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“You know that that statement is going to need a shit ton more elaboration, right?” he deadpanned, and she laughed.
“Before my marriage, while I was a student, I was into just about anything that involved height, flight and/or freefalling. You named it, I tried it. It started with paragliding, then parasailing, kitesurfing, hang gliding, parachuting…I loved the rush of it. The freedom. There’s nothing quite like it. My parents—both of whom are very levelheaded and practical people—thought I was crazy, of course.” She could hear the affectionate exasperation in her voice as she recalled their hand-wringing concern. “They were so terrified that I would get myself killed. But I was always scrupulously careful. I tripled checked my equipment. I was a thrill seeker. Not suicidal. And no matter how much I told them that what I was doing was perfectly safe, they never quite believed me.
“They were so relieved when Blaine and I got serious. They had always liked him. And knew that he would keep me grounded, both literally and figuratively.” She laughed. But the sound was filled with bitterness. “Little did they know that marrying Blaine would be the most dangerous thing I’d ever do.”
She shook her head to drag herself out of the funk that had settled over her.
“Uhm. So, yes…my younger self, the idea of an evening of conversation and Uno would have seemed utterly unappealing. But I loved it. So, thank you.”
“Do you miss that thrill?” he asked, not quite concealing a shudder. “Of throwing yourself out of planes, or off cliffs?”
She considered the question, staring unseeingly out into the dark night.
“No. I was always looking for that extra something to make me feel more alive. But after marrying Blaine, there was no longer any need for that affirmation. Not when I was living in a constant state of terror and hypervigilance. Marriage to Blaine permanently eradicated the thrill-seeking young woman I had once been. The first time he…” She paused not sure how much to tell him.
He seemed to sense the reason for her hesitation. “I want to know, Charity.”
She wavered a moment longer, before deciding to take him at his word.
“The first time he hit me was on our wedding night. The first of many punishments. Only he called them lessons. Lessons on how to be a good wife. The cigarette burns were to remind me to smile. A pastor’s wife has to be approachable you see? And an unsmiling, sad-eyed wife, made parishioners uncomfortable.”
“Jesus.” The softly hissed word was barely audible above the engine.
Charity found the near darkness in the SUV comforting. Being unable to see his reaction to her words allowed her to speak freely. It permitted her to say things she would have hesitated to tell him in any other setting. There was anonymity in the dark. Anonymity and security. She imagined this was what a confessional felt like.
“Jesus had nothing to do with it. Blaine was the devil, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A failed human who had no business preaching to others.
“As I was saying, the first time it happened was on our wedding night. We’d waited, on his insistence, we’d waited to have sex. He said it would be more special that way. I was stupidly in love with the wonderful, caring man I thought he was. And I thought he was being romantic. And that he meant for our first time together to wipe the slate clean for both of us, so to speak. I knew he wasn’t a virgin or anything. He’d blatantly admitted to being weak—his word—with his former long-term partners. I didn’t care, we’d both had other relationships before we started dating each other. I had a healthy sex drive, I liked sex. And I admit, I found the idea of waiting erotic. The thought of all those pent-up desires being unleashed on our wedding night was a powerful incentive to just go along with it.
“But after the sex, as I was getting up to go to the bathroom, he made a comment about his little Cherry—my family’s nickname for me—not being so cherry after all. I laughed it off. And said something silly in response. I went to the bathroom and when I came out, he…” she paused and swallowed thickly. Flinching away from the memory.
You think it’s fucking funny? You’re my wife, there are expectations. You never told me you were a whore!
“I was so shocked,” she whispered, after repeating Blaine’s words verbatim. “Not just because of what he was saying but because of the language he had used. I mean, I could swear like a trooper, but after Blaine and I got serious, I toned it down because he was such a boy scout, you know? Darn and shucks and gee whiz, that kind of thing. Hearing that kind of language from him threw me for a loop. I think I must have done something… laughed maybe. I don’t know. Something.”
“You bitch, you fucking cheap little cunt! What’s so funny?” His voice increased in volume. It was shrill, and high, and almost feminine in pitch.
Something struck her. Hard. And her legs gave way, the shock more than the pain stealing the support out from beneath her. She was on the floor, staring up at the man looming above her.
“I fell.” Her words were filled with astonishment. He leaned toward her, and she gratefully reached for his hand. She wasn’t sure how she wound up on the floor, but despite his unfathomable fury, her beloved Blaine was there to help her up.
Only…instead of helping, he balled his hand into a fist and slammed it into her stomach. She doubled over in agony and fought to breathe.
He grabbed a fistful of her hair, and she futilely batted away his arm in an attempt to get him to release his painful, punishing grip. Her feeble efforts were no match for him. He yanked her to her feet by her hair, slammed her into the wall and held her there, while his other hand closed around her neck and squeezed.
Slowly and purposefully.
Breathing became an impossibility.
Her eyes were wide, panicked and glazed with terrified tears. She stared into his face, searching for the loving man she had married just that afternoon. But she was unable to find him in the features of this hateful, terrifying stranger who now had her helplessly pinned against the wall.
He was screaming at her. Saying horrible things. Calling her despicable names, while his hand continued to tighten around her throat. Black dots swirled in front of her eyes, until his face was obscured by them. His voice was fading…
She was dying. She was sure of it. And that absolute certainty terrified her.
But he released her abruptly and stepped away from her. Without his support, she slid down the wall and collapsed into a limp heap on the floor.
Seconds later, he was on the floor beside her. Crying with her, holding her, apologizing. Begging her to forgive him.
