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His words hit me like bullets.
I don’t want a nice house when the relationship occupying it is poisonous.
Swallowing back the bile in my throat, I finally opened my mouth. I wasn’t planning on doing it tonight, but I couldn’t stand there and watch him looking at me… or not looking at me.
“I want a divorce.”
The glass stilled mid-way to his mouth. Then he threw his head back and laughed. It was loud and sent an icy chill down my spine. His knuckles turned white, tightening around the glass a split second before it came flying toward me and smashed to pieces against the wall, inches away from my face.
I was in too much shock to feel the tears streaking my cheeks as I stared at the sharp shards lying at my feet.
I didn’t get a chance to react before I felt his hand around my throat, pressing me to the wall. I could feel my face turn red, my eyes draining of life. He’s taller than me so I stood on my toes to ease some of the pressure.
It didn’t work.
“You stupid bitch. You don’t get to leave me. You don’t get a divorce,” he said, spittle hitting my face as his rage took hold.
I gasped, desperate for air, but his hand only tightened its grip.
“Rob,” I cried. “Please.”
But he didn’t hear me. “If you even think about leaving, you’ll never see Hannah again.”
Fear made my body rigid.
He wouldn’t, would he?
As if reading my mind, he said, “You married a good lawyer, babe. I’m one of the best. You don’t get to walk away. You’re my wife. You’re mine.” With a bruising jerk, my head snapped against the wall. The edges of my vision turned black just before he released me. I folded in on myself, sucking in painful breaths.
“Look at me.” He pinched my chin between his fingers and tipped my head back. I couldn’t see him through the tears in my eyes. “Walk out that door, Beth. I dare you.”
I don’t know why I did it. Why my stubborn mouth wouldn’t stay closed, but when it opened, I immediately wanted it to shut again.
“Fuck you.” My voice was hoarse but carried so much hatred.
That’s when it happened: the fist to the side of my face. The blow was so severe, so unexpected, I was knocked off my feet. The taste of copper pooling in my mouth was nothing compared to my hands landing in the broken glass.
A jagged edge lodged into the flesh of my wrist, painting the skin crimson.
Crouching, he grabbed a piece of glass before dragging it across my ankle until the flesh sliced open and blood poured to the floor. “When you bleed, you bleed for me.” He grabbed the hair at the back of my head. “You’ll fucking regret this. Now be a good wife and clean up the mess you’ve created.”
I didn’t register the pain. It was nothing compared to the hammering in my chest as he walked away and left me with blood dripping from my wounds.
Trembling, my teeth chattered, but I got to work.
I was the good wife.
I cleaned the mess.
I went to bed, curled up, and cried silently because I didn’t want him to hear.
I convinced myself it was the workload.
He’s stressed.
He loves me.
He didn’t mean to hurt me.
