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John:
Did you hear that? That was the final slam of the door after a long, bitter divorce. The sound that indicates I am a single man again.
We’d been married for fourteen years before things started to go wrong and as far as I was concerned they had been happy years. For those fourteen years Julie had been a wonderful wife, ever attentive to my every need. I’d given her everything that I had, and everything she’d ever asked for, without stinting.
When we first got married she’d had a few good friends but over a short period she had lost contact with them, even her best friend Jackie had stopped calling. She had no close family either but I remember her telling me once that she didn’t need other company as long as she had me.
When I got in from work the meal was always ready to place on the table and the house was always spotless, just how I liked it. Julie kept herself in good shape; I abhor sloppiness, and was always smartly dressed.
Our physical relationship was also very good. We had sex whenever I wanted it and she was always attentive and unselfish in her desire to give me the pleasure I enjoyed. She was always willing to try out any news ideas I had in an attempt to keep our relationship fresh.
I know now where it went wrong, I discovered she had a part time job. I had been unaware that she had taken the job. It turns out that she’d arranged her hours so that she was working only during the day, after I had left for work, and would be home in time to straighten everything out and have my tea ready as always. I’d never suspected, didn’t know anything about it until the divorce had started but then little things in her attitude or her stance had made me wonder who she had been in contact with, who had been whispering in her ear. I would never have guessed her secret.
I came home from the pub one night and Julie had just up and left…………
Julie:
I arrive home and quietly close the door to my small flat. At last I am divorced and again my own woman. It has taken 2 years but after 15 years of a painful marriage those two years have flown by.
I ponder how I had changed so much in fifteen years, from a bright intelligent young woman to the timid mouse I had eventually become. Why, oh why, had I allowed myself to be bullied both physically and mentally? Originally it was love, such a small word to encompass such passion and agony. Eventually it had been fear and the undermining by John of my own self worth and confidence. A never-ending spiral of love, pain and humiliation. No one could help me break the spiral, it was something I had needed to do myself
It was Jackie who had brought me back to myself. Jackie, who through a chance meeting at the supermarket, had helped me turn my life around. She had been delighted to see me again and invited me for coffee and a chat to catch up but I’d begged off by telling her I had to get back and get tea on. This was only partly true, in reality all the people and noise of the supermarket made me very nervous. We ended up arranging to meet for coffee the next day before we parted and I very nearly didn’t go, now I am so glad that I did.
We started meeting every week for coffee and originally Jackie had done most of the talking. She had entertained me with the ups and downs of her life, both the good times and the not so good, the funny and the sad. It had taken me weeks to open up about my life, usually all she could get out of me was that everything is fine and nothing is happening of interest in my life. As it turns out that statement had been true but only because I didn’t have a life. I was a walking, talking appendage to John with no thoughts or opinions of my own that hadn’t first been endorsed by him. Eventually I opened up to Jackie and gave her a glimpse of my life, such as it was.
When the beatings and humiliation finally came to light peoples usual reaction was to question why had I taken it for so long, it was certainly the initial reaction I’d gotten from Jackie. The easiest answer I gave these people is that it had become a habit. If something had been wrong and John had been annoyed, or I had upset him somehow, I’d believed that I had earned the ensuing beating as a lesson not to do it again. This was the way my parents married life had been and I saw nothing wrong with that. Yet while I had been very quick to learn any lesson taught I soon discovered that there was always something new to learn or some nuance in the previous lesson that I had missed.
Once Jackie had got over her initial shock she turned out to be, once again, my best friend. She listened week in and week out as I described my life to her and several months later had convinced me to speak to someone who could understand my pain and explain to me that things really were not that good in my life and how best to change them. It took John many years to mould me into the person he wanted me to be but it took only nine months to break the initial link in the chain.
The reasons John punched me were many and always while landing a punch on my back or into my ribs he would insist that I don’t do it again. A dirty cup that should have been washed was still on the sink, a corner had been missed while dusting, a speck on the carpet, the shirt he wanted to wear tomorrow hadn’t been ironed or maybe even just a hair in the bath. He was a freak about cleanseliness. Every day I had to vac the whole house, clean the bedding, dust, wash, scrub and dry. Every day the first thing he did after eating his dinner was to go through the whole house looking for a reason to lash out at me.
