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Chapter 2
Perfection.
per•fec•tion noun p?r-'fek-sh?n
: something that cannot be improved : something that is perfect
In Joshua Blake Moore’s eyes, his picture should be notated beside this word in the dictionary, so everyone in the world would have a clear idea of what PERFECTION looks like.
The man does NO wrong. Behind every act, there is a reason. Whether I understand it or not should NEVER be questioned. I am just to trust in his good word because he is perfect and does no wrong. He has the right answer to everything. In fact, I am certain he has the cure for cancer and world hunger, stowed away for safe keeping. But he is too big of a pompous, sinister ass to want to shed any rays of sunshine or happiness to anyone, aside from himself. Perfect, that is Josh. Down to every perfectly combed hair on his head, and the neatly pressed Dockers that I iron each morning at five AM. The man knows no limits at perfecting his own perfection.
But you can guarantee, the one royal screw up in his perfection is me. I’m never enough. Never smart enough, never fast enough, never pretty enough. The house is never clean to his liking, the meals that I labor over a hot stove for hours always taste like shit. The paint color in the master bath is too bland for his taste. If traffic on the parkway is held up, in one way or another it will be my fault. Don’t ask me how, Josh has the answer to everything. He’ll tell you how.
It ain’t for the sake of trying on my part, that’s for sure. I’ve always tried my damnedest to make Josh happy, and to be a good wife. But I’m simply never enough.
When we got married, we said our vows promising to love each other in sickness or in health, for better or worse. For a short while, there was the better. And when I say short, I mean short. Once Josh had his talons in me, his ring on my finger, and his children in my womb he changed for the worse. He ripped away the mask he hid behind, and revealed the malicious, sinister man that I fear each day. But he still wears that mask for the world to see. Only I see the monster beneath it. And he wears that mask so well, that even if I did try to warn others, try to escape from his venomous clutch, I’m sure I’d be deemed insane. Yes, he has that many people fooled.
I wake at five AM each morning to get Josh ready for work. My day starts with brewing his coffee, scrambling eggs, and frying bacon-swingy. Not crispy. I learned that the hard way, when the back of his hand met the side of my face the first time I burned the bacon.
The twins were just three weeks old, and I’d been awake all night with Brailee. She suffered terribly with colic. While cooking, she commenced to crying so naturally I picked her up to soothe her, and I forgot about the bacon frying. He wasn’t understanding to the fact that our daughter’s needs came first. He was just worried about the texture of his favorite breakfast meat.
After seeing the first set of purple bruises on my puffy face, he was remorseful and promised it would never happen again. And me being the naïve woman that I am believed him. I should have escaped then, took my children and ran as far away from his clutches as I could. Wish I would have saw his ugly exterior then before it was too late.
His next assault happened the night I met his old college roommate, who is now his boss. He had given me direct orders for the evening, from the dinner menu all the way down to the linens on the table. I spent the day cooking, cleaning and running errands, hoping to impress his boss. The evening went off with a hitch. After his boss left and the kitchen was cleaned, Josh removed his mask, unveiling the pure evil that terrifies me in my dreams even to this day.
Apparently, I had bought the wrong bourbon, and Josh wasn’t too pleased with my mistake. That night, he took a belt and welted my skin, from the top of my neck to the back of my ankles. I learned my lesson that night and walked a fine line ever since. But it’s still never enough.
He tried to hide his beatings, hitting me where it was easiest to cover it up, but as the abuse progresses through time, through the anger that he has bottled for weeks of not slapping me around; those are the ones that earn me heavy makeup and sun glasses, even when the clouds have cast over the sun.
The simplest things set him off on his abusive rampages. From lint on the carpet, to the radio in the car being turned to a station he doesn’t like. It doesn’t take much. He never hits me in front of the kids; he wears that perfect mask I was telling you about. But I know that look, when I’ve upset him, and I know when to expect the brunt of his abuse. It will build up for days, sometimes weeks even before he goes into a drunken stupor, and then takes it all out on me.
Today, just so happened to be one of those days. Braden has been home sick with the flu for three days now, so naturally everyday house work has been neglected. When Josh came in last night reeking of Jim Beam and stumbling through the glass coffee table, I knew today would be the day that I would endure his steel hand. I even stayed awake all night, scrubbing puke stains from the carpets on my hands and knees so I wouldn’t wake him with the carpet shampooer. By five AM when his alarm went off but he didn’t get out of bed, I knew we were in for a sparring match. Only it’s always in the cards for me to be the underdog.
I drove Brailee to school and hurried home to begin cleaning house. Braden was sleeping soundly when I left, and since Josh was home, I thought nothing of waking him up. I just let him sleep. When I walked into the house, Braden was on the couch crying. He had thrown up all over his bed again. I took him to the bathroom and ran him a luke warm bath to chill his fever and wash away the vomit. After he was settled in the tub, I went into his bedroom to strip the bed linens and scrub the mattress. Except Josh had already beat me to it.
