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Prologue
Praying by Kesha
LyinginbedafterSteven forced himself on me again, I reflect on one of the times I was much more fortunate.
My reflection in the mirror looks haggard. The incessant pounding in my head isn’t helping any.I’m going to tell him I need to cancel. Surely Steven will understand.
Speaking of my handsome husband, he comes in behind me, giving my dress for dinner tonight a careful and thorough inspection.
Holding my breath, I anxiously twist my hands together in front of myself, lest he notices, waiting for his approval. Sending a prayer that he doesn’t find fault with my choice, I wait patiently on the outside. Inside, I’m a mess. It’s my best dress. But I know his heightened standards are capable of fault-finding in even the best of things.
When he says nothing and puts his tie on, I exhale slowly and quietly. I don’t want to set him off before I bring up possibly not going tonight. He’s already going to be upset that I’m considering it. I don’t want to make it worse by picking the wrong clothes if he forces me to go.
With a fortifying breath, I set my spine and meekly ask, “What do you think about me not going tonight?”
Steven's eyes slide to my reflection in the mirror, giving nothing of his mood away.
“That’s not funny, Heather. You need to put some concealer on under your eyes. I won’t have you looking tired.” Of course, I must be the perfect wife at all times. I’m sure he thinks that’s the end, as I don’t often go against his word. He turns to leave the bathroom.
The thumping of my heart pounds in my chest, and the roaring of blood in my ears makes my head swim. Combined with my headache, which I suspect is a migraine, I’m in no shape to do much of anything. But I’ve got to try to persuade him.
“It wasn’t a joke. I’ve got a migraine and don’t feel up to socializing tonight. I don’t want to embarrass you by not being at my best.” The last part comes out in a rush when he turns back to face me, and I see the rage of an inferno light in his eyes.
“I said you’re coming. That’s final.”
Daring to push my luck, I try once more.
“Steven, I really don’t-” Steven backhands me across my face.
The shock and splintering pain take me to my knees. My palm stings as I land on the cold tile floor, but not nearly as much as my cheek does now. The entire left side of my face is on fire. Tears stream unchecked down my face. Due equally to the mere fact that he thinks it’s okay to strike me and the physical pain.
“I said. You. Are. Coming.” He grits out through his clenched jaw, “Now, fix your face. I’ll get you some ice for the swelling.” Steven walks out like he didn’t just violate the trust and safety I once thought I had in him.
Sure, our life isn’t perfect, but I never thought he’d strike me.
The loud crack of our bedroom door bouncing off the frame and then hitting the wall jars me, making my head pound, and I try to gather my wits. My hands shake as I grip the bathroom countertop to help me stand.
A sob escapes me when I can’t gain my feet.God. He’s so strong.I knew he was. In the past, I always found his strength a turn-on. Now, I find myself wishing he were weak. His hours spent at the gym would never allow that, though.
I know if I’m not presentable by the time he gets back, I won’t like what happens next. So, after several steadying breaths, finally, I gain my feet.
I look in the mirror and nearly lose my sliver of composure at the purpling skin on my cheek and around my temple. My eye makeup needs to be redone. I grab a makeup remover wipe and gently swipe away the streaks of black my tears tracked through the mascara. I flinch when I’m too rough on my abused flesh, but I keep wiping, more afraid of not being ready when he comes back than causing myself more pain. At least I don’t have to start over like so many times before, causing us to be late.
Reaching for another makeup wipe with my trembling hand, I knock over a perfume bottle. Luckily, it doesn’t spill or break. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and hold it for as long as I can, even as my lungs burn for more air. Letting it out slowly, I steady my nerves before getting to work on my face.
I’m applying the last coat of mascara to my lashes when Steven’s reflection in the bathroom mirror shocks me. He’s always moved silently. It’s part of how he’s caught me the many times I’ve tried to evade his wrath. With my ice in hand, he steps up behind me. I’m finished with my makeup and done the best I can. His eyes scan my face, searching for any trace of his abuse, not because he’s sorry, but because he doesn’t want me to present myself as anything less than perfect tonight. I must be impeccable at all times. I’m just thankful he took his time getting the ice. It gave me the extra time I needed to apply more concealer.
He slides up behind me with the ice wrapped in a towel and gently holds it to the side of my face. The pressure makes the dull throbbing roar to life again, and I jerk away.
“Sshh… It will help with any swelling.” Steven's voice is soft and consoling as if he were talking to a frightened child. “I’m sorry… but you’ve got to understand, you’ve got to know how important this meeting is to me. To us. I won’t abide by you being disrespectful.”
He kisses my temple on the opposite side he struck and looks at our reflections in the mirror. “You look beautiful. You did an okay job covering the bruising. Next time try blending it a bit better. To the untrained eye, you can’t tell, but I can. I will let it go so we’re not late, but from now on, I expect nothing less than perfection.”
He sets the ice down and walks out, saying, “We leave in five minutes, be sure you’re ready.” He adjusts the cuffs on his dress shirt, and I nod my understanding, too much at a loss to find my voice.
I should have left then. Or the next time. Or the next.
I don’t. For the next two years, I stay with Steven taking his abuse with no will to leave. Ever the faithful wife.