The nights were the worst though; he was clean everywhere but in the bedroom. The act of sex was not a loving, sharing thing and the pain and humiliation I endured during the night I do not have the courage to talk about yet.
I took a job in the supermarket, the same one I used to be so frightened of, to get some money together in anticipation of the day I would leave John. I knew the day would come when I would find the strength to leave and intended to be well prepared for it. The months leading up to my walking out were the most painful I had endured in a long time. Working part time in the supermarket I had been able to keep secret but the subsequent changes in me from interacting with other people so much could not be hidden. I endured his fists striking me in bitter silence until the day he broke my foot. It was only the second time he had broken one of my bones. Very early in our marriage he had broken my cheekbone when he had just lashed out and tongues had wagged. Usually he was careful to hit me where other people would not be able to see his handiwork but on that occasion he took me by the throat, slammed me against the fridge and deliberately stomped on my foot.
I heard the bones break and in the distance I could hear a woman screaming. Then I heard the sound of breaking teeth as his fist slammed into my mouth to shut me up. As he released his grip I slid down to the floor and huddled there sobbing quietly. He just left me there as he collected his coat on the way out for his usual couple of pints. He slammed the front door and that is when I heard it – the sound of the first link in the chain that had bound me for so long had snapped.
I called Jackie and while it was hard for me to speak she understood immediately that I needed her and arrived on my doorstep 30 minutes later. The door wasn’t locked and as I heard it open my stomach cramped up and I nearly vomited, my fearful reaction to the thought that John had returned. Jackie smiled at me initially as she took in the sight of a frozen bag of sprouts on my foot and a bag of peas held to my mouth and then reality hit her.
A shadowy figure materialised behind her and I bolted upright out of the chair, sending it flying backwards, as Jackie turned. She just stood there in shock and was immediately wrapped in a pair of strong arms, darling Jackie had brought her husband with her. He carried me to the car while Jackie grabbed handfuls of my belongings and then he drove us to the hospital. I never returned to the house I’d shared with John.
It is early evening now and the sun is shining into my small flat. Dancing over the dusty surfaces and the papers that have been left haphazardly around the room. Everything seems brighter today and sounds are sharper as if I have at last stepped out of a padded cell. It’s strange what certain noises can be associated with. If you were to visit my home you would not find any carpets, I don’t own a vacuum cleaner. My clothes go to the launderette and are delivered back to me. There is no washing machine in my home and even the creaking of the ironing board is enough to sending my mind fleeing down a dark corridor in an attempt to hide from the anticipated pain.
Today I am 35 years young and I’m going out with the girls who are under a strict dress code. I’m wearing my jeans, the first pair I have owned in eighteen years. As I get ready I use a cream deodorant, you see even the sound of a spray canister can spark fear into me. As I pass back through my room I smile at the dust. It will keep, I’m quite happy leaving it for a long while yet.
Did you hear that? That was the final slam of the door after a long, bitter divorce. The sound that indicates I am a single man again.
We’d been married for fourteen years before things started to go wrong and as far as I was concerned they had been happy years. For those fourteen years Julie had been a wonderful wife, ever attentive to my every need. I’d given her everything that I had, and everything she’d ever asked for, without stinting.
When we first got married she’d had a few good friends but over a short period she had lost contact with them, even her best friend Jackie had stopped calling. She had no close family either but I remember her telling me once that she didn’t need other company as long as she had me.
When I got in from work the meal was always ready to place on the table and the house was always spotless, just how I liked it. Julie kept herself in good shape; I abhor sloppiness, and was always smartly dressed.
Our physical relationship was also very good. We had sex whenever I wanted it and she was always attentive and unselfish in her desire to give me the pleasure I enjoyed. She was always willing to try out any news ideas I had in an attempt to keep our relationship fresh.
I know now where it went wrong, I discovered she had a part time job. I had been unaware that she had taken the job. It turns out that she’d arranged her hours so that she was working only during the day, after I had left for work, and would be home in time to straighten everything out and have my tea ready as always. I’d never suspected, didn’t know anything about it until the divorce had started but then little things in her attitude or her stance had made me wonder who she had been in contact with, who had been whispering in her ear. I would never have guessed her secret.
