Battered

Chapter 3

"I was asleep" she says, "I waited up until 3am for him to come home but I was so tired. I heard the bedroom door open about 7 o'clock and he stumbled in drunk. He climbed into bed and woke me up, demanding sex. I told him I was tired but he didn't care."

She looks up at me and I nod for her to continue

"He tried again but I said no; that made him really angry. He started shouting, saying that he's my husband and he should be able to have sex whenever he wants to; he shouldn't have to ask for it."

She closes her eyes

"It was my fault. I know better than to argue with him when he's like that. He slapped me around the face and pulled me out of bed"

Tears spill down her cheeks but she carries on

"He threw me on the floor and started punching me. I begged him to stop but he wouldn't listen. Somehow I managed to get from underneath him and picked up my mobile from the bedside table."

She takes a deep breath to compose herself

"I dialled 999 but he knocked the phone out of my hand before I could ask for help. Then he started kicking me. He punched me again and I don't remember much after that; just those two policemen coming in and getting him off me."

I reach out and hold her hand. Something she said earlier pops into my head and my stomach flips with realisation.

"This wasn't the first time. He's hit you before, hasn't he?"

Her watery eyes meet mine and I get my answer

"Yes"

*************************************************

I close the front door and kick off my shoes. Walking into the living room, I flop down on my sofa and let out a long sigh.

To say it has been a long day is an understatement.

Today I listened while a victim of domestic violence recounted every single detail of the horrible things her husband has done to her over the course of their three year marriage.

She told me about things that she's never even said out loud before.

Like the time he smashed her head against a door because she burnt his breakfast

Or the time he dragged her up the stairs by her hair because she forgot to pick up his dry cleaning

She told me how she lived in fear of him every day and how she hated herself for being too weak to leave.

She'd never phoned the police before. Over the years, he'd knocked every bit of self-worth out of her and left nothing but a shell. She truly believed that she deserved it, and that it was her fault for not keeping him happy.

But today something changed.

She couldn't give me an explanation why today was the day that she finally mustered up the courage to call for help. But I'm glad she did. Because tonight, for the first night in a long time, she can go to sleep knowing that she is safe.

I lean back on the sofa and stare up at the ceiling. Before I know what I'm doing, I take my phone out of my pocket and dial a familiar number

"Hello?"

"Justin, it's me. Can you come over?"

***********************************

I woke up this morning and just knew it was going to be a bad day.

Turning over, I opened my eyes and there he was. Thankfully he's still asleep, which means I can make a quick getaway.

Slipping carefully out of the bed, I grab my dressing gown and tiptoe into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

I study my reflection in the mirror as I brush my teeth; I honestly don't recognise myself sometimes.

Maybe I should start drinking because that way, when I invite him over at least I will have the excuse of alcohol clouding my judgement. Yeah, who am I kidding? My judgement is already clouded. The alcohol would only add a hangover to my increasingly regular morning-after feelings of guilt and regret.

I turn the shower on and step under the hot jets of water because, once again, I have sins that need to be washed away.

When I am done, I go back into the bedroom wrapped in a towel and find Justin propped up on the pillows, "Morning" he smiles, scratching his chest sleepily

"Hi"

"You ok?" he asks

I shrug my shoulders, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno. You just seemed kind of distant last night" he shrugs right back at me

Sometimes it's hard to believe that we were ever in a meaningful, four-year-long relationship. It's hard to believe that I ever loved him. Nowadays we rarely have a conversation that lasts more than two minutes; and I kind of like it that way.

"I'm fine" I tell him, hoping he'll take the hint and drop it.

Thankfully he does.

******************************************

Nadine climbs into the passenger seat of my car and takes one look at me, "You did it again didn't you?"

I don't give her an answer, I don't have to; she can read me like a book. It's kind of annoying sometimes. But at least she doesn't judge me by my cover.

"Remind me again why you two broke up?" she asks, although she already knows the answer.

"Because we stopped having feelings for each other and it just didn't work anymore."

"Exactly! So why are you still sleeping with the guy?"

I start up the car; hoping to buy myself some time to think of a response. But the truth is I don't know why. I guess it's sort of a compulsion; there's absolutely no feelings involved, it's a purely physical thing. And I have no idea why I keep doing it. I consider telling Nadine about my "old pair of shoes" analogy, but I doubt she'll get it.

"I don't know Nadz" I sigh

After a minute or two, she reaches over and pats my knee, "You know what you need?"

"What?"

"A girl's night out. We haven't gone dancing for ages, and we need to get you out of these destructive habits of yours" she laughs

I take my eyes of the road for a second to smile at her, "That's exactly what I need"