Hell, Fire & Freedom (Fighting for Freedom) (2 page)

Instead, I turn into Carl and everything goes crashing. I feel the hot coffee spill down my nightgown and onto my toes, scalding me. I gasp in pain. The floor is littered with glass, and his breakfast is scattered everywhere.

“You stupid, clumsy bitch! Can’t you do anything right?” Carl screams, wiping the food from his pants.

I know what’s coming next, and I attempt to prepare myself, but there’s little I can do. Carl smashes his fist into my mouth, and I feel my lip burst open. I taste the blood as it trickles into my mouth, and by some miracle, I manage to not fall down. I hastily take a few steps backward so when I do fall, because I will, I won’t cut myself on the broken glass on the floor. I’ve made that mistake before.

“Don’t you dare run from me, you little bitch. You’re going to pay for that,” he hollers, striking me again. This time I fall back, but manage to catch myself on the edge of the counter. I open my mouth to apologize, but it’s filled with blood, and I gag. He grabs ahold of my shoulders and knees me in the stomach, inflicting what I pray is his final blow. I double over onto my knees before curling into the fetal position on the floor.

“Clean up this fucking shit, fast!” he shouts, as he storms off into the bathroom. I hear the shower turn on, and breathe a small sigh of relief. It’s over, for now anyway.

I do a quick catalog of my injuries, trying to decipher which is the most urgent. I attempt to stand, but the pain is unbearable. I manage to pull myself high enough off the tile to grab some paper towel off of the counter. I wipe my lip so that the bleeding will stop and spit into the paper towel, clearing the blood that’s filled my mouth. I crawl over to the broom closet, careful to avoid the glass, and grab my slippers. I slip them on so I don’t cut my feet while I finish cleaning. I take the broom and try to sweep what I can from a seated position.

 I don’t cry, I can’t. Not for years now. I wish I could say I was numb to this, but that part I’m still working on.

I manage to get the mess swept into the garbage can before I hear the shower turn off. I know I’m going to have to try and stand up, so I take a deep breath and grip the edge of the counter top. I stumble upward, clenching my stomach in pain. I can’t stand completely upright, but it’s the best I can do. I grab the mop and just get a start on the floors, when I hear the bathroom door open. I shudder in fear.

Carl comes bursting into the kitchen, still harboring a nasty temper. “I wish I’d married someone competent, someone who could cook, and who didn’t trip over herself constantly! Jesus, Brynn, do you think I want this? Do you think I
want
to punish you? You force me into this God damned position. How else is your senseless ass ever going to learn?” he shouts.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be taking the cost of the dishes out of your sister’s grocery money, too. Maybe that’ll teach you, you ungrateful bitch,” he finishes with venom on his tongue. He’s absolutely furious, and I’m scared he’s going to come at me again. I know I’m going to have to do something to diffuse the situation.

“I’m so sorry, Carl, it was all my fault; it will never happen again,” I plead. The thought of Marie going hungry hurts worse than any physical punishment he can dole out. I can’t say anything about it, though, or he will stop the groceries altogether.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m going out for breakfast, and I’ll get the groceries today. I’ll let that nosy bitch Miss Wilson know you’re feeling ill.”

“Yes, of course.”

He storms out of the room, and I hear him grab his wallet and keys from the table beside the front door before the door slams. I let myself fall to the floor and curl back into the fetal position. My ribs hurt, and I can only imagine what my face looks like. I run my fingers over the open skin on my lip.

I can’t keep living like this. I wish I were smarter so I knew what to do. I’ve thought about calling the numbers they keep on the bathroom stalls in the grocery mart, but I know Carl would go ballistic if I left him. It would be Marie he went after then, and that’s just a risk I’m never willing to take. Her safety and happiness will always be my number one priority.

God, I miss her. I miss her sense of humor, her bright smile, and just having someone there to hold—someone who would never hurt you. Someone who truly loves you. If I didn’t have Marie, I would have never known those things were possible.

I hold my ribs and lift myself up off the floor. I stumble into the shower and let the hot water wash over my face. It’s painful, but it feels good emotionally to wash it all away—wash away his touch and his smell—to feel as clean as I can, living with Carl anyway.