I came home from the pub one night and Julie had just up and left…………
Julie:
I arrive home and quietly close the door to my small flat. At last I am divorced and again my own woman. It has taken 2 years but after 15 years of a painful marriage those two years have flown by.
I ponder how I had changed so much in fifteen years, from a bright intelligent young woman to the timid mouse I had eventually become. Why, oh why, had I allowed myself to be bullied both physically and mentally? Originally it was love, such a small word to encompass such passion and agony. Eventually it had been fear and the undermining by John of my own self worth and confidence. A never-ending spiral of love, pain and humiliation. No one could help me break the spiral, it was something I had needed to do myself
It was Jackie who had brought me back to myself. Jackie, who through a chance meeting at the supermarket, had helped me turn my life around. She had been delighted to see me again and invited me for coffee and a chat to catch up but I’d begged off by telling her I had to get back and get tea on. This was only partly true, in reality all the people and noise of the supermarket made me very nervous. We ended up arranging to meet for coffee the next day before we parted and I very nearly didn’t go, now I am so glad that I did.
We started meeting every week for coffee and originally Jackie had done most of the talking. She had entertained me with the ups and downs of her life, both the good times and the not so good, the funny and the sad. It had taken me weeks to open up about my life, usually all she could get out of me was that everything is fine and nothing is happening of interest in my life. As it turns out that statement had been true but only because I didn’t have a life. I was a walking, talking appendage to John with no thoughts or opinions of my own that hadn’t first been endorsed by him. Eventually I opened up to Jackie and gave her a glimpse of my life, such as it was.
When the beatings and humiliation finally came to light peoples usual reaction was to question why had I taken it for so long, it was certainly the initial reaction I’d gotten from Jackie. The easiest answer I gave these people is that it had become a habit. If something had been wrong and John had been annoyed, or I had upset him somehow, I’d believed that I had earned the ensuing beating as a lesson not to do it again. This was the way my parents married life had been and I saw nothing wrong with that. Yet while I had been very quick to learn any lesson taught I soon discovered that there was always something new to learn or some nuance in the previous lesson that I had missed.
Once Jackie had got over her initial shock she turned out to be, once again, my best friend. She listened week in and week out as I described my life to her and several months later had convinced me to speak to someone who could understand my pain and explain to me that things really were not that good in my life and how best to change them. It took John many years to mould me into the person he wanted me to be but it took only nine months to break the initial link in the chain.
The reasons John punched me were many and always while landing a punch on my back or into my ribs he would insist that I don’t do it again. A dirty cup that should have been washed was still on the sink, a corner had been missed while dusting, a speck on the carpet, the shirt he wanted to wear tomorrow hadn’t been ironed or maybe even just a hair in the bath. He was a freak about cleanseliness. Every day I had to vac the whole house, clean the bedding, dust, wash, scrub and dry. Every day the first thing he did after eating his dinner was to go through the whole house looking for a reason to lash out at me.
The nights were the worst though; he was clean everywhere but in the bedroom. The act of sex was not a loving, sharing thing and the pain and humiliation I endured during the night I do not have the courage to talk about yet.
I took a job in the supermarket, the same one I used to be so frightened of, to get some money together in anticipation of the day I would leave John. I knew the day would come when I would find the strength to leave and intended to be well prepared for it. The months leading up to my walking out were the most painful I had endured in a long time. Working part time in the supermarket I had been able to keep secret but the subsequent changes in me from interacting with other people so much could not be hidden. I endured his fists striking me in bitter silence until the day he broke my foot. It was only the second time he had broken one of my bones. Very early in our marriage he had broken my cheekbone when he had just lashed out and tongues had wagged. Usually he was careful to hit me where other people would not be able to see his handiwork but on that occasion he took me by the throat, slammed me against the fridge and deliberately stomped on my foot.
I heard the bones break and in the distance I could hear a woman screaming. Then I heard the sound of breaking teeth as his fist slammed into my mouth to shut me up. As he released his grip I slid down to the floor and huddled there sobbing quietly. He just left me there as he collected his coat on the way out for his usual couple of pints. He slammed the front door and that is when I heard it – the sound of the first link in the chain that had bound me for so long had snapped.
