by Alison Mello
“You are not my charity case, and I apologize if I gave you that impression. You cannot give up and run from your problems. I get it, you might never recover from that experience, but you could try. At least for the sake of your kids.” Dr. Clark rose to her feet and treaded toward her desk. She drew a card from the Rolodex and turned back to him.
Zachary wore a permanent frown, lost in his obscure thoughts. His posture suggested defeat, and his demeanor advocated violence. He had potential to cause more havoc, and not only to his wife and kids, but to the public. There had been many cases in the news about lone gunmen, conspiracy theorists, militias, and people with depression and mental illness who caused so much grief in the world. She didn’t want to wake up one day to see the face of her patient on the news. The blood of innocent souls would be on her hands. This was a curse she couldn’t live with. She refused to give the court a reason to lock him away when there was hope. A lot of work, nonetheless she was confident.
Am I overreaching?
She often questioned her sanity when faced with such complex cases.
“Zachary, how would you feel about participating in a group treatment program with other servicemen with similar issues as yours? Before you say no, hear me out. The program provides a safe environment for patients to become more socially associated with others, and it offers the opportunity to build trust. Before any change can occur, we must restore your lack of faith. It wouldn’t take your pain away, I know that. As humans, we have moments when we lose all hope and are unable to believe in second chances. Relationships turn sour, people die, and we lose courage. Life is about breaking barriers and fighting through uncertainties. While my words might sound trivial to you now, we must start somewhere and with confidence that you’ll pull through this. What I have come to learn from cases similar to yours is that one-on-one treatment is not as effective as people might think. With group programs, you get to interact more with others who understand what you are going through because they have lived it. I’d be lying to you if I claimed to know what you are feeling. Despite all my degrees on the wall, I lack that experience. If you decide to participate, I’ll continue to work with you while you are in the program.”
Zachary was quiet, contemplating her proposal. The doctor was right; he was lost, living in extreme paranoia and unable to love and protect his family. He witnessed violence way before he enlisted. He felt destitute and deserted, and that needed to change. Alison was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and now she detested his very existence. While he might not be able to win her back, he could at least try. He stood and nodded at Dr. Clark.
Relieved, she passed the group counselor’s contact information to him. “You won’t regret this, Zachary.”
“Let’s hope not.”
CHAPTER 2
Black and white are the colors of photography. To me they symbolize the alternatives of hope and despair to which mankind is forever subjected.
~Robert Frank
Courtney gazed out of the window at the misty skies, fearing for the freshly planted tulips in her garden, a place she called her sanctuary. She could barely move. All strength had departed from her. Her body was struggling to mend from the physical and emotional abuse it faced the night before, which she had endured for the past four years.
She caught her image in the window glass. Her eyes were lifeless, sunken, and had no brilliance left. Her once-lustrous brown hair lacked charisma, and the bones between her neck and shoulders stuck out, demonstrating her dramatic weight loss. The image staring back at her broke her heart. She was outright different from how she was five years ago before she married William Peterson. He was her knight, charismatic, handsome, and successful. His real estate company made the Fortune 500 list the previous year. From the outside, their lives appeared perfect. She frequently dined with the elite crowd, CEOs of other Fortune 500 companies and their spouses. She held memberships to various exclusive clubs such as tennis, golf, and wine tasting clubs, and sat on the board of a few charity committees.
All her husband’s idea, a way to keep Courtney relevant in their condescending little circle. She wasn’t born with privilege like he was. He didn’t struggle much to gain his achievements. Though he was hardworking, he had the backing of his family. His success was unmistakably sealed in the heavens. His family owned a number of lucrative companies in the service and real estate industries.
The extremely conservative family never accepted her. She was only tolerated because of the crucial role William played in the family’s fortune. Before their marriage was made official, she was forced to sign a pre-nuptial agreement so tight it was suffocating. The only way to receive money from him was if she birthed his children. Basically, no matter how many years she stayed married to him, if he ever left her or she ever left him, she’d walk away with exactly what she came into the marriage with, zero dollars. Not a penny to her name. Even if they had children, the family would break the contract and fight to the end to gain sole custody. They would no doubt win with their influences and standing in society. However, at the time of signing the arrangement, that did not deter her. She signed those documents before the family lawyer was done explaining the terms. She loved William, was head over heels. It was never about the money for her, but the love and connection they shared.
Courtney had worked as a server in a traditional gentlemen’s club, the place she met William. He was indeed a nobleman. He took interest in her, and she gave herself to him despite their differences. It worked out like a dream, and he fell madly in love with her. He stood strong and defended her honor against his family. They rejected her the moment they set eyes on her. She never stood a chance. William loved her, and no matter how much they threatened, he was determined to make her his, and he did.
It was a private ceremony, and by private, there weren’t any family members, not on her side and definitely not on his. She didn’t care much for their criticisms; her only purpose in life then was to be with the man who swept her off her achy feet.