“I’m sorry he woke you. He was sleeping so well finally, I didn’t see any need in waking him up just to ride with me to take Brailee to school.” I whisper behind him as he scrubs aggressively against the mattress. “Here, let me finish this up; go on back to bed and rest.” I tell him, laying my hand upon his shoulder. He flinches, jerking away from my touch. As he continues to scrub, I decide if he doesn’t want to stop cleaning the bed, fine. I’ll just join him. I go to the hall closet to get the mini shampooer.
As I kneel down to begin scrubbing away the puke ridden stain, he back hands me with the scrub brush gripped tight in his fist. My head whips into the bed post, leaving me dazed and seeing stars. I fall back against the floor, but react quickly jumping up to my feet. If I give him one inch of weakness, he’ll take a mile of me. I hide the tears, forcing them to stay deep behind my eyes. He hates to see weakness. And when he sees weakness he only feeds off of it.
I step back into the corner and take a deep breath, trying my hardest not to make eye contact with him. Just ignore the elephant in the room and it will disappear shortly, right? He looks up at me shaking his head, then continues to scrub the mattress. He knows that I won’t leave him to his task, only because I know that will anger him more. Kneeling beside the bed again, I grab the hose of the shampooer and continue to scrub. Josh’s right hand slams into my face again, with the brush wound tightly in his fist. He reaches over and rips the shampooer cord from the wall, then continues to scrub with the brush.
“Fine. Have it your way. I’ll go check on Braden.” I say, gently shielding my face with my hand as I step out of the room. The phone rings several times, but I ignore the caller to tend to Braden. I bathe him quickly then dress him in some pajamas, and send him downstairs to the family room to rest on the couch. At least down there, he won’t hear the sounds of his daddy’s hands battering my face. I can only use the same excuse with the kids for so long before they start to get curious. For now, they just think that Momma is very clumsy.
I toss the soiled bed linens into the washer, and make my way back to Braden’s room. The phone rings again, and I race into the office to grab the cordless. I answer the phone in a hushed tone. It’s Carly. She’s rushing her words; excited, scared, nervous. I’m not sure but I can’t concentrate on her problems when I have plenty of my own. Before I can tell her goodbye, the phone gets ripped from my hand and slung down to the floor. Josh encases my throat with his steel, corded hand, bracing me up against the wall, shattering family photos to the floor. “You stupid, pathetic bitch. You utterly disgust me,” he sneers, crashing his fist into the left side of my head. A black void clouds my vision, and silence falls upon me.
An hour later I wake up in my bed. Raising up the room spins around me, causing stars to filter my vision. The music playing sends booming echoes through my ears, stirring a nasty migraine. I brace my hands on both sides of my head and wince from the sudden movement of my arms. My back is tight and sore, and with each breath I take my lungs scream in protest.
“When will you ever learn?” I hear Josh ask. I turn slowly, looking through the darkness to find him sitting in the corner. He presses pause on the iPod, and the disturbing words of Let the Bodies Hit the Floor that I’m so accustomed to during his abusive rampages, silences.
“I’m sorry.” I manage a ras
py whisper. He walks to the side of the bed, reaching me a glass of water and a Lortab. I swallow the pill back, then lay back down on the bed. “Sleep,” he orders, and I pinch my eyes closed. I hear the door pull shut behind him, and only then I am able to release the pent up breath I have wedged in my chest. The sheer terror that Josh sends coursing through my veins, repulses me. How one person can be lovingly tender one day, to flipping like a light switch to a sadist the very next, is beyond me. It is the scariest transformation I have ever witnessed.
Chapter 3
Colton’s coal stained hands are wrapped around my belly. I look up at him, and admire the smile on his face reaching from ear to ear. We’ve found our happiness. Suddenly, he looks up over my shoulder. He looks confused. He rips his hands away and takes a long step backwards. His face is marred in grief stricken heartache, as he looks up at me behind red rimmed eyes. Shaking his head, he walks away. I call out to him, screaming louder and louder, but he never turns back. I feel a hand on my stomach, and through my tears I look up to see Luke smiling down at my rounded belly. Luke grabs my hand, and pulls me away, but I continue to plead for Colton to come back. But he fades into the distance. Luke doesn’t even acknowledge my heart ache and desperation. His focus is on his own happiness…the baby. I try to pull away from him, so that I can chase Colton, but he tightens his grip on my wrist and shakes his head from side to side. I rip my hand from his grip, and turn to run towards Colton. Suddenly I lose my footing and crash against the ground. Blackness and stars fill my vision, as thick heavy screams erupt from Luke’s lungs. I try to force my eyes open, but the darkness pulls at me, holding me captive from my own reality. I can feel Luke’s hands gripping my shoulders, shaking me to wake up, but his touch has no effect on me. When the stars grow thicker in my vision, I give into the fuzzy depths that surround me and fall into the darkness.
I feel steel hands encase my arms, and a soothing deep voice whispering in my ear. “It’s okay darlin’, just wake up. It’s only a dream. I got ya.” He says, pulling me up into his lap. When I feel the steady beat of his heart vibrating against my ear, the fear from the dream melts away. I’m safe.