I called Jackie and while it was hard for me to speak she understood immediately that I needed her and arrived on my doorstep 30 minutes later. The door wasn’t locked and as I heard it open my stomach cramped up and I nearly vomited, my fearful reaction to the thought that John had returned. Jackie smiled at me initially as she took in the sight of a frozen bag of sprouts on my foot and a bag of peas held to my mouth and then reality hit her.
A shadowy figure materialised behind her and I bolted upright out of the chair, sending it flying backwards, as Jackie turned. She just stood there in shock and was immediately wrapped in a pair of strong arms, darling Jackie had brought her husband with her. He carried me to the car while Jackie grabbed handfuls of my belongings and then he drove us to the hospital. I never returned to the house I’d shared with John.
It is early evening now and the sun is shining into my small flat. Dancing over the dusty surfaces and the papers that have been left haphazardly around the room. Everything seems brighter today and sounds are sharper as if I have at last stepped out of a padded cell. It’s strange what certain noises can be associated with. If you were to visit my home you would not find any carpets, I don’t own a vacuum cleaner. My clothes go to the launderette and are delivered back to me. There is no washing machine in my home and even the creaking of the ironing board is enough to sending my mind fleeing down a dark corridor in an attempt to hide from the anticipated pain.
Today I am 35 years young and I’m going out with the girls who are under a strict dress code. I’m wearing my jeans, the first pair I have owned in eighteen years. As I get ready I use a cream deodorant, you see even the sound of a spray canister can spark fear into me. As I pass back through my room I smile at the dust. It will keep, I’m quite happy leaving it for a long while yet.
What's cylinal? - should read *clinical*
Excellent,excellent. Absorbing and very believable. I felt kind of tense reading it. His side of the story was cylinal [if that's the right word], and her side was traumatic to say the least. Very good. Enjoyed it.
Oops - no the timing was not intentional. It was supposed to indicate that he had 14 goods years and she had 15 bad ones. The year difference is when she was undergoing the changes in her life. I understood that as I was picturing the story as I wrote and checked it but I agree it doesn't come across very well.
Thanks all for taking the time to read this and comment.
Thanks all for taking the time to read this and comment.
Some good little touches in there, particularly one, whether it was intended or not, where he says they'd been married for 14 years, yet she says 15.
There's just something about that, it's a typical sort of thing.
Good story.
There's just something about that, it's a typical sort of thing.
Good story.
I thought that was excellent.
good
John:
Did you hear that? That was the final slam of the door after a long, bitter divorce. The sound that indicates I am a single man again.
We’d been married for fourteen years before things started to go wrong and as far as I was concerned they had been happy years. For those fourteen years Julie had been a wonderful wife, ever attentive to my every need. I’d given her everything that I had, and everything she’d ever asked for, without stinting.
When we first got married she’d had a few good friends but over a short period she had lost contact with them, even her best friend Jackie had stopped calling. She had no close family either but I remember her telling me once that she didn’t need other company as long as she had me.
When I got in from work the meal was always ready to place on the table and the house was always spotless, just how I liked it. Julie kept herself in good shape; I abhor sloppiness, and was always smartly dressed.
Our physical relationship was also very good. We had sex whenever I wanted it and she was always attentive and unselfish in her desire to give me the pleasure I enjoyed. She was always willing to try out any news ideas I had in an attempt to keep our relationship fresh.
I know now where it went wrong, I discovered she had a part time job. I had been unaware that she had taken the job. It turns out that she’d arranged her hours so that she was working only during the day, after I had left for work, and would be home in time to straighten everything out and have my tea ready as always. I’d never suspected, didn’t know anything about it until the divorce had started but then little things in her attitude or her stance had made me wonder who she had been in contact with, who had been whispering in her ear. I would never have guessed her secret.
I came home from the pub one night and Julie had just up and left…………
Julie:
I arrive home and quietly close the door to my small flat. At last I am divorced and again my own woman. It has taken 2 years but after 15 years of a painful marriage those two years have flown by.
