After Paul exits the shower, I take my time washing my hair, basking in the sated after-sex glow. Then I towel off, letting my hair air-dry, and walk back into the bedroom.
All that hope dissipates when my gaze lands on Paul, standing over my night table with my journal in his hand.
Open.
A mixture of confusion and anger contorts his face. “This is what you’ve been writing in here?”
“Paul, that’s private.” My voice is a meek whisper, fear constricting my airways.
“Our marriage is private. Yet you’re writing about me, about us. What the hell, Callie?”
I wrap my robe around my naked body, knotting the strap as if it will protect me. I venture closer to Paul, my body trembling with every step.
“It’s supposed to be an exercise to help me when I feel anxious.”
He flips to the page I wrote today and stabs it with his finger. “Why won’t Josie speak to you, and what do I have to do with it?”
I scrub my hands over my face, unsure whether I should tell him the truth.
Maybe it’s better to get it all out.
Maybe that’s the only way we can move forward.
Maybe the secrets and the lies have been burying me, little by little, and the only way for me to dig myself out of this pit is by confronting this head-on.
Confronting him.
“Josie found out. She found out that you ...”
Come on, Callie.
“You ...”
Paul’s eyebrows dip down. “That I what?”
Be courageous.
Courageous Callie.
I swallow around the lump in my throat and look into Paul’s eyes. “She found out that you’ve been hitting me.”
Paul tosses the journal onto the mattress and stalks toward me. My muscles lock, cringing in anticipation.
“She found out? Or you told her?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t tell her!”
“Then how did she find out, Callie?”
“Because ... Cole ... he came by the house and saw the bruise on my cheek.”
His face reddens as a crazed look takes over his eyes. “Cole.”
I hold my breath, waiting in the terrifying silence that hangs between us.
Paul inches closer, backing me toward the wall.
“I didn’t mean for her to find out, I swear. But it’s over now. It’s behind us. You don’t have to hit me anymore. We can move past this together.”
Paul’s fist cocks back, and I squeeze my eyes shut, but it hurtles into the wall instead, inches from my head.
Maverick barks wildly beside us.
Paul’s knuckles are bloody as he pulls his hand out of the hole he put in the Sheetrock. “You think I want to hit you, Callie? You think I enjoy this? You think I like being this way?”
Tears stream down my cheeks as I shake my head. “No! I know you don’t. That’s why I forgive you, why I still love you. I know we can make this work, but you have to stop hurting me.” I whimper. “You can’t keep hurting me, Paul.”
“It’s too late for that now!” he yells. His fingers wrap around my neck, gripping so hard that I can’t breathe. “Everyone knows the truth! How are we supposed to move on and pretend like none of this ever happened?”
I claw at his hand, his wrist, his arm, smacking him as I sputter, unable to suck in a breath. My eyes plead with him to let me go, to let me breathe.
Why is he doing this?
Why is he hurting me?
Why am I letting him?
His grip around my neck tightens, and he lifts me until my toes dangle above the floor. Then he tosses me onto the bed.
Run!
Coughing and clutching my neck, I gulp down deep breaths as I scramble to my feet and run into the hallway.
Maverick bolts downstairs ahead of me.
“Where are you going?” Paul’s voice thunders.
I stop at the top of the stairs and turn around to face him, mustering as much nerve as I possibly can. My throat is raw, my voice hoarse. It hurts to speak.
But I know I must.
My voice is all I have.
“I’m leaving, Paul. You’re hurting me, and you’re not thinking straight. We can talk after you’ve calmed down.”
I don’t wait for him to respond. I spin around and race down the stairs. I swipe my purse off the entryway table and twist the lock on the front door, my fingers fumbling as they quiver.
Paul reaches me as soon as I swing open the door, grasping my wrist and yanking me backwards. “You are not leaving this house!”
The wild desperation in his eyes terrifies me. I pull back, attempting to shake myself free from his grip. “Yes, I am. Please, Paul. Let me go!”
His open palm smacks against my cheek, and then he grips my jaw so hard it feels as if it’ll crack under the pressure. “You are mine; do you understand me? You are not leaving this house!”
Adrenaline surges through my veins. “I won’t go back in that house with you like this.”
He grits his teeth and winds up to hit me again, but I jam my knee between his legs with all my might.
“Son of a bitch!” Paul hunches forward and releases my arm.
The grass crunches under my feet as I flee across the lawn.
Go!
Go!
Go!
I don’t check the street before crossing, and the blare of a horn jolts my body as I freeze like a deer in the headlights. Brakes screech as the rusted bumper of a broken-down truck stops mere inches away from me.
The driver’s door flings open. “Callie! Are you okay?”
I blink rapidly, my heart pulsing in my throat as Cole rushes toward me.
“I almost hit you. What are you doing?” His eyes rove over me. “Why are you in your bathrobe?”
My lips open to speak, but a gasp comes out instead. Paul’s fist crashes into the side of Cole’s face, blindsiding him.
My hands fly up to my mouth. “Paul, no!”
Cole staggers backward, and Paul lands another punch. He’s about to strike again, but Cole lunges toward him, ramming his shoulder into his midsection and flipping him onto his back in the middle of the road.
Cole straddles Paul and hammers his fists into his face, over and over. Left, right, left, right. Blood explodes with every punch he lands, and all I can do is shriek.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Josie rushes into the street.
“Paul ... Cole ...” I can’t get the words out to explain what’s going on, or why it’s happening.
Dan jumps in and attempts to pull Cole off of Paul, whose arms now lie limp at his sides on the ground.
“Enough!” Dan catches Cole by the crook of his elbow and stops his next punch. “Enough, brother.”
Cole’s chest heaves as he stands. Blood trickles down his cheek from the cut just under his eye. His knuckles are raw, and blood covers his white T-shirt.
But it’s nothing compared to Paul.
I kneel beside my husband, hovering over him, cradling his mangled face in my hands. “Come on, Paul. We have to get you inside.”
He moans, barely able to open his eyes.
I glance up at Dan. “Do you think he needs a hospital?”
“You should let him rot in the street.” Cole gets back into his idling truck and peels out in the opposite direction.
Dan bends down and throws Paul’s arm around his neck. “I’ll get him into the house. Josie, take Callie inside.”