She lost her parents at the age of ten in a fatal car accident. She was present in the vehicle that fateful night; phenomenally, she survived. Her parents died in her presence while help was on the way. She was placed in foster care since no one in the family cared enough to take her in and was shuffled from one home to the other. The system molded her into a lost, angry child, misplaced and deserted. She became impossible to live with, as her unfortunate life experience created a deadly void in her heart. She felt disconnected from every family she was placed with. She ran away from home when she turned sixteen due to the abuse she suffered from the last family she lived with. Her foster father sexually assaulted her for two years, ever since she was fourteen years old. He snuck into her room almost every night to have his way with her. After a year, she stopped fighting him. Well aware of her husband’s sickening activities, her foster mother turned a blind eye to the fact. Courtney was at their mercy, her only support system. After another year of abuse and with a broken spirit, she took the road to freedom. Although legally she was supposed to remain with them until she turned eighteen, this became impossible due to the severity of their cruelty.
After acquiring a fake ID from a street thug she traded for sex, Courtney worked at bars and restaurants until she saved up enough money to get a decent apartment. She had a knack for painting, which she explored. Eventually she sold a few of her pieces at a small price, which kept the lights on. She met the vice president of the gentlemen’s club at an art auction, where he expressed his interest in her work as an upcoming artist. She was in desperate need of a job since the income from her artwork wasn’t regular. The vice president offered her a job, and she accepted. A friendship was formed, which was just that and nothing more. It came as a relief to her since she had lost faith in humanity. It was refreshing to meet someone who cared for her without asking for anything in return. That was the beginning of a better life for her.
Two years later, she met William Peterson. She also m
et countless wealthy men day in and day out. She never displayed interest in their romantic advances. She had all the qualities a man desired for a trophy wife, if you looked beyond her past struggles. Gorgeous brown hair, body perfectly shaped, perfectly lean and tall, gleaming hazel eyes, a rare kind that always earned her a second glance from strangers, and a pleasant personality. She was good at masking her pain and her past. Daily, she fought her demons to rid herself of all the pain and loss she dealt with in the past. Regrettably, it was a constant challenge.
William was young, handsome, and ambitious. He approached Courtney the night he joined the prestigious club. It was love at first glance for both of them. In order not to be judged or pitied, she hid her story from him.
Their affection for each other grew stronger over the course of a few weeks. They beat all odds and got married despite the backlash he received from his family.
Life for Courtney took a turn for the best as William continuously spoiled her with all the material things she could only dream of. After just a year of marriage and living largely, William’s attitude toward her began to turn hostile. He spent his days inebriated, constantly away from home, abusive toward her both physically and verbally. His unmerited hostility baffled Courtney since there weren’t any signs of infidelity; neither did he have issues with his companies. His ferocity and aggression continued sporadically for four years.
His primary slander was the fact that after five years of marriage, she failed to produce an heir for him. They jumped from one fertility doctor to the other, proving futile. They later discovered she couldn’t bear his children due to a medical condition.
William loathed the sight of her. Each glance that came her way was laced with hatred and displeasure. The effect of his aloofness took a toll on her mentally. He had no reason to treat her in the manner that he did. Courtney did everything that was required of a wife. Pursuing a career was not an option for her. Watering her plants and cooking William’s meals were the only tasks on her daily schedule. The previous year, she decided to resume her passion for painting, except William thought it was beneath their social standing. His wife couldn’t have the reputation of a struggling artist, he’d said. Her existence hinged solely on him, and that pleased him.
The night before, William arrived home at a quarter to midnight. Dinner had long gone cold. It infuriated Courtney, who’d spent the entire day ensuring his steak was marinated and cooked to perfection. She had gone to the store that morning to purchase the steak. Tuesday mornings were for fresh Chateaubriand steaks. She was always first in line when that crate opened. William liked it fresh, and she made certain he got the very best. She spent latter part of the day cleaning the grill; he had a peculiar taste bud and would know if she hadn’t. He typically arrived home on Tuesday nights at seven p.m., however, not last night. He sauntered into their loveless home close to midnight. His tie was loose and slanted to the side, and the three top buttons on his shirt were unfastened. He had a visible stain in his shirt, probably from the cognac he loved to drink so much. He seemed blissful when he walked in. He could have called and excused himself from dinner. That would have saved her from the effort she put into preparing his meal.
Courtney sat on the couch gaping skeptically at him. He wobbled to the lamp by the entrance and pulled the string to switch it on. Her unanticipated presence took him by surprise, although he did not utter a word. She heard a jangle of keys, followed by a loud clanking sound. William removed his suit jacket and threw it over the couch. She eyeballed him from top to bottom, searching for any indication of infidelity, not that he would be careless enough to leave any clues.
“You are late…again,” she dared to say.
William frowned. “Don’t you have anything better to do than pester me? Waiting for me to come home to what? You? This?” He glanced around the hollow room. At least that’s how it seemed to her….her dead life. His tone was severe and unwelcoming.
“You could have called.”
“Called?” He chuckled. “Then what…hmm? Ask for permission to stay out late? You must be confused by the role you are supposed to be playing in this sham of a marriage. I don’t answer to you or anyone else for that matter,” he slurred.
“You can’t continue to talk to me like this, William.” Courtney’s voice shook, terrified of what might come next. She grimaced, repelled by his insolence, fear spiraling through her. She decided in that instant that ignoring him was the wisest and best approach.