I ponder how I had changed so much in fifteen years, from a bright intelligent young woman to the timid mouse I had eventually become. Why, oh why, had I allowed myself to be bullied both physically and mentally? Originally it was love, such a small word to encompass such passion and agony. Eventually it had been fear and the undermining by John of my own self worth and confidence. A never-ending spiral of love, pain and humiliation. No one could help me break the spiral, it was something I had needed to do myself
It was Jackie who had brought me back to myself. Jackie, who through a chance meeting at the supermarket, had helped me turn my life around. She had been delighted to see me again and invited me for coffee and a chat to catch up but I’d begged off by telling her I had to get back and get tea on. This was only partly true, in reality all the people and noise of the supermarket made me very nervous. We ended up arranging to meet for coffee the next day before we parted and I very nearly didn’t go, now I am so glad that I did.
We started meeting every week for coffee and originally Jackie had done most of the talking. She had entertained me with the ups and downs of her life, both the good times and the not so good, the funny and the sad. It had taken me weeks to open up about my life, usually all she could get out of me was that everything is fine and nothing is happening of interest in my life. As it turns out that statement had been true but only because I didn’t have a life. I was a walking, talking appendage to John with no thoughts or opinions of my own that hadn’t first been endorsed by him. Eventually I opened up to Jackie and gave her a glimpse of my life, such as it was.
When the beatings and humiliation finally came to light peoples usual reaction was to question why had I taken it for so long, it was certainly the initial reaction I’d gotten from Jackie. The easiest answer I gave these people is that it had become a habit. If something had been wrong and John had been annoyed, or I had upset him somehow, I’d believed that I had earned the ensuing beating as a lesson not to do it again. This was the way my parents married life had been and I saw nothing wrong with that. Yet while I had been very quick to learn any lesson taught I soon discovered that there was always something new to learn or some nuance in the previous lesson that I had missed.
Once Jackie had got over her initial shock she turned out to be, once again, my best friend. She listened week in and week out as I described my life to her and several months later had convinced me to speak to someone who could understand my pain and explain to me that things really were not that good in my life and how best to change them. It took John many years to mould me into the person he wanted me to be but it took only nine months to break the initial link in the chain.
The reasons John punched me were many and always while landing a punch on my back or into my ribs he would insist that I don’t do it again. A dirty cup that should have been washed was still on the sink, a corner had been missed while dusting, a speck on the carpet, the shirt he wanted to wear tomorrow hadn’t been ironed or maybe even just a hair in the bath. He was a freak about cleanseliness. Every day I had to vac the whole house, clean the bedding, dust, wash, scrub and dry. Every day the first thing he did after eating his dinner was to go through the whole house looking for a reason to lash out at me.
The nights were the worst though; he was clean everywhere but in the bedroom. The act of sex was not a loving, sharing thing and the pain and humiliation I endured during the night I do not have the courage to talk about yet.
I took a job in the supermarket, the same one I used to be so frightened of, to get some money together in anticipation of the day I would leave John. I knew the day would come when I would find the strength to leave and intended to be well prepared for it. The months leading up to my walking out were the most painful I had endured in a long time. Working part time in the supermarket I had been able to keep secret but the subsequent changes in me from interacting with other people so much could not be hidden. I endured his fists striking me in bitter silence until the day he broke my foot. It was only the second time he had broken one of my bones. Very early in our marriage he had broken my cheekbone when he had just lashed out and tongues had wagged. Usually he was careful to hit me where other people would not be able to see his handiwork but on that occasion he took me by the throat, slammed me against the fridge and deliberately stomped on my foot.
I heard the bones break and in the distance I could hear a woman screaming. Then I heard the sound of breaking teeth as his fist slammed into my mouth to shut me up. As he released his grip I slid down to the floor and huddled there sobbing quietly. He just left me there as he collected his coat on the way out for his usual couple of pints. He slammed the front door and that is when I heard it – the sound of the first link in the chain that had bound me for so long had snapped.
I called Jackie and while it was hard for me to speak she understood immediately that I needed her and arrived on my doorstep 30 minutes later. The door wasn’t locked and as I heard it open my stomach cramped up and I nearly vomited, my fearful reaction to the thought that John had returned. Jackie smiled at me initially as she took in the sight of a frozen bag of sprouts on my foot and a bag of peas held to my mouth and then reality hit her.
