Either way, I’m still bracing myself for Roger’s rage. I know it’s coming… Any second now.
I swallow and grit my teeth, preparing for a blow.
“Alex, sweetie, please come sit down. We need to have a talk,” Roger says and tugs me gently by my hand, over to the bed. He has a seat, so I hesitantly sit next to him.
He’s still squeezing my hand in his, over his lap, and I watch as he runs his thumb across my knuckles. Tension radiates through my body. I hate this. I hate sitting around waiting to be hit. It’s incredibly stressful.
“I want to talk to you about something,” he starts, his tone even and attempting to convey sincerity. I wouldn’t buy this act if it was on sale, two for one. “I know you think every time I leave this house, I’m going to the home of some mistress… That any time spent not working, I’m screwing miscellaneous women all over the city.”
That’s not true, Roger. I wouldn’t put it past you to go to Jersey, too.
“And well, at one time, I suppose you would have been right,” he keeps going, staring down at our joined hands.
I witness him swallow hard, his throat adjusting as he does, something I used to find so attractive on him. But now, all I can think of is how his neck would look bruised and battered the way mine is.
“But Alexandra, I promise I’m done with that,” he turns his head and finally looks at me, catching me off-guard with those gem-like blue eyes, wide in some emotion I can’t determine, because I didn’t think he possessed any emotions outside of anger, hostility, and disdain. “I can never take back what I’ve done to you… To us. And my… infidelities…” His voice trails and he huffs, shaking his head. “Well, let’s just say I learned my lesson. I only want you, Alex. You’re my forever.”
I gape at him in silence, my mouth hanging open like it’s waiting for someone to reach in and pull out whatever words I’m supposed to say right now. I’m completely confused.
What in the name of all that is holy is he TALKING ABOUT?!
This man’s been cheating on me for years, not to mention simultaneously beating the crap out of me, which just adds insult to literal injury. And now he thinks he can give me some weak apology and tell me I’m his forever?!
He’s been my forever! The whole time, up until two years ago! Where was this guy then??
My blood is boiling, muscles stiffening all over my body in blinding rage. I need to keep my cool and not freak out. I can’t give him a reason to go on the defensive and slap me just to shut me up, but I really want to say so many things. I’m not sure I can keep my mouth shut this time…
“Roger…” I grind his name, closing my eyes.
“And I know, you’re not just going to forgive me,” he goes on. “I know, Alex. I fucked up so many times… Just a few apologies won’t cut it. Even me changing my behavior won’t… I know that. But I want you to know that I will keep trying. I will fix this relationship, you’ll see. I’m going to be the husband you deserve.”
He stops to breathe out slowly, grasping my face in his hands. I don’t mean to, but I flinch. He notices, but it just makes his eyes wider.
“I don’t want to give you any more excuses to leave me.”
I’m unable to move my eyes from his. They’re so blue; so bright and effervescent. I’ve never seen anything like that color before. I remember how special they used to make me feel when he was looking at only me.
But then things changed. He became the person I’m assuming he always was; the evil he was hiding. And now when he looks at me with those eyes, all I feel is regret.
Regret for what we could have been, if he wasn’t a monster. Regret for the years; the time wasted. Regret for all the tears I’ve cried, all the excuses I’ve made, and all the things I’ve missed out on doing because I was too busy chaining myself to a man who would never be what I needed.
Even if I wanted to believe his little speech, which I don’t, I wouldn’t allow myself to. It’s been too long. Too much has happened…
But I can’t let him know that.
This is actually the perfect opportunity for me to get my life together enough to leave him. While he’s sitting around, pretending to be a good husband - which I imagine will last all of two weeks before he gets bored and angry and decides to smack me around again - I’ll be planning my escape.
It shouldn’t take me too long… I’ve been mentally preparing for two years. The only problem before was that I had no confidence in myself. I had no one to turn to for love and support… and courage. I was all alone.
But now I have a friend. I have Noah. He believes in me and wants to help me get the hell away from my abusive husband. And for the first time ever, I think I’m ready.
I can do this.
So I summon all of my internal bad-bitch - trust and believe, she’s been cowering for far too long - and I pull the fakest smile I can manage, leaning my head into my husband’s touch.
“It will be really hard to trust you again…” My tone is on-point. I’ve had two years of practice, after all.
He blinks, brows zipping together. “I know, darling. But I swear to you, I’ll make this right. I’ll make it up to you and make you proud to be my wife again.”
Barf.
“I hope so, baby,” I nod. “It’s all I’ve wanted.”
“I love you so much, Alex,” he leans in and kisses my lips softly.
I hate you. “I love you, too.”
Chapter Eleven
Alex’s Journal
Barnaby, let me tell you about something good that happened.
I just sold a piece to a local gallery. And I did it all on my own. No help from anyone.
I’ve never been more proud of myself than I am right now. But unfortunately my pride comes coated in shame and misery these days.
In the past year, I’ve painted more than ever. And every single piece is magnificent. They’re dark, and edgy, and provocative. Everything I’ve ever wanted to be as a painter.
The pain in my life serves as my motivation, the emotional, and the physical…
Roger, my husband, is also like my captor. My home feels like a prison, but really I’m free to leave whenever I want.
It’s my heart that keeps me locked up in chains.
He still hits me. And he cheats on me. And I let him because I’m afraid. Not even of him so much as I am afraid of me.
Who would I be without Roger? I don’t know any life without him.
I know there was an Alex before Roger Glines, but for some reason I can’t picture her. Everything about me is so tangled up in him I can no longer tell where he ends and I begin.
He’s a real piece of shit, of the lowest caliber. And I know he loves that I stay with him, despite how awful he is to me.
I hate him. I loathe him with a fiery fury deep in my gut.
But the truth is I hate me even more.
I hate myself for staying. I hate myself for the small glimmer of hope inside every time he apologizes, and says it’s the last time. I hate myself for being a cliché, and for letting a man break me.
I hate myself, and yet there’s a voice in my brain that speaks up every now and then. Not often, and barely loud enough for me to hear it. But when it does, I want to grab onto it and squeeze.