Page 1 of Mine to Love
1
The last timeClive beat me, he told the doctors I fell down the mountainside while hiking. He said that the jagged rocks I hit while tumbling through the Montana wilderness were the reason for my broken ribs, bruises, and lacerations. To sell the story, he pushed me down in the dirt. With soil covering my knees and embedded under my fingernails, the doctors bought it just like all his other stories. I was left only wishing it was the truth. I haven’t hiked in months. Not since he was laid off work for drinking on the job and I’ve been too fearful to leave our five-year-old daughter Delilah in his care. Not that he would let me leave anyway, but I certainly won’t give him the chance to hurt her like he’s hurt me. And, so, it was during my last trip to the ER that I hatched my plan.
Clive’s eyes turn glossy as he sits at the other end of our breakfast table. I give him only small glances, too afraid to draw much attention to myself or what I’ve done until I’m sure he’s too incapacitated to retaliate. He’s twenty years older than me, but solid as concrete. At least, that’s how it feels when he barrels his fists into my skin. And his kicks are strong as a horse’s.
Horses—I’ll miss them when we’re gone. I suppose I’ll miss a lot of things—the quiet, the natural beauty, the simple life. We live in a small wooden cabin in the Montana foothills. Surrounded by trees, close to where the wild horses roam, it’s truly beautiful. And, yet the seclusion only makes his abuse easier to commit. There’s no one around for miles to hear my screams. No cell service, not that I’m allowed to have a phone, and, most importantly, no witnesses other than our—my—daughter.
I’ve done my best to keep Clive’s ways a secret from Delilah by remaining as quiet as possible during his…episodes. And, throughout the day, I keep his attention on me while making sure she stays out of sight. As a precaution, I let her sleep in this morning, unsure of how efficient my plan will be. Though, I suppose, if I succeed, I’ll have to come up with some story to explain why we’re leaving. One that protects her innocence but also doesn’t encourage her toeverwant to return to the Montana foothills in search of her father.
“Darcy,” Clive says then, his voice weak and full of confusion. My bright blue eyes shoot up, meeting his, as my body tenses. The weight of his glare burdens my bones, and I pray it’s for the last time. Though, I suppose it will be. Because if the pain killers I hoarded from my last hospital visit and sneakily placed into the batter of his pancakes don’t knock him out soon, he’ll surely kill me. “What have you done to me?” he asks.
I do my best to keep my facial features neutral as my heart rate quickens. Quickly, I lower my eyes to his plate, frantically assessing if he’s eaten enough for the medication to do what I intended. He’s a big, muscular brute of a man. As I return my gaze to his, realization dawns on him. “You wicked woman!Stupidwoman!” He slurs his words as he struggles to push himself up and out of his chair. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you.”
I do.You saw a piss-poor eighteen-year-old waitress at a bar for lowlifes with no family around to give a damn what you did to her. You saw a naïve girl with big enough boobs and wide enough hips for you to pretend she was more of a woman than she was—thanIwas. I was your perfect victim. I should ask myself what I ever saw in him, but even that answer I have. He manipulated me into thinking he was kind, a savior of sorts from the handsy men passing through the middle of nowhere. And he was handsome. He had,has,light green eyes and medium blonde hair that’s now sprinkled with gray. I suppose that’s all I needed to know at that age.
Within three months of meeting him, I was married. One year later, I was pregnant. And that’s when it started—when I became difficult. I’ve spent the past five years doing my best to be anything but. But it seems violence is a drug. Once he got a taste for it, he became as addicted to it as he is to alcohol. And I became his prisoner, unable to leave even when I finally realized I needed to.
Clive’s chair slams against the wood-planked floor of the cabin as he finally maneuvers out of it. I flinch in my seat as he moves toward me. My breath quickens and my chest rises and falls as I anticipate the incoming blow. I can never muster up the courage to see it coming, to watch as he slings his body into mine. I always look off into the distance, disassociate. But, as I think of Delilah, I finally find the courage to face him. If not today, then when? This is my only chance.Ouronly chance. He’ll never be as weak as he is now.
Out of the corner of my eye, I register his movement, however staggered it may be, and I crouch in my chair in just enough time to avoid his fist. Cool air dances across my flushed face as Clive stumbles forward, thrown off balance by the missed connection. As he catches himself on the countertop behind me, I quickly stand and run into the next room. At least, I try to. But,as Clive turns—more agile than I thought him capable—he wraps his fist around my long, blonde hair. Eliciting a gasp and stifled cry from me, he binds me to him.
“You think you can escape me? My sweet, sweet Darcy,” he coos softly in my ear as he tugs harder on my hair. He shakes his head and brings his lips to the delicate skin of my exposed neck. First, he kisses me gently. And then, as is his way, his touch turns rough. He bites into my flesh, and I press my lips together to keep my reaction from waking Delilah. Though, I fear his next movement renders my efforts useless as he shoves me to the ground with such force the dishes in the cabinets overhead rattle. “You’re not going any-fucking-where,” he threatens.
Fresh tears blur my vision and my cheeks ache as I suppress the scream of defeat threatening to rip from me. As Clive straddles me from behind, the snap of his belt as he removes it from his pants is sharp in my ear. I know I’ve lost, and I know what will happen next. I should’ve just given him the whole bottle. To Hell with him, quite literally. But, as vile as he is, I guess I didn’t have it in me to kill him. I wish I was stronger. I wish I would’ve left him years ago. I wish I had more fight in me now. I wish, I wish…
As Clive wraps the belt around my neck and tugs, I struggle to breathe, let alone think. I claw at the leather and kick my legs, but it’s no use. Sounds of strangulation escape me, though only for a moment before Clive lets out a strange sound of his own. His grip on the belt loosens. Before I can even react to what’s happening, he collapses on the floor beside me.
