“You don’t have a scholarship anywhere in Texas,” he likes to remind me.
“Maybe we should go back to Charlottesville,” I offer. “I can see if I can get my scholarship reinstated and find a paid internship part-time. I’m sure you could find a better job there. It’s close enough to DC to find a good-paying position.”
That was the first time he hit me.
Shortly after our arrival in Texas, and he found out his job was only an entry-level position, he began belittling me to the point that I felt as though I was walking on eggshells around him. But he’d never physically harmed me. He had grabbed me before. He had shoved me before, but this was the first time he’d actually hit me with his fist.
It knocked me to the ground and I momentarily lost consciousness. When I woke up, he was carrying me into the bedroom crying and begging me to forgive him. He laid his head on my stomach and wept.
I cradled his head in my hands and tried to comfort him.
I realize how ridiculous that sounds. He hit me, I lost consciousness and yet, he was the one who needed comforting.
I wanted to believe he was sorry. I told myself he was sorry. I wanted to believe he was the prince charming I thought I married.
After that first time, he did everything in his power to make it up to me. He cooked me a gourmet meal for dinner that night. He brought me a beautiful bouquet of flowers the next day. He pampered me and constantly asked me to forgive him while showering me with love and affection.
For a while, it was like it was in the beginning and I bought what he was selling.
I made excuses.
After all, he was back to being the generous, loving and kind man I thought I married.
“Let’s have a baby,” he suggested one night as we were lying in bed. Our sex life had not improved, but at least it didn’t hurt anymore. Not every time.
I was stunned at the suggestion. I wasn’t even twenty years old yet and he wanted to start a family.
“Think about it,” he said. “If we have children while we’re young, you’ll still be in your late thirties to early forties when they’re out of the house. We’ll have a great life together.”
I told him I would think about it and he sulked for several days until I suggested that I would be open to the idea.
I was not open to the idea.
I knew his situation at the new job was stressful, but I had no idea how bad it really was. Then one day he came home and announced that he’d quit. When I pressed him about it, he admitted that he’d actually been let go.
“They fired you?”
“Ding. Ding. Ding,” he responded, sarcasm dripping from him expression as he poured himself a drink. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was already drunk. “Words cannot describe how brilliant you are. That other guy they hired is jealous of me and told lies to the president of the company. He couldn’t take the competition.”
“I’ll get a job,” I offer. “And go back to school.”
“And how are we supposed to pay for it?” he growled. “You keep talking about going back to school as though we have all the money in the world to pay for it.”
“I could get student loans. My parents would co-sign and help me.”
“I hate your fucking parents,” he said.
It was like a slap in the face and I reel backward from his words as though he physically hit me.
I was afraid to say anything because I could tell that whatever I said, he would find some reason to be angry about it and the situation could and probably would escalate quickly.
“Don’t have anything to say?” he asked. “Nothing?”
I sit quietly, waiting out his outburst. I knew it was better not to answer him.
“This is all your fault,” he berates me. I’m not sure how any of this is my fault, but I remain silent. I’d learned that was the best way to handle him when he got this way. “I’m always afraid you’re out fucking around with some cowboy while I’m at work and I can’t concentrate.”
He looks at me and the hate oozing out of his gaze is palpable.
“Admit it,” he says. “You’ve been fucking other men while I’ve been gone.”
I shake my head. “No,” I manage to whisper the word. This one is going to be bad.
“No? That’s not what I’ve heard from these men in the neighborhood. I’ve seen the way they look at you.”
I open my mouth to object, but realize it’s too late. He’s made up his mind and this time, his punishment will be bad.
He grabs me by the throat and starts to choke me. I try to fight him off, but he’s too strong. I feel myself losing consciousness and that’s when there’s a banging on the door.
“What’s going on in there?” I hear our neighbor’s voice.
“Nothing,” I hear Daniel answer. “We were just having a bit of a lover’s spat. My wife and I were just about to make up if you don’t mind. Go mind your own business.”
There’s silence on the other side of the door for a moment before he speaks again.
“Are you alright, Sarah?” he calls.
“Yes,” I swallow, Daniel’s fingers still painfully encircling my throat. “I’m fine.”
I hear his footsteps slowly walk away and wait for Daniel to finish what he started, only he doesn’t. Instead, he releases me, walks to the kitchen pours another drink.
“Here,” he says returning, shoving the glass in my hand. “Drink this.”
“I don-“ I start to say until I see the look in his eyes. I take the glass and drink it.
“All of it,” he says.
I wince at the fiery liquid streaming down the back of my throat. I try not to cough, but that proves impossible. He removes the tumbler from my hand.
“I hate when I have to do that,” he says as though he had no choice.
I stare at him. I’ve never been more frightened of anyone in my life. I know I’ve got to leave him. I’ve known that for a while. Each time something like this happens, his punishments escalate. I realize if I stay, one day he will kill me.
I don’t know if I’m more afraid of staying or leaving. There’s a part of me that knows Daniel will never willingly let me go. He’s told me as much. The last time he beat me, he told me if I ever left him he’d find me, kill me and then himself.
He’s even started locking me inside when he leaves for work, though I guess that’s a thing of the past now that he’s been fired. My stomach churns at the thought he will be here with me every day with no respite.
I have no phone. He took it not long after we moved here. I have no means of communicating with anyone.
To make matter worse, he’s threatened my parents that if I leave him, he will find them and kill them, and I will know that I’m the reason they’re dead, before he kills me. That it will all be my fault.
I could not live with myself if that happened.
He takes the tumbler from my hand and leads me to our bedroom. I know where this is going. It’s where it always goes after he does this. It’s rape. Plain and simple. I do not want him. He knows this, and I think it excites him even more.
I used to fight him, but quickly learned he enjoyed that. At first, I was hoping that over time he would lose interest in me if he didn’t get what he was looking for.
I meekly follow him to our bedroom. He turns and throws me on the bed, before ripping my clothes off and turning me over. I hear him unzipping his pants and then bite my lip until I taste blood because of the pain of him entering me. He would go on to rape me three more times that day.