I wash my hair and run the soap lightly over my body. I can hardly stand to touch the bruising that’s already appeared on my stomach, but I need to erase him. I know Carl won’t be gone much longer, so I force myself to turn off the water and step out of the shower. I pull on a loose fitting cotton dress that doesn’t hurt my stomach much and brush my hair. I steel my nerves and start on my makeup. It stings, but he hates seeing the damage he’s inflicted after he’s cooled off. It can cause his anger to resurface, and he’ll start with the violence all over again. Applying makeup is the lesser of two evils, so I force myself to finish.

I hope he’s in a better mood when he comes home, but it’s about a fifty-fifty chance. Some days he’ll come home with new clothes, take out, or jewelry, and other times he’ll come home with more fists to throw around. I really, really hope it’s a good day.

My stomach bumps up against the counter while I apply my lip-gloss, and I wince. That one’s going to take a few weeks to heal. I say a prayer that nothing is broken because God knows Carl would never let me see a doctor.

I take a final look in the mirror, and realize I don’t look too bad, all things considered. I’ve been getting a lot better at covering up any damage Carl manages to dish out. He bought me a book on stage makeup a few years ago, and I have learned a lot about which colors I should use to hide bruises, redness, blemishes; you name it, I can probably conceal it.

I take my blood-stained clothes and carry them down to the basement where I start the washer. The walk back upstairs is excruciating, but I know Carl will be home shortly. I do the breakfast dishes with haste before starting on my dessert for supper.

I decide to play it safe after last night, and bake the lemon meringue pie his mother taught me to make the last time she visited. I wonder if she truly knows what kind of a monster she created, or if she’s just so in love with her son that she’s completely blind to his violent temperament. In any case, she tolerates me, at best, so I’m sure she doesn’t care what becomes of me. Carl visits her often, but luckily she doesn’t come around here much.

I hear the front door unlock and say a final prayer that his mood has improved. I’m gathering the ingredients when Carl walks into the kitchen with a smile. I can’t help it, but I find myself smiling, too. Not because I’m happy to see him, but because I don’t have to fear for my life again today. Well, at least not at this very minute, and that’s something. Isn’t it?

“I’m so sorry, Darling,” he croons in his completely unsympathetic, fully condescending way. “I don’t know what got into me this morning. I just get so upset when you act as though you’re a child and not a woman of twenty-two. It’s hard for me to understand how you’re still so incapable, but you are, and there’s nothing we can do about it, now is there?” Carl asks, speaking to me as though I’m an infant. I smile and nod because it’s all I’m able to do without wanting to lash out.

I want to call him an abusive asshole and tell him that if he thinks I still have the mental capacity of a child, it’s because I’m locked up in this house with a complete idiot for all but an hour a week, but I don’t. I smile weakly because I am weak. I’m tired, and I’m beaten down, and I just can’t see an end in sight.

I notice that he’s pulling a box from his back pocket, and I recognize the light blue—it’s from his favorite jewelry store.

“I got you a little something to wear, so you’ll think of me while I’m at work,” Carl says.

As if the shiner on my face and the bruised ribs aren’t enough of a reminder
?

He opens the box, and I’m actually a little taken aback. It’s a beautiful heart shaped necklace with a lock in the center. The entire thing is encrusted with diamonds and it takes my breath away for a moment before I remember who it’s from and the circumstances under which I’m receiving it. I take a closer look and think of the irony. Of course it’s a lock without a key. Carl never wants me to feel free, not even for a moment. This isn’t a gift, it’s a reminder. I’m careful of the emotion I let show on my face, however. Carl expects me to be grateful, happy, and pretend as if nothing has happened. So, that’s what I give him.

“It’s beautiful, Carl, thank you. I’ll think of you whenever I wear it,” I say. I hate every word that I speak, but I know it’s what will keep me safe. Lying to Carl has become second nature. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I’m just a shell of someone I used to be.

He places the lock around my neck, and it feels like a heavy collar being placed around a prisoner’s neck. I stroke the pendant with my thumb and close my eyes, wishing my prince charming were placing something lovingly around my neck.

“Now be a good little wife and go out and get the groceries from the garage, will you?” Carl asks expectantly.

