank you…for the job.”
My eyes darted up and down the street, to see if any prying eyes were watching us. I took the rose tenderly from his hand and stared at it.
“You shouldn’t have,” I stated, my voice breaking just a bit. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me.
“Yeah…well…don’t get too excited. I picked it from my neighbor’s garden on my way in. She won’t miss one rose, will she?”
I glanced up at him and shook my head with just a hint of a smile. “Thank you.” Then, before I could collapse on the sidewalk, in a combination of pain and nerves that this gorgeous young man giving me a simple flower had stirred up in me, I turned and walked into the store. Landon followed.
"Um—" he started to say, the magic of the moment evaporating quickly. There was a heavy silence settling in around us, suffocating me. Landon was still staring at me, assessing me, concern in his eyes.
“What is it now?” I barked.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"Why would you say that?"
"You just seem upset, and I wanted to make sure I didn't do something to make you mad."
"I'm not mad at you, and you didn't do anything wrong, Landon," I said, more softly, feeling just a bit guilty. I dropped my purse and the rose onto the counter, my back to him as I drew in a calming breath. "I'm sorry. And I interrupted you before. What were you going to say?"
"Well," he began cautiously, "It's supposed to be warm today. Aren’t you gonna get hot in that?" He motioned toward my long-sleeved, ‘show-as-little-skin-as-possible’ get up.
"Yes, well." I gazed down at the baggy shirt that covered the damage, realizing how different I must look to him today. I turned back toward him. "I'm one of those people who’s always cold...even in a heat wave.”
He wasn't convinced.
"Besides, I think I'm coming down with something."
"Well, if you need to go home, I'll be alright here by myself. I think I can handle things," he offered.
"No!" I said too loudly. He was just being polite, after all. An instantaneous wave of regret washed over me when I saw how his face dropped. I tried to explain as best as I could, even though I was quite certain that it would not come out right. "I mean, I'm f
ine. I just need to take it easy today."
"Fine, okay," he said.
"Listen, I'm sorry, Landon. I'm not trying to be rude. Thank you for the offer, but when I sit at home, I go crazy. I'd rather just suffer through it and keep myself busy."
"Okay." He smiled at me. “I guess I can relate. One time right before final exams, I got mono. Have you ever had it?”
I shook my head. Luckily, I had escaped the mono epidemic in my dorm during my sophomore year of college.
“Well, it’s the worst. I slept for days and had a really bad fever. But I got bored and couldn’t stand another second in bed, so I went to class.”
“Did you get the whole class sick?”
“Nah. Not unless I kissed them all.” Landon laughed. “But I was so out of it that I never got dressed. I went to class in my boxers and t-shirt. They were soaked with sweat because of the fever. Scared the teacher half to death.”
“That must have been a sight.” I wouldn’t allow myself to imagine what Landon looked like in only his underwear…well, maybe later.
“Yeah, well…”
"Well, I don’t have mono,” I told him, “but I promise that if I start to feel worse, I'll head home. Okay?"
"Okay," he said again and then quickly added, "But you also have to let me do the hard stuff until you feel better. Deal?"
"Deal." I nodded. “And thank you for the flower. You don’t have to bring me something every morning, you know?”
“I know. And you’re welcome.” He gave me a quick smile, and I did my best to return it. “So, did everything go okay last night?"
"What about last night?" I asked him, an accusing tone in my voice. How did he know about last night?
"I just meant...you ran out of here so fast. It seemed like something was wrong."
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