What Once I Was

Chapter 6

Robert's mood hadn't lessened by the time the birds sang their morning tune the next day. I hadn't felt the bed dip through the night so I was almost certain he hadn't slept. In spite of myself, I felt the familiar pang of self pity rear its head. I should have been used to the nights spent alone. Yet there I was, feeling sorry for myself when I could have taken advantage of the space like any other woman would do. 

Rolling onto my side, the pile of muddy clothes next to our laundry basket caught my attention. I definitely needed to do a wash load before heading to work. It would have been no good asking Robert to do it; if you want a job done right you've got to do it yourself as they say. He couldn't even make sure his clothes went into the basket never mind properly load the machine. I had my suspicions I would find a kitchen full of soap suds and water if I left him in charge for even a moment. 

Dirty clothes in arms, a trail of socks on the floor behind me, I made my way to the kitchen. Robert sat at the small oak dining table devouring a bowl of porridge and berries. He grunted a hello while I loaded the machine, collected the escapee socks and made my own breakfast. I had been on a diet of sorts, eating foods high in fibre and low in carbs, but it had sent my stomach into a frenzy, I'd never known cramping like it. I was thankful to dig into a bowl of Coco Pops, something I hadn't had in many years. 

We ate in heavy silence, the machine whirring to life banging and clanging as a zip hits the drum. The night before's events hung like a cloud above us. Neither of us willing nor able to discuss it. To discuss the next steps.

"I'm off work today." Robert stood taking the two steps towards the sink. As usual he left his bowl and spoon leaning haphazardly on the edge of the sink rather than in it like I'd begged numerous times.

"In the sink Robert. You'll break something one of these days."

The bowl crashed on the floor before I had time to process the rage that invaded our home. Milk splattered my bare shins, fragments of China thrown this way and that. I flinched.

"I'm sick of your constant nagging. Don't do this Robert, don't do that! I'm the man of the house god damn it. I bring in the money. I keep us afloat. If I want to put a fucking bowl on the side I damn well will do!"

I shrank into myself, nausea killing my appetite. I was used to his anger, to Robert lashing out at me, but the fear never eased.

"I'm sorry. It was a joke Robert. I'm sorry."

Pain shoots through my face as wood hits my nose. I struggle beneath Robert's hand that was now tangled into the hair on the back of my head. The taste of copper fills my mouth. Breathing became hard. I flailed my arms, hot tears stinging the cut I knew I had on my lips.

"I'm sick of your shit!"

I cried out my hair ripping from my scalp as Robert dragged me from the kitchen into the living room. With the curtains closed he could be safe knowing no nosey neighbour was watching him.

His fists, his feet, connected over and over and over despite my best efforts to protect my face and stomach. I begged, I cried, I tried to run.

He was relentless.

"Robert... please!"

Rover barked and growled, stepping in front of me, fur stood on end, ears back. My guardian Angel. The only reason Robert ever stopped.

"Clean yourself up. You're a mess." He spat, turning on his heel.

I listened unmoving until the sound of his engine roaring to life released me from my paralysis.

Rover sat before me, licking the blood and tears that stained my face. He whimpered and butted my arm trying to coax me up.

—————-
"Why would you not leave?" Ben asked. I was getting fed up with his constant interruptions. How was I to tell them what happened if he wouldn't let me speak?

"Have you ever been in an abusive relationship?" I snap back.

He shakes his head, Gary a mirror beside him.

"I didn't think so. Then please don't assume you understand what it's like. It's not as easy as up and leaving when things get tough," I crack my fingers and stretch, "I'm financially dependent on Robert and I've spent all of my life with him."

"And you helped him bury Naomi. I can imagine that's quite the reason to stay isn't it Mrs Collins?"

I glare at Ben, at the audacity. He thinks he knows what happened. Thinks he knows what I've been through. He knows nothing.

"I had no choice. He would have killed me too. As soon as I held that shovel in my hand twenty years ago, I made myself an accessory. I couldn't just go to the police. They'd never have believed me."

Ben snorts but says nothing. I fix my gaze on Gary. He seems sympathetic, is looking at me as though he believes me. Believes the ordeal I've suffered because of Robert. It's to him I decide to continue speaking.

"It wasn't the first time he'd hit me and it sure as hell wasn't going to be the last, excuse my French. Twenty years I've suffered his rage. I don't blame Naomi, she was just a baby after all, but his anger was born not long after she was."

Gary nods as though he understands.

"I did as I did every time he got mad. I waited until he left, then I cleaned up the mess he made. I've always cleaned up his mess. Always made sure his mistakes didn't come back to haunt us."

"Until Naomi died." Ben interjects.

"Until then."

————
I'd cleaned the house as quick as I could manage, the pain in my ribs shooting every time I vent forward. I didn't have long until my shift started at work.

I'd been tempted to phone in sick, to spend the day curled in bed reading and forgetting the past few days had ever happened. But I needed the money. Needed something to keep me occupied.

Sat at my vanity unit I tried desperately to hide the fresh bruising on my face. With each coat of concealer I became more and more frustrated. I could still see it clear as day. I knew my manager, being nosey as she was, would question how I'd gotten it.

"I walked into the door," I said to my reflection. The face staring back did not seem convinced. "No, she'll never believe that. I was... looking after my great nephew. He's a handful that one."

No matter what excuse I practised none seemed convincing enough. Robert had never hit my face before and so I'd never had to conceal something so visual. A sprained arm, twisted ankle from running, bruised ribs. Those were far easier to explain away.

"Oh what do I do boy?" Rover sat on the floor next to me, head cocked to one side watching as I faffed about. He barked once as though demanding I tell the truth. I couldn't do that.

I didn't go to work that day. It had been a tough call but with no make up saving me from the gruelling conversation I knew would follow I decided the loss of money was better than the repercussions of going.

I'd winced back into pyjamas, beckoned for Rover to climb on the bed - something Robert never allowed but I needed in that moment - and pulled the book I was reading from my bedside table.

I lost myself in a world of hobbits and elves, imagining myself on a dangerous quest with dear friends. I laughed alongside Gimli and cried with Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin. I envied their friendship and love for one another.

I became so enraptured in my novel I scarcely noticed when night had fallen. Rover snored gently at my feet. Robert still hadn't returned.

It was all too familiar. Too much like the night Naomi left us. I closed the book, making sure to nestle a bookmark in the pages, and sighed. I'd done just this the day after Robert had forced me to bury my daughter. Spent the day in bed escaping into fantasy novels as though it would erase my reality.

And just like all those years ago, when I lay the book back on my bedside table, life returned. Emotions soared and I wept. I couldn't shut down the images of Naomi broken and bruised in my arms. Of Robert flexing his fingers as he paced the toll of what he'd done finally sinking in.

And just like that night I knew. Robert would be gone for days.