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9
Aleks
The abuse continued. Some weeks, daily. The cruelty was dependent on my husband’s mood, which was dictated by his work.
I’d grown to expect it, which somehow made it easier. Which, I suppose, is the issue, isn’t it?
There is a pivotal moment in trauma that defines our experience in it. At some point during my captivity—because that’s what it was; I was forced to marry Viktor in fear of disrespecting my father—I switched from an escape mentality to one of survival.
Instead of spending every hour spinning in the helplessness of my victimhood, I eventually submitted to the comfort of letting go. Of no longer fighting my situation or constantly plotting how to get out of it. Of accepting and adapting. Of doing whatever I needed to do to ease the anxiety that coursed through my veins at warp speed.
People talk a lot about survivor mindset, but they fail to discuss the thin line you could cross at which surrender becomes giving up. For me, in this space of survival, I became complacent. And in this, I lost myself.
Instead of having a panic attack every evening while anticipating my husband’s return home from work, I spent the day preparing for his arrival so that my heart wouldn’t feel like it was going to burst out of my chest the moment he walked through the front door. I’d created a checklist to prepare for his arrival.
Viktor’s home was to be immaculate at all times, so I spent my days cleaning it from top to bottom, every nook and cranny. If Viktor was pleased with the state of his home when he walked in the door, my evenings were much smoother.
His dinner was to be made from scratch, fresh, warm, and sitting on the kitchen table by six o’clock sharp. This was the most difficult as his hours varied. So, beginning around four in the afternoon, I would begin cooking. If my husband didn’t arrive home by six, I trashed the dinner and cooked it again.
As Viktor’s wife, I was expected to be ready for him at all times, whenever he felt the urge to take me. So, the moment I heard his vehicle come up the drive, I hurried to the bathroom, where I would lubricate myself to help with the physical discomfort that was sure to follow.
I spent my entire married life anticipating my husband’s moods and preparing accordingly. I was a maid, a chef, a whore. In public, I played the part of a happy, loving wife—even to his many mistresses. At family dinners, it was the same song and dance.
Not long after I surrendered to my situation, I began to orgasm when he raped me. This was perhaps the biggest mind fuck of all, because then I questioned if I had ever been raped in the first place.
Before long, I couldn’t remember who I was before I married Viktor.
Around our one-year anniversary, Viktor began to express dissatisfaction with the fact that I hadn’t become pregnant. He fixated on my “issue,” outwardly annoyed and dissatisfied with my ability to fulfill my role as his wife. He demanded sex twice daily, morning and night.
After weeks of this, I couldn’t take any more. I couldn’t handle the pain. I threw out my secret stash of birth control pills, and three months later found out I was pregnant.
I was excited. How messed up is that?
I was excited to tell my husband that I had succeeded and finally gotten pregnant. That I had fulfilled my duty as a woman and a wife. I was proud, both as a wife and my father’s daughter. I had finally done something right.
Unable to contain myself, I’d texted Viktor to come home.
Three hours later, he walked into the bathroom, where I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor, singing to the radio.
“Aleks.”
I jumped, nearly falling onto my side, and plucked out my earbuds. “You scared me.”
The annoyed expression on Viktor’s face snapped me into shape. I quickly stood, dusted off my hands, and straightened the hem of my shirt. He was not pleased that I’d texted him while he was at work.
“What’s going on?”
I suddenly felt embarrassed. I’d spent the entire morning with my head in the clouds, dreaming of bassinets and pacifiers. How silly of me.
Feeling my cheeks heat, I shifted my weight. “I—I have news.”
“Well, share it.” He glanced at his watch.
I walked over to the counter, opened the drawer, and pulled out the little white stick. “I’m pregnant.”
Viktor blinked, staring at the two pink lines. Then he looked at me. “Good.” He nodded. “This is good.”
Joy bloomed in my chest. My smile widened. “Thank you.”