I’m glad he’s standing behind me and doesn’t notice the pained look that washes over my face. I can barely stand; how am I supposed to carry in a week’s worth of groceries? I know I have no choice in the matter, and it’s certainly the lesser of two evils. So I do what a good wife does, I get the groceries from the garage, and then I bake my husband a pie.

~

The rest of the weekend passes without much drama. Carl stayed relatively quiet and didn’t touch me again. I can hear him snoring softly behind me now. I find it relatively calming tonight to know that he can’t physically hurt me while he’s asleep. I’m free to my own thoughts, my own dreams. I palm the necklace in my hand again, counting the diamonds with the tips of my fingers. There has to be at least a hundred. I’m certain it’s the most expensive piece of jewelry Carl has ever purchased for me, and I wonder if it’s enough to get Marie and me safely away from here. What in the hell would I do with the money anyway, and how could I do it without Carl’s knowledge?

If I’m going to do anything, though, I have to do it soon. I know Marie will have no groceries this week and possibly not next week either, depending on how spiteful Carl feels. I don’t get to send her much as is, so she probably doesn’t have a lot stored up either.

Carl works at the state bank, about a twenty-five minute drive from our house. He takes the car to work, and he doesn’t keep any cash inside the house. If I’m going to finally do this, then I need a plan. I’ve come up with hundreds in the past, but they all lacked one thing: enough money to get us far enough away from Carl so that he couldn’t find us. I don’t think he knows it yet, but this lock could become my key.

Chapter 3

I glance over at the alarm clock again, making sure to move only my eyes. I barely slept at all last night; I kept going over what I have to do today in my head. My palms are sweating, and my heart is racing so loud, I’m scared it’s going to wake Carl. I glance again, and it’s 6:27. Just three more minutes. I can do this. If not for myself, I have to do it for Marie. The alarm goes off, and I quickly silence it before rolling out of bed, careful not to do any further damage to my stomach. It’s feeling a little better today; I can stand mostly upright without much pain. It’s an improvement, and I’ll take any that I can at the moment. Carl checks the alarm clock quickly, before rolling over in bed.

I use the bathroom and then check my bruising in the mirror. I look absolutely terrible. My eye is bruised purple and green, and it’s still swollen. I work swiftly to conceal it and then my lip. I lift up my nightie and see the work of art he gave me there, too. It’s been days, but it always seems to look worse before it gets any better—at least it’s covered by clothing for the day.

I get dressed for the day before leaving the bathroom and walking into the baby blue kitchen. Its light oak cupboards lining the walls are interrupted only by appliances dated back a few decades. There’s nothing about this house that I admire, but when has my opinion ever mattered, anyway? I quickly set about making Carl’s breakfast. My pulse is racing, and I can feel the sweat dripping from my forehead. I wipe it off and take a few calming breaths.

Checking behind me first to make sure Carl isn’t there, I make my way to the dining room with his breakfast tray and see him emerging from the bedroom.

“Good morning, Darling, you look lovely today,” Carl says, blandly.

My nerves are so shot that I’m scared my voice will shake if I reply, but I need to try. “Good morning, Carl. You look handsome, as always,” I say with a smile. I’m quite proud of myself for maintaining my composure.

I can do this
.

He nods sternly before taking a seat and beginning his breakfast. I grab a slice of whole wheat toast and a yogurt from the kitchen before taking my seat. I’ll need my strength today. I eat slowly, hoping that Carl won’t attempt to make small talk, or even worse, comment on what I’m eating. I still don’t trust myself to speak to him without my voice shaking. Fortunately, he doesn’t speak again until he’s finished.

“All right, I’m off to work. Do not, under any circumstances, open the front door. The last thing we need is a nosy Miss Wilson bringing over a pity meal again, acting suspicious.

I’m calling Mother today, too. She won’t be able to come over this week; I can’t have her seeing you in the state you’re in. She would be appalled to learn my wife is a clumsy fool, as well as a lousy cook. Am I right, Darling?” he asks, disgusted.

He walks over to say goodbye, and it takes everything in me to smile at his condescending comment, but I do. I rise to meet him. “Of course, Carl.” With that, he leans in to kiss me, and I feel his stiffness press into me. I choke down the fear that takes over my body.