He was bearing down on me, holding me firmly by both wrists. His legs straddled my waist and even his heels dug into my sides as extra force to hold me still. But I knew he was drunk, and he would soon tire.
‘Were you… trying… to… hide… from… me?’ he slurred. I wished for something to distract him, and to my relief the doorbell rang. He clumsily fell off me and staggered to the door. The package the post lady handed him kept him busy and away from me until he eventually passed out on the floor next to the sofa.
When he woke several hours later, I had prepared a simple meal of mince, potatoes and carrots. He didn’t thank me but later, as I passed him in the lounge to tidy up a few bits, he pulled me into his lap and there we stayed as the TV blared out repeat episodes of a British sitcom we had both seen a hundred times before.
‘This is living,’ he whispered lazily into my ear. I suppressed a shudder and looked past the television and gazed at a small, dark splatter on the wall. I made myself believe this moment would pave the way for more moments like this until we found our way to a place that felt relatively normal. It was only when I had been staring at the patch on the wall for five minutes or so that I realised I was staring at my own blood. A vivid reminder of his last rage.
I wriggled myself out of D’s lap and excused myself to go to the toilet.
‘Don’t be long,’ he called after me and winked at me suggestively.
When I returned after an unnecessarily long toilet trip, he was asleep.
I fell to my knees next to him and examined the softness of his skin, the light smattering of stubble and the way his lips were parted slightly as he softly snored. As I knelt there, I tried to will an unconditional love that would carry me through this, shield me from the brutality. My body could withstand the beatings, but my heart and my soul were slowly dying. All the dreams I had of a family life were shattering. I knew now that this was who he was, and I could and would never change him. But that wasn’t what terrified me the most. What scared me more than anything was that I knew I would never leave him. That no matter how much pain he caused me physically or how many times I cried myself to sleep at night, leaving was something I knew I couldn’t do. And I had no explanation for it. It was simply a feeling that I could neither get rid of or change, no matter how much I tried. I was trapped and no one was going to save me.
9 Now
I walked through the college corridor on Friday and I saw him. There was no escape. He was coming straight at me. I shoved my chin down into my scarf, dipping my head, but it was too late.
‘Regi!’
I looked up in mock surprise. ‘Will!’
We stopped in front of one another. I gave an awkward smile. There was no denying he was an attractive man and that he was clearly interested in me. I couldn’t help but be reminded of what it was to be attracted to someone and how good it felt.
‘Have you had a good first week?’ He leant against the lockers to his left and clutched a red folder to his chest. A small smile played across his lips; his dark eyes were looking at me so intently that I began to feel a prickling sensation under my armpits. I didn’t know where to look, so I looked down at my Converse trainers.
‘Yes, thanks.’ I scuffed my feet on the floor.
‘Found your way around okay?’
‘No problems.’ I looked back up to find Will’s bright eyes looking intently at me and I was surprised to feel heat rising up my neck and into my cheeks.
He snorted a small laugh from his nose.
‘What?’ I shook my head.
‘Ahh, I kinda half expected – hoped for – a knock on my door and to see you looking lost, that was all.’ Will’s face broke out into a smile, the skin around his eyes crinkled at the edges.
‘There’s a few of us old ones hitting the pub after class. It’s the Fiddlers Inn, just outside the college. A few of the students find their way in, but overall, it’s refreshing to get away from it all. Fancy it?’ Will said, widening his eyes in anticipation.
I stood there, thinking about what to say. I had nothing to give to a relationship right now, and dragging this out was only going to make it worse for both of us.
I thought about home and what waited for me. Opening and closing doors countless times, changing my bedsheets, a meal for one and maybe some TV with one of the girls. It was nothing to rush back for, but I knew that taking him up on his offer would escalate the relationship further and I wasn’t ready to share the little scraps of what was left of me and my life with anyone.
‘I, um, can’t tonight. I have a…’ I suddenly I remembered it was the party tomorrow night, ‘… there’s a party at my house tomorrow, one of my much younger millennial house mates is celebrating their birthday – I said I’d help get things organised.’ That last part was a lie. I had no intention of playing any part in event organising for a twenty-first-birthday party.
‘A party, wow.’ Will raised his eyebrows in interest. ‘Sounds fun.’
And now I had insinuated that I was looking for a date? Why was all this such a minefield? I remembered when talking to a guy was the easiest thing on Earth to do.
‘So, well, yeah, that’s what I need to be doing, but have fun in the pub.’ I
