Nothing had changed when I left his house, attempting to contain my pounding heart. I had expected the world to be hushed and still. Instead, a car roared past, Bollywood music blasting. A lawnmower screeched somewhere to my left. I’d expected people to stare, but no one even noticed me. Children giggled in the street as they tossed a giant inflatable beach ball back and forth, narrowly missing my head.
So this was what it felt like.
I was hyper aware of everything around me, as if everything were happening in slow motion. There was a very unhappy baby in that blue house. The smell of lilac and peonies was overpowering, and a snail’s shell snapped under my foot.
This was what it felt like.
To have the person you loved the most in the world turn his violence on you.
I had expected it to be… different. To feel dirtier somehow, or more fragile. I was probably numb and in shock, I reasoned myself. The anger would come later. But really, it just felt inevitable. Like the normal course of life. I had felt this coming for weeks, since the first time he’d pushed me. It had been so benign – he’d shoved me against the kitchen counter and I’d tripped, fallen, hit my head. But he’d just glared at me as I sat on the floor, stunned. He’d turned away.
I stepped around a toppled trash can. Bills, coupons for Burger King, a broken Lego piece. Cigarettes and takeout containers. Normal stuff from normal people. Was I still one of them? I arrived at the park, let myself slide down against a big, sturdy oak. The rough bark grounded me. Tiny ants took off in every direction.
I hadn’t been surprised at how quickly it had escalated. The shoves became more intense, the grabs more insistent. He’d even scratched me once, on my back, so that no one would see. Today was the first time he’d hit me. I’d expected it for days, had almost awaited it, as the banal words left my mouth. You forgot to get the potatoes.
My phone rang.
My left shoulder twitched and I felt the force of the punch again, burning. I willed the pain to recede, pulled out the phone with my right hand, clumsily.
The phone kept ringing. His number.
Again, the clarity. I heard the dialog that would unfold a split second before it did. “I’m sorry,” I heard. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Please come back. I swear it will never happen again. You know me. Please.” I heard his hitched breath, a sob. “Please, will you come back?”
And as I listened in horror, the words tumbled out of me. “Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow. It’s okay.”
I wanted to scream. A single tear rolled down my cheek.
© Lyrical Nibble 2023-07-19