A shadowy figure materialised behind her and I bolted upright out of the chair, sending it flying backwards, as Jackie turned. She just stood there in shock and was immediately wrapped in a pair of strong arms, darling Jackie had brought her husband with her. He carried me to the car while Jackie grabbed handfuls of my belongings and then he drove us to the hospital. I never returned to the house I’d shared with John.
It is early evening now and the sun is shining into my small flat. Dancing over the dusty surfaces and the papers that have been left haphazardly around the room. Everything seems brighter today and sounds are sharper as if I have at last stepped out of a padded cell. It’s strange what certain noises can be associated with. If you were to visit my home you would not find any carpets, I don’t own a vacuum cleaner. My clothes go to the launderette and are delivered back to me. There is no washing machine in my home and even the creaking of the ironing board is enough to sending my mind fleeing down a dark corridor in an attempt to hide from the anticipated pain.
Today I am 35 years young and I’m going out with the girls who are under a strict dress code. I’m wearing my jeans, the first pair I have owned in eighteen years. As I get ready I use a cream deodorant, you see even the sound of a spray canister can spark fear into me. As I pass back through my room I smile at the dust. It will keep, I’m quite happy leaving it for a long while yet.
Did you hear that? That was the final slam of the door after a long, bitter divorce. The sound that indicates I am a single man again.
We’d been married for fourteen years before things started to go wrong and as far as I was concerned they had been happy years. For those fourteen years Julie had been a wonderful wife, ever attentive to my every need. I’d given her everything that I had, and everything she’d ever asked for, without stinting.
When we first got married she’d had a few good friends but over a short period she had lost contact with them, even her best friend Jackie had stopped calling. She had no close family either but I remember her telling me once that she didn’t need other company as long as she had me.
When I got in from work the meal was always ready to place on the table and the house was always spotless, just how I liked it. Julie kept herself in good shape; I abhor sloppiness, and was always smartly dressed.
Our physical relationship was also very good. We had sex whenever I wanted it and she was always attentive and unselfish in her desire to give me the pleasure I enjoyed. She was always willing to try out any news ideas I had in an attempt to keep our relationship fresh.
I know now where it went wrong, I discovered she had a part time job. I had been unaware that she had taken the job. It turns out that she’d arranged her hours so that she was working only during the day, after I had left for work, and would be home in time to straighten everything out and have my tea ready as always. I’d never suspected, didn’t know anything about it until the divorce had started but then little things in her attitude or her stance had made me wonder who she had been in contact with, who had been whispering in her ear. I would never have guessed her secret.
I came home from the pub one night and Julie had just up and left…………
Julie:
I arrive home and quietly close the door to my small flat. At last I am divorced and again my own woman. It has taken 2 years but after 15 years of a painful marriage those two years have flown by.
I ponder how I had changed so much in fifteen years, from a bright intelligent young woman to the timid mouse I had eventually become. Why, oh why, had I allowed myself to be bullied both physically and mentally? Originally it was love, such a small word to encompass such passion and agony. Eventually it had been fear and the undermining by John of my own self worth and confidence. A never-ending spiral of love, pain and humiliation. No one could help me break the spiral, it was something I had needed to do myself
It was Jackie who had brought me back to myself. Jackie, who through a chance meeting at the supermarket, had helped me turn my life around. She had been delighted to see me again and invited me for coffee and a chat to catch up but I’d begged off by telling her I had to get back and get tea on. This was only partly true, in reality all the people and noise of the supermarket made me very nervous. We ended up arranging to meet for coffee the next day before we parted and I very nearly didn’t go, now I am so glad that I did.
We started meeting every week for coffee and originally Jackie had done most of the talking. She had entertained me with the ups and downs of her life, both the good times and the not so good, the funny and the sad. It had taken me weeks to open up about my life, usually all she could get out of me was that everything is fine and nothing is happening of interest in my life. As it turns out that statement had been true but only because I didn’t have a life. I was a walking, talking appendage to John with no thoughts or opinions of my own that hadn’t first been endorsed by him. Eventually I opened up to Jackie and gave her a glimpse of my life, such as it was.
