Page 22 of Shattered Hope
After a few weeks of living like that, the housekeeper defied Daniel's orders and decided to check on me at lunchtime. When she saw my back, she was in shock. It took me a long time to convince her I was alright, that it looked worse than it was, and that going to the hospital wouldn’t do me any good.
But the woman wasn’t convinced, and despite my efforts, she decided to call the police. She was told they couldn’t intervene unless the events were taking place at the time of her call or I called them myself.
For a moment, I considered that idea. The shock on the housekeeper’s face told me what was going on wasn’t normal, nor what I should expect on a marriage. But I was too afraid of Daniel to try it.
The housekeeper tried calling the police other times when Daniel got rough. He convinced the officers she misunderstood. Daniel fired her and hired a service to clean the house twice a week.
The rest of the time, I was expected to keep things spotless and squeaky clean. My lack of skill at the beginning had been the reason for a few more punishments, and though I tried to confide in my mother, she was never much help.
She kept telling me a wife had to indulge her husband in every way possible. If she had learned to do so, she would have never divorced my father, and she wouldn’t be as poor as a church mouse, raising her child on her own.
The guilt trip always worked on me, and I would go back to Daniel determined to do best.
But after six months of abuse, I was ready to give up. I had gathered some money from the house expenses, and I decided to escape. I left the house half an hour after he went to work and bought myself a bus ticket.
Unfortunately, I never got on the bus. Daniel had put a GPS app on my cell phone that notified him of my whereabouts the moment I left the house. He met me at the bus station when I was about to get on the bus. He sounded so worried, so concerned about my health, I never saw the syringe he was hiding in his hand.
After he injected me, I collapsed in his arms, still conscious, but unable to move or utter a word. He had no trouble convincing the bystanders I was ill and had forgotten to take my meds.
Once at home, he waited until the drug wore off before he taught me a lesson I wouldn’t forget. This time, he didn’t even protect my face. He unleashed his fury so viciously on me, I still wonder how I’m still alive.
10
My screams were bloodcurdling, the pain so vivid as if it all were happening now. When I finally woke up and saw Wells, on his knees, in front of me, I couldn’t say I was surprised.
“You were screaming… are you alright?” he asked in a stern tone.
I rubbed my face and moved away from him, sitting up on the couch, embarrassed that he had found me like this. “I’m sorry… I must have forgotten to close my door… it won’t happen again…” I assured him, in a low, emotionless tone.
“Why were you screaming?” he insisted, jumping to his feet.
I frowned. “It was just a nightmare… I guess… I can’t remember…” I lied, averting my eyes from his.
“You sounded as if someone was killing you… how can you not remember it?” he insisted, incredulous.
“I just don’t. It’s all fuzzy in my mind…” I insisted, getting up. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll make sure my door is locked from now on,” I assured him as I walked to the bathroom and closed the door.
I need a moment alone to recover from the dream. The metallic taste in my mouth and horrible headaches were the usual aftermaths of the nightmares. I hated them, but they were becoming less and less frequent. I hadn't had one in months, but the encounter with Daniel and the stressful situation with Wells had probably triggered this one.
It had been worse than usual, and I was still trembling.
I washed my face with cold water, and a few minutes later, I was able to go back to the living room. I was hoping I wouldn’t find him there, but I wasn’t so lucky.
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked from the window.
“Yes, thank you. I’ve lost track of time…” I mumbled.
“It’s nine o’clock. Have you eaten dinner?” he asked, with a slight frown.
The thought of food should make me feel nauseated, but it didn’t. I was actually starving. Having eaten nothing since breakfast, my body was asking for food now.
“No… I can cook something if you haven’t either…” I suggested, but he shook his head.
“Let’s order in. It will be faster. I’m hungry, too,” he said instead. “Do you like Chinese food?
“Yes… of course…”
“Good!” he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and ordered. “The food will be here in twenty minutes.”
