AllFreeNovel
Share Us
John had isolated me from my friends. Taken my dignity. Lied to me and manipulated me. Yet down deep, I knew he couldn’t destroy me. I was fighting back. This time I would get away. Not like last time, when I’d been naive enough to think he wouldn’t ask his friends and family at the local police station to look for me. I’d only gotten to Nashville before they found us and brought us back. I had a better ruse.
John had left that morning for his job, grumbling about how hard he worked with no appreciation or help from his wife. He said all this while carrying the lunch box I’d carefully packed for him the night before.
He was employed by his father. When I’d first asked him to explain what he did, his answers were evasive and confusing. The second time I asked, he slapped me across the face. I stopped asking after that.
From the window of our small sunlit kitchen, I watched his truck bounce down the dirt road, dust swirling up from the dry earth. Fanning myself with a piece of mail, I breathed a sigh of relief.
We’d had an unusually hot autumn. By the end of September, we’d all grown beyond weary of the heat. Nerves frayed. Sweat-soaked shirts the moment you exited the grocery store or mowed the lawn. We had air conditioning, but John refused to use it most of the time, knowing how much I hated hot nights. It was just another way to hurt me.
As I stood watching my husband’s truck disappear down the driveway, a drop of rain fell from the sky. And then another and another until the dirt had a polka-dot pattern. I’d opened the windows to let in the fresh air that smelled of petrichor.
I hadn’t heard from John after his shift, but assumed he’d gone out drinking with friends. Regardless, I knew that he would come home three sheets to the wind. Once he passed out, I would quietly get Chloe and take off.
Fully dressed, I waited under the covers in our bedroom. The clock struck midnight. He was later than usual. He and his work friends typically stopped at the local watering hole after work on Friday evenings. I’m not sure what the other men told their wives, but John always texted that he was going for a few beers and to put his dinner in the oven. Only once in the almost four years since we’d married had he come home and eaten the plate I made and left for him. Usually he stumbled in around eleven, blind drunk and crashing into things. Unless he woke Chloe, I would stay as quiet as I could, pretending to be asleep, praying he’d pass out before he came into the bedroom and wanted what he usually wanted.
John threw open the door so hard that it slammed into the wall, then stumbled into the bedroom. I heard dry wall crumbling. I’d only just patched it up from last time.
Light from the hallway filtered through my eyelids, even though I kept them closed.
“Where are you hiding?” John’s words were slurred. Five thousand sheets to the wind. Had he driven home? I knew the answer to that question. I always knew. The better question was—how had he not hurt someone yet?
I opened my eyes but remained in a fetal position. Backlit in the doorway with his bulky build and disheveled hair, he looked like an evil lumberjack without an axe. John didn’t need an axe. He carried a gun wherever he went.
His boot must have caught on the rug because I heard him trip, curse, and face-plant into the floor. He tried to rise on all fours like an enraged bear, but his balance was impaired. He fell over, this time hitting the side of his head on the end of our sleigh bed. For a second, I held my breath, praying it had knocked him out. Instead, he erupted into a rage. He tore off his jacket and tossed it aside.
“Wake up, bitch,” John yelled. “I need help.”
I remained still for a moment, considering my options. If I continued to pretend I was asleep, he would haul me out of bed by the hair. He’d done it before. I’d had a bald spot at the back of my head to prove it. Remembering that, I sat up, hoping to God he didn’t notice I wore jeans and a T-shirt.
He lumbered over to the wall and switched on the overhead light. Blood from his head wound trickled down his cheek. Strong instincts to help him, despite how often he hurt me, surged through me. I’d taken care of him through injuries before, but this was different. If I could get him to lie down in the bed, he would pass out and probably forget the whole incident by morning.
I swung my feet to the floor and stood. He stared at me, eyes like a feral animal. “Why are you dressed?” Anyone else would not have understood his slurred speech, but this was one of many nights I’d had to interpret his drunken mumblings.
“I fell asleep reading,” I said. Lies came out of my mouth too easily these days. “Come to bed. Do you want water and some painkillers? You must have had a long day.”
He pointed a finger at me. “How many times do I have to tell you to shut your mouth?”
I inched toward him. “Would you like something to eat?”
“You told Jacob’s wife something about me. Lies. Now everyone thinks I’m a bad guy.”
You are a bad guy. I just didn’t know it when I married you.
“Come to bed,” I said in my most cajoling voice. If he hit me, so be it. I was getting out of here. As long as I could drive, I was getting us out of here.
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the small pistol. He lurched toward me, waving the piece near my face. “Do you see this? Your big mouth’s going to get you killed. You talked. You broke the rules. The vows of marriage.”
I backed away, smacking into the dresser. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I said to her that’s made you mad but it’s nothing, I’m sure. They all know what a great husband and father you are.” It hurt me to say it, but I knew my only chance to make it out of here was to flatter him.
He lurched forward, slamming into me. With one large hand, he pressed against my chest, trapping me against the dresser. A knob pushed into the small of my back. I whimpered from the pain.
With his other hand, he cocked the gun and pointed it at my face. “This time, you’re done. I’ve had it with you.”
“Mama.” Chloe’s voice rang out from her bedroom across the hall. The racket had woken her. “Mama.” She started to howl. The child could sense when things were bad. It had happened too many times before. I prayed every night she wouldn’t remember any of it.
“You’re a worthless mother, you know that?” His breath smelled of sour whiskey and sweat—so pungent that it almost knocked me over. “You’re an ugly, sad, stupid woman who doesn’t deserve to live.”
Covering my face, I turned my head away from him, but he had me trapped. “Please, John, just let me be. I need to check on Chloe.” I hated myself for crying. I really did. I wanted to be brave and fight him, but he was a large, muscular man and I was a small woman. I’d long ago given up any hope of winning a physical altercation. I had the scars to show for my lack of strength. However, I’d been taking kickboxing classes on a YouTube channel I’d found while he was at work. Over the last six months, my body had gotten stronger. I needed to believe in myself. I was strong and smart. I was going to change my life.