When the beatings and humiliation finally came to light peoples usual reaction was to question why had I taken it for so long, it was certainly the initial reaction I’d gotten from Jackie. The easiest answer I gave these people is that it had become a habit. If something had been wrong and John had been annoyed, or I had upset him somehow, I’d believed that I had earned the ensuing beating as a lesson not to do it again. This was the way my parents married life had been and I saw nothing wrong with that. Yet while I had been very quick to learn any lesson taught I soon discovered that there was always something new to learn or some nuance in the previous lesson that I had missed.
Once Jackie had got over her initial shock she turned out to be, once again, my best friend. She listened week in and week out as I described my life to her and several months later had convinced me to speak to someone who could understand my pain and explain to me that things really were not that good in my life and how best to change them. It took John many years to mould me into the person he wanted me to be but it took only nine months to break the initial link in the chain.
The reasons John punched me were many and always while landing a punch on my back or into my ribs he would insist that I don’t do it again. A dirty cup that should have been washed was still on the sink, a corner had been missed while dusting, a speck on the carpet, the shirt he wanted to wear tomorrow hadn’t been ironed or maybe even just a hair in the bath. He was a freak about cleanseliness. Every day I had to vac the whole house, clean the bedding, dust, wash, scrub and dry. Every day the first thing he did after eating his dinner was to go through the whole house looking for a reason to lash out at me.
The nights were the worst though; he was clean everywhere but in the bedroom. The act of sex was not a loving, sharing thing and the pain and humiliation I endured during the night I do not have the courage to talk about yet.
I took a job in the supermarket, the same one I used to be so frightened of, to get some money together in anticipation of the day I would leave John. I knew the day would come when I would find the strength to leave and intended to be well prepared for it. The months leading up to my walking out were the most painful I had endured in a long time. Working part time in the supermarket I had been able to keep secret but the subsequent changes in me from interacting with other people so much could not be hidden. I endured his fists striking me in bitter silence until the day he broke my foot. It was only the second time he had broken one of my bones. Very early in our marriage he had broken my cheekbone when he had just lashed out and tongues had wagged. Usually he was careful to hit me where other people would not be able to see his handiwork but on that occasion he took me by the throat, slammed me against the fridge and deliberately stomped on my foot.
I heard the bones break and in the distance I could hear a woman screaming. Then I heard the sound of breaking teeth as his fist slammed into my mouth to shut me up. As he released his grip I slid down to the floor and huddled there sobbing quietly. He just left me there as he collected his coat on the way out for his usual couple of pints. He slammed the front door and that is when I heard it – the sound of the first link in the chain that had bound me for so long had snapped.
I called Jackie and while it was hard for me to speak she understood immediately that I needed her and arrived on my doorstep 30 minutes later. The door wasn’t locked and as I heard it open my stomach cramped up and I nearly vomited, my fearful reaction to the thought that John had returned. Jackie smiled at me initially as she took in the sight of a frozen bag of sprouts on my foot and a bag of peas held to my mouth and then reality hit her.
A shadowy figure materialised behind her and I bolted upright out of the chair, sending it flying backwards, as Jackie turned. She just stood there in shock and was immediately wrapped in a pair of strong arms, darling Jackie had brought her husband with her. He carried me to the car while Jackie grabbed handfuls of my belongings and then he drove us to the hospital. I never returned to the house I’d shared with John.
It is early evening now and the sun is shining into my small flat. Dancing over the dusty surfaces and the papers that have been left haphazardly around the room. Everything seems brighter today and sounds are sharper as if I have at last stepped out of a padded cell. It’s strange what certain noises can be associated with. If you were to visit my home you would not find any carpets, I don’t own a vacuum cleaner. My clothes go to the launderette and are delivered back to me. There is no washing machine in my home and even the creaking of the ironing board is enough to sending my mind fleeing down a dark corridor in an attempt to hide from the anticipated pain.
Today I am 35 years young and I’m going out with the girls who are under a strict dress code. I’m wearing my jeans, the first pair I have owned in eighteen years. As I get ready I use a cream deodorant, you see even the sound of a spray canister can spark fear into me. As I pass back through my room I smile at the dust. It will keep, I’m quite happy leaving it for a long while yet.