G: You okay?
My heart thumped heavily against my chest. No. I wasn’t okay. I hadn’t been okay in a very long time, and I was fooling myself into ever believing that I’d be whole again. My loss was too much. Too great. More than any man could bear.
I thought I could put myself out there, but the more I thought about it the more I became afraid. I couldn’t open myself back up to that kind of pain again.
Me: Yeah. I should probably get going.
I stood and pocketed my phone, tossed on my jacket, then headed toward the door. But when I patted my thigh for Archie to come, he just lifted his head and looked to G, then back at me. For her part, my companion was just sitting there, her jaw hanging open, unsure what to say or do.
Finally, she shook her head and stood, creeping slowly toward me. “Tanner, you look ill. Are you okay?”
I read her lips. “Headache,” I lied, making the jabbing movement for hurt toward my head, and she nodded slowly, seeming to understand my meaning. My chest tightened so much I could barely breathe. I couldn’t let her see me break down. I had to go. Had to get out of there. I patted my thigh again and Archie stayed put, his big, brown eyes just staring at me. What the fuck was his deal? That dog had been acting damn crazy the entire day. Not that I wasn’t acting crazy at that moment. “Let’s go, Archie. Now,” I commanded him.
The only time he’d ever behaved like this was with Alex when she…
I pressed my eyelids firmly shut, rubbing my temples, driving the memories out. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Finally, I willed my eyes to open. Archie was still sitting on the sofa, refusing to leave.
“Fuck it. He can stay,” I said aloud because my hands were too shaky to even pull out my phone, let alone type.
Upon hearing my voice, G’s eyes widened and she took a few steps back, almost as if she was horrified at the mere sound. Yeah. Pretty much the reaction I figured I would get.
I turned, grabbed the knob, and bolted out the door as quickly as I could.
He shouted.
Never mind the fact that Tanner could speak, which I had suspected after I noticed the few times when he’d sign while his lips moved in rhythm with his beautiful, visual language.
I sat back down on the sofa, trying to comprehend what I’d done wrong. What had I done to make his mood sour so quickly?
Everything was going fine. Actually, everything was going great. We were eating, and joking, and laughing, and for the first time in a long time I was having such an amazing time with a man. Then, everything shifted.
Not that this feeling was anything new to me. In my world, a man’s mood would swing faster than a kid on a playground and when the chains snapped there was hell to pay.
Maybe I’d misjudged Tanner. That had always been my biggest fault. My tattered, foolish heart always trusted too quickly, hoping for the best in people, only to be let down. It was stupid of me to let my guard down.
Hell, his own dog didn’t even want to go home with him. What should that say to me?
Sighing, I did what I normally did after a fight with Angelo. I replayed every moment in my head, wondering where I made the mistake that made everything turn bad.
Headache. At least that’s what I understood from his sign. But the sudden coldness coming from that sweet, kind man rocked me to my very core.
It’s not your fault. He just had a headache. A still, small voice whispered inside me. In my head I knew that I could control a man’s mood about as much as I could control the weather, but my heart never seemed to get the message.
Why did it always feel like my fault?
As soon as that thought passed through my head, my phone chimed next to me and I picked it up, glancing at the display.
Tanner: I’m sorry.
What the hell? The text was so vague. Was he sorry that he ran off? Sorry that he cursed? That he shouted? My confusion was short-lived. Another text swooped in right after.
Tanner: I didn’t mean to freak you out.
He knew that I was scared. That was what Angelo had reduced me to. The poor, battered, beaten woman. And it was apparently written all over my face. May as well stamp my forehead with a fragile label. It was kind of Tanner to apologize, but I still felt so ashamed.
Angelo knew I was scared of him, but it never mattered. He relished in it, fed on my fear, always used it to his advantage.
One morning, a little over a year after we had married, I’d not been feeling well and slept very late. Much later than my usual seven a.m. wake up, and I’d skipped my run as well. Angelo had called several times, but I slept through each one because my phone was buried, ringer muffled by the sheets on the bed.
By the time lunch had rolled around and I still hadn’t returned his calls, he decided to come home to check on me.
I awoke to him barreling through the house, screaming for me. Sleepily, I sat up in the bed, my heart pounding in my chest at the rude awakening.
“Angelo, you scared me,” I said, clutching my chest. As I rubbed my tired eyes and tried to get my bearings, I noticed the wild look on his face. He wasn’t concerned about his wife’s well-being. It was the eyes of a madman.
“You should be fucking scared,” he replied.
“Excuse me?” I shook my head, utterly confused. My heartbeat intensified. His dark eyes were wild, pupils blown out. Frantic. Unhinged.
“Where have you been all morning? Why are you still in bed?” Angelo shouted at me.
“I…I…” I stammered, unable to find the words. My body was riddled with fever and I didn’t understand what the hell was happening. Sweat poured down my chest, yet I felt cold.
“Where is he?” he then shouted at me.
Because, obviously, since I didn’t answer, to him that meant I was having an affair.
My body began to shake. No. Not again.
“Where is he? Gia! Answer me!” He then yanked the covers off of me, grabbed me by the arm, and pulled me out of bed.
“What the fuck is your problem? I’m just sleeping!”
Bad call.
I fell next to the bed.
“Get your ass up,” he shouted, then he kicked me right in the stomach.
Through a tear-streaked face, Angelo and I began searching room by room for the man that he believed I was hiding in the house.
The next day, security cameras were installed in our home, so he could watch my every move.
I’d married a crazy person, and I was trapped. If he came home from work to find me absent, he’d go into a rage, then quickly apologize, saying he was only worried for my safety. So, he had me put my entire schedule of activities on a shared calendar, just so he’d never worry.
I never even noticed it when we were dating. When other men would hit on me in public, he’d make it known to them that I was taken. At the time, I felt protected by him. Nobody had ever looked out for me in life, so I gobbled up every last bit of his affection.
What I knew now was that he was less upset about how the men were treating me as a person, and more about how they were disrespecting his property.
But I wasn’t trapped. I wasn’t his property. Not anymore. I’d broken free. And now here I was, in this strange cabin, befriending this strange man.