I am still as rapid breaths escape me, too afraid to make any sudden movements. My body feels heavy, almost paralyzed with fear and adrenaline all the same. The simple, cream-colored dress I wear is no doubt stained with sweat. “Mommy?” It’s Delilah’s sweet little voice that pulls me from my stagnant place.
I turn to my right to find Clive’s eyes closed and his mouth agape. He’s out. Though, for how long, is the question. Quickly, I toss the belt to the side and push myself up from the ground. I stumble, using the fridge to catch myself as I do. My legs are shaky, as is my voice as I appear in front of Delilah just before she enters the kitchen. This is not a scene I wish her to remember.
She rubs sleep from her small, bright eyes before taking notice of my condition. “Mommy, you’re bleeding.”
“Hmm?” It’s then that I notice the sting radiating from my knees. I lift the skirt of my dress ever so slightly to see the torn skin and fresh blood. “Oh, sweetie, it’s nothing. I just fell while washing the dishes.” I move toward her and turn her away from the kitchen before she notices the toppled chairs and disheveled breakfast table. Thankfully, Clive’s unconscious body is far enough away from the entrance that he’s safely out of view. With my hands on her back, I guide her toward the front door. “Now, I need you to do Mommy a favor. Go wait by the truck.”
“The truck?” she asks. As her head snaps toward me, she is wide awake now. She’s never seen me drive before. Clive doesn’t allow it.
“Yes, sweetie. Do as Mommy says. I’ll be there in a second.” She hesitates, not out of disobedience, but in utter confusion. Thankfully, she doesn’t pause for long. I open the front door for her as she slips on her rain boots. Still dressed in her pajamas, she walks across the porch and down the steps toward Clive’s black Ford pickup. Breathing deeply, I close the door behind her and grab our hiking packs from the closet just beneath the stairs.
About a month ago, as my wounds continued to heal, I slowly started filling our backpacks with clothes, snacks, and a few necessities Clive wouldn’t notice missing. It’s not much, probably only four to five days’ worth of clean clothes and one change of shoes. But I don’t care to have many reminders of thisplace. The ones I do have, the ones permanently and painfully etched into my brain and body, are enough.
I place the packs by the door and muster up the courage to complete the last step. Quietly, fearful of rousing him, I tiptoe back into the kitchen. For all his wickedness, Clive is a smart man. Perhaps you must be smart to be cruel and continuously get away with it. I have no cell phone, no money, no vehicle. Everything is in his name and only he has access to it. My only chance at freedom means I must take what is his, which I’ve never been able to do—until now.
Finding him in the same position, I kneel beside him. My heart rate increases with the proximity. I watch anxiously for the flutter of his eyelids or the jerk of his hand—anything to let me know he’s waking. Biting my lip, I lift his body to access his front pocket. Gently, I remove his wallet and the keys to the truck. Sighing in relief, I stand and run toward the door as if my life depends on it. And it does.
I sling my pack over my shoulder, grab Delilah’s with the other hand, and rip the door to freedom open. I’m met with the warmth of morning sun and the sound of bluebirds singing us our swan song. Without delay, I dart out of the house with nothing but what I can carry. I don’t even have shoes on my feet. To my surprise, Delilah doesn’t comment on my appearance or ask any questions as I sling open the truck door and toss the bags and her onto the backseat.
“Buckle up,” I say as I move behind the wheel. My hand shaking, I put the keys into the ignition and pray to God we have enough gas to get us to the nearest bus station. Buses will be slower, but they’re harder to track than a truck that’s easily reported missing. From there, we’ll have to make several stops, leading Clive on a wild goose chase should he choose to follow us. Hopefully, by the time we find a place to settle, he will have given up the search. Another hope is that there’s enough cash inhis wallet to get us there. Credit cards are traceable, and a debit card would require a pin that I don’t have.
Giving the house of horrors one last glance, I put the truck in gear and leave it and Clive behind in a cloud of dust. You’d think the tension would ease, but it doesn’t. Until Delilah and I are on a moving bus out of Montana, I doubt I’ll feel any relief. Even then—? I should have killed him.
“Where are we going?” Delilah asks.
I find her reflection in the rear-view mirror. To my surprise, she doesn’t seem...surprised. “Um, I don’t know, sweetie. I was thinking somewhere with warmer weather, maybe near some water—a lake or a river—for a change of scenery. Perhaps somewhere loud with plenty of people.”Plenty of witnesses.
Delilah nods and lowers her eyes to her lap. I should ask if she’s okay, but I don’t. There are many conversations for us to have. But first, I need to make sure we’re safe. It’s then that she asks, “Are we leaving because Daddy is mean?”
Her question takes me aback and I find her in the rear-view mirror again. Though, only for a second, as the road demands my attention. As I contemplate my answer, my grip on the steering wheel tightens. There’s only one reason she would think that. She saw something or heard something that she shouldn’t have, something I tried to protect her from. God only knows what. With no other explanation coming to mind, I say, “Yes, Delilah. We’re leaving because Daddy is mean.”
