We didn’t speak the entire drive home. I was afraid of the response I’d get, and didn’t want to upset him. I was still recovering, and couldn’t really defend myself. As we pulled into the driveway, I saw a bag on the porch by the door. “Damn neighbors need to butt out,” Warren grumbled as he climbed out of the car and slammed the door. I sat there hoping that he’d come around and help me, but he continued to walk toward the door. “You coming?” He threw his arms in the air as he looked at me from the steps.
Guess this was it. We weren’t somewhere where he needed to put on a show, so I was back to doing it all for myself. I slowly pushed the door open. My side ached where my cracked ribs were. I swung my legs out, and used the seat to push myself to a standing position. I shuffled along until I reached the steps. Using the handrail, I climbed the steps achingly slow. “What’s that?” I motioned to the bag that was sitting by the door.
Warren rolled his eyes. “The neighbors have been dropping off food for you. I guess they think you can’t cook now.”
“That was nice,” I whispered.
“It’s nosy,” he grumbled as he lifted the bag and carried it inside. “There’s all kinds of crap that they’ve brought over the last few days. Guess you’re off the hook for a little while. Good for you, I guess.” He shook his head as he unlocked the door, and went inside.
I stood there on the porch just letting the words sink in. Good for me? Did he really expect me to go on like nothing happened? I’ve been hospitalized for almost three weeks. Did that mean nothing? How could I have ever loved this man?
I sighed as I came inside the living room. There were newspapers scattered on the floor. A lamp was knocked over, and a hole in the wall next to the kitchen door glared back at me. “I got work to do.” Warren waved his arm in the air as he stormed off toward his office. “Clean some of this mess up.”
I blinked as I looked around in disbelief. It was a disaster zone everywhere I could see. I wandered toward the stairs only to see more destruction. A few books lay cluttered on the landing, another hole in the sheetrock, a spindle was missing on the railing, and a small puddle of dried blood was on the carpet at the base of the stairs. It looked like a crime scene, and for anyone who didn’t live here it would be shocking. The sad thing was, this wasn’t anything abnormal for me.
I knew that Warren had left this mess as a reminder. He wanted me to know that what happened was my fault, and he was in charge. I carefully climbed the stairs, placed my things in our room, and then went to the bathroom to grab cleaning supplies. Any other person would have laid down to rest, but I wasn’t afforded that luxury. If I didn’t do as I was told, he’d do it again. I wasn’t sure how many more times I’d survive this, and based on what he said in the hospital… he’d make sure our daughter didn’t. oooooooo
It took me most of the afternoon to clean the living room and stairs up. I was constantly taking breaks to catch my breath. Too much exertion made me light headed, and my ribs ached every time I bent over. I couldn’t repair the hole in the wall or the broken spindle, so those were left for Warren.
When I finally finished, I crept up the stairs to put away the cleaning supplies. Moments after I put the bucket in the bathroom, I heard the office door creak open. I sighed as I waited for what I knew was coming. I shuffled into the bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed. I was exhausted, and just wanted to rest.
“Brooke!” Warren’s voice echoed through the house. “I’m hungry. Come heat up something for dinner.” I knew that if I didn’t follow his commands, he’d be up here dragging me downstairs. The good news was I didn’t have to actually cook anything. The neighbors had been a blessing in that aspect.
“Just a moment,” I called out as loud as I could. It hurt to move. It hurt to yell. My head throbbed in protest as I stood and made my way to the stairs. I stood there at the top, just staring at them. I willed myself to remember what happened, but it was no use. No amount of pressure was going to help. Dr. Douglas had said that I might never get my memory back. In some ways, I hope he was right. I have enough nightmares from Warren to last me a lifetime. I don’t need more.
When I reached the kitchen, Warren was sitting at the breakfast nook with his arms folded on the table. “Bout time,” he grumbled as I opened the refrigerator. There had to be at least ten containers stacked on the shelves. “What would you like?” I turned to face him, and waited for an answer.
“Whatever is the quickest. I’m starving.” He rolled his eyes. The urge to slap him was never more powerful, but I knew I couldn’t. He acted like he was incapable of doing anything for himself. I can’t believe that I’ve let him do this for years. There are parts of me that want away from this so bad, but there are other parts, the ones that keep me
