“I’m sorry,” I murmur, knowing she won’t like the apology, but unable to not apologize. Apologizing is what I do. It’s what I was trained to do. Sorry you bumped into me. Sorry for not making the right dinner. Sorry for getting fat. Sorry for making you beat me. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
As expected, Becca blows a raspberry in my direction, not caring that she’s spitting all over her car. Despite how anxious I am, I can’t help but giggle at her.
“You keep apologizing to me and I’ll…pinch you in the tit.” She nods, satisfied with her plan. It’s a little weird that the woman teaching me to protect myself is also threatening bodily harm, but I shake my head and chalk it up to all the weird that is Becca. I wouldn’t want to change her, not even a little bit. “Holly…you know there’s no way he can touch you in here, right? Kade and Ransom made sure of it. He’ll be chained to the table. And remember, you can definitely outrun him!”
The giggle snort explodes from my body, and she joins me. We have a tendency to dissolve into a giggle snort spiral, so I try to compose myself. But she’s right. Considering she absolutely shattered his knee a couple of months ago, I can definitely outrun him.
A sick satisfaction comes over me at that idea. I like that he’s hurt. That she caused him pain. And I’m jealous that she did it so easily. I spent seven years in that hellish marriage, and nearly two hiding from him. And somehow, in a matter of minutes, Becca had him shattered and bleeding on the floor.
I push away my bitterness, knowing it has no place here with my friend. My best friend since Robyn. Evie came close, but my lies, my hiding, kept us from ever truly knowing each other. But in the end, when it truly mattered, she was there for me. The thought of the strong women who’ve helped me get here today puts some steel into my spine. I take one last deep breath, pull away from Becca, and exit the car.
The landscaping around the front of the building is colorful, a riot of flowers and bushes. It somehow seems out of place against the barbed wire fences and armed guards beyond it. I wonder if the prisoners take care of it? Maybe there’s a prison equivalent of a garden club?
Imagining a group of hardened men discussing flowers and soil conditions gets me through security and the pat down without freaking out, but it’s not enough to distract me when they lead Brent into the room.
He’s complaining as he’s wheeled into the room, his arm and leg in heavy plaster casts. He’s wearing a dull beige uniform, the waistband of the pants rolled at his waist. They must have had to give him a large pair to fit over the cast, and it makes him look like a kid wearing his older brother's hand-me-downs. His normally tanned skin is sallow, his hair thin and oily. The strong controlling man I lived with is diminished, made smaller somehow.
The guard handcuffs his good hand to the table, then settles against the wall as requested. I’m grateful again that Kade and his friend Ransom butted in and arranged everything with the prison. I never want to be in a room alone with Brent again.
Never.
He shifts uncomfortably in the chair as his eyes travel around the room, widening as they land on me tucked in the corner. I could have sat down when they brought me in, but the instinct to protect my back was too strong. I needed this safe corner to settle myself while I waited.
Brent's mouth curls up in a sneer. “Well, if it isn’t my fat little wife.” He snickers, running his eyes up and down my body. I hold in the shudder and settle my features into an aloof mask, determined not to let him see how much his presence affects me. “You've been hitting the wagon wheels pretty hard, haven’t you, Hannah? Humm?”
Somehow, the familiarity of this put down grounds me. I don’t correct him when he calls me Hannah. That’s who I’ll always be to him. I don’t want his lips touching my new name. The one I picked after I ran.
Somehow, the put down hurts less when he’s calling me by my old name. As soon as I started putting on weight, it became his favorite thing to criticize about me. I used to give him the satisfaction of cringing or crying when he did it, but this time, I smile.
He never caught on when I put on a show.
I didn’t do it on purpose, at first. I started eating because I was isolated and bored. Brent made me quit school, and other than volunteering at the hospital and grocery shopping, I wasn’t allowed to leave the house. So food became a big focus in my life.
But the weight saved me in two ways. First it redirected Brent's vitriol from how stupid and useless I am. Somehow, having him criticize my body was easier to take than having him pick away at my intelligence, at the core of who I am. It also had the benefit of cushioning me from his fists. Sure, it still hurt, but the bone deep bruises that lasted for a month happened less often. So I let him think he hurt me worse than he did. I love that layer of fat. I love how it protects me. I’m not sure I’ll ever give it up.
Brent's face twitches in confusion, his smirk slowly falling off his face. His eyes shift between me and the guard. I have to laugh again. He wanted me to cry and cower. To make himself look like the big man in front of the guard. But he’s going to have to try harder than that.
He will.
And he’ll hit the bullseye before I leave this room, I’m sure of it. But for now, I’ll pretend I’m in control.
“Brent,” I say as I walk slowly towards him, “sign these.” I take the papers out of the envelope, tossing them onto the table in front of him.
I don’t sit. No way will I get that close to him. I kinda like standing here, forcing him to look up at me. It makes me feel…not powerful, but a little less like his victim. He scowls and uses one finger to push the papers around on the table.
“What the fuck is this?”
I raise my eyebrow at his outrage. “Did you really think I’d stay married to you?” He had to know this was coming. By some miracle, he pleaded guilty to all of his charges, and he’s going to be in here a good long time. I don’t have to go through the trauma of a trial. I can finally be free of him. And in twenty years when he gets out? Well, I have to hope that I’m strong enough to protect myself by then.
“You stupid cunt. No fucking way am I signing those papers. You fucking made vows, bitch. Till death, remember?” His words lash at me, the spit flying with his angry words. I swallow and take a few more breaths.
“Yes Brent. I remember. You promised to love and protect me. Turns out you were the thing I needed protection from. No way does God expect me to stay married to you.” I’m proud of how level my voice is. My heart’s pounding like I’m running a sprint, but he can’t tell. “Sign the papers.”
“No fucking way. I will sign those over my dead fucking body.” His face is flushed red, the vein over his eye throbbing. I take a step back despite myself, and a sick smile comes over his face. He’s satisfied he scared me. He thinks he has the upper hand.
“Hannah. Stupid fat pathetic Hannah. You can’t get away from me. You’re nothing without me. You know your place, wife. You’re my little cum bucket. And I can’t wait to make you scream under me again. You’ll see Hannah. I’ll be out of this fucking place before you know it.”
I swallow hard against the bile rising in my throat, and widen my eyes to dry the moisture there. I can’t bear to let him see how much his words sicken me. How the flashbacks and memories of screaming and begging him to stop are clouding my mind.