When she attempted to walk away from the toxic situation, he gripped her nightshirt and threw her against the door. Her head thumped against the frame, and she held in her voiceless gasp of pain. He gazed at her, and the fierceness in his eyes spiked extreme fear in her heart. He wrapped his hand around her neck, cutting off her air supply, and Courtney knew he was going to kill her. After four years of abuse, this was it. Then he abruptly loosened his grip.
She took in sharp breaths in unsynchronized intervals. “William, please,” Courtney beseeched, her voice thick with unshed tears. He pulled her away from the door and mercilessly threw her on the couch. She slipped and landed on the floor. What was about to happen was not new to her, since this was not the first time she found herself in such a dangerous spot with her husband. It was now the norm, like her foster father’s abuse. She curved her body and drew up her legs to protect her face as William rushed upon her, kicking her multiple times. He unfastened his belt and unzipped his pants while she sobbed defenselessly. She kept her eyes shut. She couldn’t bring herself to fix her gaze into the eyes of a man who once loved and protected her but now caused her so much pain. Just like every night he attacked her, she let her mind drift away while he forced himself on her. Just like every night, he reeked of expensive cologne and cognac. The stench always stayed with her after he left her alone. Balled up like a frightened child, Courtney remained on the cold floor when he was done and wept quietly into the depths of the night.
She thought and planned. Their home was now a cage she needed to escape.
CHAPTER 3
Being brave isn’t the absence of fear. Being brave is having that fear but finding a way through it.
~Bear Grylls
The IED exploded a few meters from where he was positioned. He watched in horror as the flames lit his eyes, the noise and tremor it created sending terrifying shockwaves through his body. It stilled, no sound, then a huge mushroom cloud of smoke rose from the ground. His ears rang; his eyes were watery. Struggling and sniffing, he searched for his service rifle. He stumbled through the gush of sand in search of his crew. His vision was blurred, but he could feel the butchered human parts underneath his feet. The air began to clear up. He stopped and gawked at a little girl who stood in his path. She was dirty, clothes tattered, wet and bloody. Strands of her short black hair lingered on her freckled face. She raised her left hand; she’d lost the right in the explosion, “Mister…” she whispered. He hesitated. He couldn’t trust his instincts or his sight. Was she a victim or a foe? They came in different forms. She turned and walked away. His curiosity defeating his intellect, he followed behind her. She walked into an abandoned building and headed for the first chamber, “Look.” She pointed, and his heart throbbed from the sight of the severed heads of his crew members hanging from the ceiling. He immediately dropped his weapon and screamed, panting…“No, no, noooo!”
“Wake up, Zachary, wake up!” Alison screamed, frantically trying to calm him down.
His eyes abruptly snapped open, and he gawked in dismay at the ceiling. He gazed over her shoulder in the direction of the bedroom door, like he was expecting an intruder to burst in any second. His body was drenched in sweat. He viciously yanked his arm away from her and shoved her away. “Don’t touch me.”
Feeling defeated, Alison ran her hands through her hair and sighed in frustration. She leaped off the bed and maintained a safe distance from him. “I thought I could do this, Zachary, but I can’t. It’s too much for me to handle. I have the kids to worry
about, and this back and forth thing we have going is unhealthy.”
He sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. “What are you saying?”
“I said this before, and I am saying it again. I want a divorce.”
He scoffed and rose to his feet. “No.”
“No?”
“No. I have done everything you’ve asked of me. I hit you, I was wrong, and I apologized.”
“It was more than once.”
“And I paid dearly for it. You got me locked up, and I am dealing with the consequences. I am seeking the help I need. For you and the kids. What else do you want from me?”
“Yes, because the court insisted. The judge was lenient because you served and he is a veteran himself. You did not do it at will. Before I went to the cops, I pleaded with you to get help, and how did that turn out?”
He inched toward her. “I won’t grant you a divorce, Alison. You can’t take my kids away.”
“Who said anything about taking your kids away? You can see them anytime you wish. Listen—”
“No, you listen. You are clearly not hearing me.”
The closer he got to her, the clearer she saw his dark and vacant eyes, a burden, an unyielding regret, a cry for relief. Sadly, she wasn’t skilled to fulfill those needs. At his touch, her doubts began to fade. She loved him dearly, terrified of what he’d become. His touch wasn’t gentle now, it was fierce, and it launched fear in her. On impulse, he grabbed her arm and shoved her against the wall. She yelled and begged, but he could not hear her. He’d blacked out. He kicked her in the stomach and slapped her across the face; Alison moaned in pain and pleaded with Zachary. He added to her already bruised ribs he’d injured days before. Blood oozed out of her nostrils, and she fell to the floor. Each drop that dripped on the concrete floor took a piece of her life away, leaving her pale and frail. Yet she muffled her cries to avoid an audience. The kids couldn’t see them like this. It would traumatize them. Amelia, their three year old, had suffered verbal abuse from him, although thankfully he’d never touched her. Yet. Alison worked hard to spare her daughter from any more spectacles.