Page 27 of King of Clubs

Something I never thoughtIwould experience.

I was a strong, confident woman who knew what she wanted and what she didn’t. I knew what abuse was. What violence looked like and most definitely would never have stood for that. I pitied those who lived those lives, pretending everything was fine with excuses and unanswered invitations. As difficult as it was to admit, I judged those women because who in their right mind would willing choose to stay in a toxic environment where they were in danger. I was never going to be a statistic and would never tolerate someone telling me what to do.

Until I was.

What naivety doesn’t tell you is how easy it is to bypass the red flags when you’re offered a convenient compliment and justenoughof the good. Naivety doesn’t tell you that a tear-soaked apology should never be enough to make up for a shove to the wall, a stronger hand than yours holding you around the throat or shattered glass held to your face – the consequence of receiving a parking fine. A consequence which apparently matched the allegedcrime. Naivety doesn't tell you that slowly removing every person in your life is a form of abuse – the isolation meaning you rely solely on them and their power and place in your life solidifies.

Naivety is a fickle thing though because it doesn't last long and soon enough you become astute. Rose coloured glasses fade because nothing is washing the crimson from your heart.

You become cunning and clever. A natural result of living a life where the only thing keeping you alive is the primal will to see the sunrise for one more day.

Survival instinct will do that to a person. It hardened my once naive heart until I felt nothing.

The day I finally made my escape, Lucas had gone to buy more beer. I knew I would likely only have ten minutes to grab whatever I could and leave. I didn’t have many possessions, nor did I care to take much other than a few smaller items which were already intentionally stored together. I grabbed a couple of outfits along with the pitiful amount of coins and crumpled notes I salvaged from his pockets whenever he was too drunk to notice, and I fled. Faster than I ever could have realised.

I remembered the five-minute wait for the bus felt as though it went on for days. I was convinced every oncoming car was him and he was taking a ridiculously abnormal route home. That the bus driver might have been a friend of his and would tell him where I went. Or the only other passenger on board, a woman wearing strikingly green earphones, somehow knew who I was and would call him to tell him where I hopped off the bus.

I could barely breathe when I finally arrived at my destination, my legs collapsing under me as I sank to the floor in a soaking puddle of sorrow. I didn’t argue when the doorman threatened to call the police, rightfully assuming I had no right to be there considering the luxury the building bestowed. I couldn’t plead, beg or explain myself. My tears were long ago dry, the last remnants of my energy given to the repetition of the name of the one person I knew would always be there for me. The one who brought me back to life with her familiarity and unconditional love. Offering me a place to live and a non-judgemental shoulder to cry on. The only other person who knew my parents and the way they loved each other and me. Arna had been my rock and for the first few weeks after I escaped, came to the cemetery with me for hours every single day while I cried for the months I’d missed visiting them.

“Marlssssss!” As if my thoughts seconded her presence, Arna sauntered onto the balcony standing in the direct line of the last bit of light I was desperately trying to salvage. Any sadness I was feeling lifted at her smiling face. “Your skin is already deliciously olive, leave some colour for the rest of us pale folk.”

Looking her up and down, I gestured my pointer finger from her face down to her toes. “Don’t stand too close to me looking like that. It’s not good for my ego,” I said, scrunching my face in mock disgust.

Arna twirled, her long ponytail spinning as she came full circle and curtsied, “I’m the ultimate WAG,” she said facetiously.

“You and Andy are going to have the best looking children, it is sickening how hot you both are,” I joked, admiring the way she could wear tight black leather pants and heels like no one else. The black and red of her Hearts’ scarf was complemented by a full red lip and popped against the white of her blouse. She was a sight and I whistled appreciatively.

“No denial from me, our childrenwillbe adorable. But not for a long time. We are both far too selfish to add a dependant into the mix,” I nodded sympathetically. “Why are you still laying there, we're leaving soon?”

“I was hoping if I stayed out here long enough you would forget you asked me to come with you,” I answered sheepishly.

“Not a chance, love. Get up and go shower. The game starts in just over an hour and Andy has stocked the box with wine and popcorn.”

I rolled my head to the side until I was looking right at her and sighed. It wasn’t that I didn’twantto go, I just didn’t want to bump into himagain – accidentally on my part, intentional on his. He knew The Hearts' games would be the best place to find me and even more now Arns was engaged to the captain. But I knew she wouldn’t let it go and so I reached for my belongings.

“Fine,” I agreed, throwing my legs over the lounge to stand. “But you better make me a drink while I quickly shower. I'll need some liquid courage.” Arna was already retreating inside as her agreement met my ears, eager to have one herself.

My smile came easily when I finally found the jersey stuffed inside my suitcase. Despite my earlier grumblings, I was actually excited to head into a game tonight. Having spent the morning visiting my parent’s graves, ending the night doing something I knew Dad would have loved, was comforting. The wallpaper on my phone was a reminder of our shared passion, me in a nappy and Hearts’ singlet, snuggled into Dad’s lap in my childhood living room.

Some of my favourite memories centred around Dad and I watching the Hearts play especially when we headed into matches. Mum would pack us a lunch bag and without fail, Dad would sneak us a packet of lollies when she wasn’t looking. She always preferred to stay home stating Dad and I screaming for three straight hours was enough to drive any woman to drink and as an adult, I couldn’t say I blamed her.

We were loud and proud.

Rain, hail or shine we were there and it didn’t matter if we won or lost, our voices were always hoarse from the incessant cheering. On the drive home we would usually disagree on who played well, who needed more time on the training paddock and who our top three players of the match were. One thing we always agreed on though, was we were notfair-weather supportersand that meant showing up for your team no matter what, which added to why I now stood in my jersey and jeans ready to go.

After my parents passed I stopped attending games. It was easier to watch from home rather than risk a lecture about only watching “for the men in their shorts” and it didn’t matter what I said he always had a counter-argument. It was exhausting and the gaslighting was never-ending so tonight would be the first live game I’d attended in longer than I cared to admit. Dad would be so happy to know I was getting amongst it and that meant I was going to need to cheer extra loud in his absence.

“You ready?” Arna called, breaking me from the reverie. “Our ride is two minutes away.”

“Let’s do this!” I answered.

We exited the car at the entry reserved for family and friends. A small blessing because with the sheer number of people entering the gates, the need to scan every face for someone I didn’t want to see would have been overwhelming. I was less than a step behind Arna, both apprehensive and excited as we took the lifts up to Level three and into the private box Andy had reserved for the match. I immediately headed for the glass window, my cheeks stretching with a grin. My heart felt full at the glowing green grass, perfectly cut to house the two teams fighting for victory. The crowd was almost at capacity and the pre-game music filled the space blasting, Hunters and Collectors, Holy Grail, as the Hearts ran onto the field.

A sense of home washed over me and I closed my eyes for the briefest of moments sending an unspoken message of love up to my folks.

Arna clapping and cheering startled me from my reverie and I turned, pulling her down the step to stand with me. She gave me a quick side-squeeze and we grinned in unison.

“I get so nervous watching him play and I still barely understand the game,” she said, her voice slightly shaky. Perhaps it was a case of sadism, but I liked seeing her like this.

---