The Hurt Locker

Love can be scary in the hurt locker

It was a Sunday in the midafternoon. It was hotter than usual. The air was musty with grime. Norma was in the kitchen washing dishes when she heard the front door slam shut. He was at it again.

"I want your bastard son out of my house," her husband yelled. He was always like this after work—she hated it. She hated him. She'd leave him if she had the courage, but deep down she knew she needed him. She couldn't survive on her own. "Where the hell is the remote?" She let the water run cold, her hands trembling beneath the heavy stream. There was no escape. She was powerless. She caught a glimpse of him in the doorway; an annoyed look in his eyes. "Well?"

She shut the faucet off and moved past him into the living room. They went through this nearly every day...she was getting tired of it. "It's not on the table?"

"I never would have thought to look on the table." He glared at her. "No, it's not on the fucking table, Norma." She rolled her eyes when her back was to him. He always did this to her. The littlest things could tick him off. "I'm sick and tired of this shit. When I come home I wanna relax, but I can't do that if there's no remote."

How she ended up with this life...she didn't know. She spent everyday of her life trying to figure out where she went wrong, but she never found the answer. This was her destiny. She dug in between the cushions of the couch and pulled out the remote. She turned to face him, a smug look on her face as she handed him the remote. "Well you should have checked in between the cushions." She couldn't help herself—she loved being right.

And he hated that. He grabbed her by the arm and pinned her against the wall, choking her. "What was that?" Part of her thought maybe she deserved it...maybe she wasn't a good enough wife. But every bruise that surfaced on her body told a different story. She was a wounded warrior fighting for her life. She had no one to protect her. She was alone. She was vulnerable.

Tears fell from her eyes when she spotted Norman in the hallway. He'd never witnessed anything like this before. "Mother?" The hurt in his eyes caused her heart to break. They were falling apart.

"Norman," she called out to him weakly, her husband's hands still wrapped around her neck.

Sam looked into her eyes. "What?" She started to sob uncontrollably. She was broken, but it only angered him more. He threw her to the floor and walked away from her. He was just as broken as she was. He rubbed his hands over his face, desperately trying to disguise the worry he was feeling. On some level he still cared about her. They'd lost so much—they'd been through so much. He stared at her like she was a stranger. He didn't know her. No one knew her.

She woke up on the living room floor. She couldn't remember how she got there—what she was doing. She felt lost. A buzzing rang through her, drilling into her head. Her eyes flickered over to her husband's lifeless body lying next to her. Her heart winced at sight of the gentle pool of blood soaking the carpet. The sobbing started again, choking her. The tears drowned her. She pulled his head to her chest, clutching him tightly to her.

"It had to be done," Norman told her.

She gazed at him through cloudy tears. She never saw it coming. She placed her husband gently on the floor and went to the kitchen to call an ambulance. But it was too late—she knew that. When they arrived she told them that Sam slipped and hit his head on the coffee table...and they believed her.

After about a week later, the town started to talk about Sam's death—questioning it. She claimed he slipped and fell, but everyone knew that the poor man's head had been bashed in several times. She had to get outta there. Arizona was a bad place. She started packing two weeks after the funeral. She couldn't take the whispering...the looks. It drove her insane. She read about a place in Oregon. White Pine Bay. It was a quiet little town—the perfect escape.

Dylan helped her place their suitcases and boxes in the car. He really was a good son. He climbed in the passenger seat and stared at her. "Are you sure about this?"

She sighed and started the engine. "This is our chance to start over, so we're starting over." The open road was soothing to the family of three. They all needed a break. Their lives had been filled with constant turmoil...all because of Sam Bates. He ruined them. And now he was gone.

When they passed into Oregon, Dylan turned to his mother. She seemed so content. He hated to ruin it, but— "What happened to Sam?" He needed to know.

She glanced at him briefly. Her mood didn't falter. "What do you mean? He slipped and hit his head." That's what she had trained herself to believe. If she said it enough, it would be true.

Dylan scoffed, his eyes studying her every breath. "Norma."

She cringed, keeping her eyes straight ahead. "Don't call me Norma. I'm your mother." She hated when he acted that way like he didn't belong to her—like he wasn't a part of her. It hurt her.

He was slowly beginning to worry about her. He only saw the tip of the iceberg. He had no idea what she was capable of. "Mom."

She glared at him. "Dylan, get over it. It's done and over with." He could never know. It would kill them both. "I don't want you to ever ask me again." She was fuming. She could have ripped the steering wheel off and beat him with it. She didn't ever want to think about Sam Bates again. She was starting a new life. They needed to move on.