“Take your fucking hands off me,” I tell him through gritted teeth. At the same time, I push both my hands against his chest, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s drunk or because he wasn’t expecting it, but he falls to his back.
My ears ring with the deafening silence as I lay propped on one elbow, waiting on his reaction. I start to push myself up. Deciding in that instant that I’m going, leaving. Fuck it all. I’ll worry about what’s in the safe tomorrow. I don’t care if I have no money, none of my personal documents, I’m done, so fucking done with him and his shit.
I expect him to grab my hair or slap my face as I start to move out of the bed. What I don’t expect is for him to twist his body in such a way that he’s able to use the soles of both his feet to kick me out of the bed with such force, I crash into my bedside chest of drawers.
My breath catches as my ribs smash against the edge and the whole thing tips over, taking me with it, only stopping when my head and the side of my face crack against the wall.
I’m not sure if I blackout, but the room is silent for a few moments, and stars dance in front of my eyes, and there’s a shrill ringing in my ears.
“If you’re not up for fucking me, then there’s no need to keep you in my bed. You can sleep on the fucking floor, exactly where you belong, you useless cunt,” Jay hisses from somewhere above me. There’s a moment, the briefest of moments where I allow myself to hope that he’s done and I attempt to sit myself up. That’s when his fist connects with my cheekbone and the side of my head. I’m not sure if he kicks or pushes me, but I’m again slammed against the bedside chest of drawers I’m still laying across.
The wind is knocked out of me, and I fight to catch my breath while trying not to panic. The room is dark, and I’ve lost all sense of direction as I attempt to find the wall, or anything to lean against and right myself.
I can taste salt and blood. I try so hard to hold onto my tears and sobs, but they escape as whimpers and snorts. Too scared to move, I lay motionless as I listen to Jay climb back into bed, and within what is probably seconds, but feels like minutes, he begins to snore.
Scrambling frantically in the dark, I eventually find the wall. Pressing my palm against it, I attempt to stand. The chest of drawers tips and I fall with it, letting out a groan at the pain shooting across my ribs.
With my hand covering my mouth to quieten the sound of my heaving breaths, I take a moment for my head to stop spinning and to calm my racing thoughts. I need to get out of here and to do that, I need to stay calm. I take a few deep breaths in through my nose, with my entire body almost convulsing with how hard it shakes, I reach out a trembling hand and eventually find the wall again. Finding purchase, I leverage myself into a kneeling position, move around the drawers, collecting my phone which had been sitting on it as I go, and attempt to crawl on all fours into our walk-in wardrobe. Pain slices through my shoulder, so instead, I shuffle on my knees.
Using the light from my phone, I find my UGGs and pull them on, along with a big oversized cardigan hanging from a hook.
Standing upright, my head spins, and my stomach roils. I swipe at the blood that’s pouring from my nose, has coated my chin, and is dripping onto my chest.
I blow out a few short breaths and close my eyes, again trying to get my shit together. Fuelled by pure adrenaline, I fight back the pain, ignore the blood still dripping from my nose, and now coating my ear and neck from a cut somewhere in my head. In a futile effort at holding myself together, I wrap one arm around my middle and nod. ‘You can do this,’ I mouth.
Silently, I move to the opening of our walk-in, too scared to use the light on my phone to check Jay’s still sleeping, I rely on his snore as an indicator. Reaching my bedroom door, I close my eyes while opening it as carefully as possible. Tiptoeing along the hallway towards the front door, I unlock it, pull it open, and step outside. Finally letting out the shaky breath I’d been holding onto, I run, leaving my home, my husband, my marriage, and the life that I thought would always be mine behind.
I run until I vomit. Scared that the sound of me throwing up and my sobs will wake someone up in our usually quiet neighbourhood, I turn down an alley and head towards the small row of shops I know are just a few blocks away.
As I walk, I dial Jo’s number. My hands, legs, and insides are shaking to the point I can barely hold my phone or focus on putting one foot in front of the other. The call goes to voicemail, and I’m about to call again, when I see a set of car headlights approaching from up ahead, I can’t hold back the cry of absolute fear that escapes me. Terrified it might be Jay, I duck into a driveway, my cardigan catching on something and pulling me into a bush as something sharp tears against the skin on my bare legs.
I squat in the darkness—my body heaving with the force of my tears and sobs. As the car draws level, I lose all control and wet myself.
With my hand covering my mouth to quieten the sounds I’m making, I draw in a breath through my nose before choking out heaving sighs of relief as soon as the lights and sound of the car disappear. Having no option but to keep moving, and beyond feeling ashamed, I stand, wipe the inside of the tops of my legs on my cardigan, and start moving again towards the shops.
A floodlight illuminates the small car park, so I keep close to the darkened shopfronts, dashing past the bakers—where I usually get my coffee on my morning walks—which is lit up at the back, and make my way to the alley running between an Italian deli and the barbers.
Once in the alley, I hit Jo’s number again. I don’t know if that was Jay’s car that passed me earlier, but I remain hidden and hopefully safe from being seen from the road. It takes two more tries before Jo picks up.
“Lauren, what's wrong?”
“Jo,” I sob, overwhelmed with relief at hearing her voice. “Jo, please. Please can you come and get me. Please. I've had a fight with Jay.”
“Where are you?”
I can’t think straight. The pain radiating through my left shoulder is now so intense, my legs buckle, and I slide down the brick wall I’m leaning against. The freezing cold of the concrete pathway permeates my piss-soaked shorts and skin.
Leaning to the side, I vomit again, all the while, Jo is firing off questions I can’t quite hear.
“I’m at the shops where the bakers and deli are. I can’t see the name of the street; I can’t remember what. . . I don’t know the name of the street, Jo, I don’t know it.” I’m crying and trying to catch my breath as my teeth chatter together. I do know the name of the street, but my brain refuses to function and give me the answer. Another car drives by, and I release my breaths out in short pants, terrified the occupants might hear me breathe or cry. Letting out a whimper of relief when it passes, I hear Jo calling my name down the phone.
“Lauren, listen to me. I need you to calm the fuck down and listen. I know where you are, and I’m coming there now.”
“Jo, just make sure Jay’s not driving about looking for me. Listen to me, Jo, make sure. . .”
“I will, I’ll turn off my headlights,” she cuts me off and says. “I need you to stay calm and listen. I’m just getting into my car, when I start it up the phone will cut out and the Bluetooth will kick in, but I’m still here, okay, I’m still with you. It’ll just drop out for a few seconds.” It takes about thirty seconds before I hear her again.