Page 55 of Kings Don't Break
“My wife,” he snarls. His stoicism vanishes for scorn. “My wife has abandoned me. She took the car I bought her—my name’s on the fucking title, on the insurance—and she’s been spending the last few weeks at another man’s home doing who knows what.”
My throat aches, my voice lost. I’ve started trembling on the spot like a spineless coward.
Like the traumatized woman that I still am…
“So, you tell me. Do you want to do this real easy or do you want to continue doing things the hard way?”
“I don’t want any way. I don’t want anything. Please.”
A moment passes where Ken seems to study my reactions—the uncontrollable quiver of my body and strained breaths coming from my lungs. The hard swallows I can’t stop as panic keeps rising up, refusing to be denied.
He eases back slightly, his harsh energy receding as he does. Instead he reaches a hand up and brushes my cheek like a lover would. With adoration and affection. “Kor,” he says softly. “This is ridiculous. Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you? Come home.”
So many times in the past, I did. I’d nod and allow him to steer me toward the car to drive me back from where I had escaped to. Things would be nice for a few days, ’til it happened again. Almost always worse.
I clench my eyes shut and husk out another struggled breath. “Please… I just want to go.”
“You’re my wife,” he insists. “Our home is nothing without you. Do you think it’s fair what you’ve done to me? Answer me!”
The hot and cold behavior. The soft sweetness mixed with the intense scorn. His mood swings have always been impossible to predict.
A living, breathing contradiction.
Throughout our relationship, I’ve learned to shut up and take it. Always ready for a kiss or a fist.
A few tears slip free and roll down my cheeks as my imagination darkens into thoughts about where this moment could be going. No matter what I do, I’ll be in the wrong. He wields all the power and I’m at his mercy.
Ken’s wider frame presses into me, forcing me to bend even lower. He hunches over me to the point I feel the police equipment strapped to his torso digging into my spine. Violence lives and breathes in the air circling us as I prepare myself for whatever comes next—a slam of my head against the hood, his knee in my back, his hands around my neck. The violent options seem limitless.
Whatever it is, never happens.
As Ken rears closer, another car finally wanders down the road. It steadily slows at what must be an alarming sight. A police officer pinning a woman to her car, his body rubbing up against hers in a manner that’s clearly inappropriate.
He snaps upright and takes a wide step back. His hands fly to his utility belt and he nods the driver along with tight-lipped restraint.
The driver behind the wheel—a freckle-faced woman with round glasses and a small child in the backseat—doesn’t seem convinced. She eyes Ken carefully as if tempted to pull over and ask for his badge number.
Ken grits his teeth the second she eventually drives off and we’re alone again. He seems to have come to his senses about our surroundings and what he was about to do.
“Get out of my sight,” he says, his tone as steely as his face. “NOW!”
I scramble to make my escape. Within seconds, I’m locked into the Geo and pressing the gas to put as much distance between myself and Ken as possible, hands shaking on the wheel.
* * *
Flowers await me and Mama when we pull up to Blake’s trailer. Several bouquets of them sitting right in front of the door along with a stuffed bear and handwritten note. My favorite kind in my favorite color: pink cremons with white carnations mixed in.
My brows jerk together, dread sinking into my stomach like lead. I share a knowing look with Mama who’s had a traumatizing enough afternoon herself. After the escapade with the medical office turning her away, she had panicked and wandered off. I found her a block down at the bus stop, confused as to how she was supposed to get home.
My worst fears were confirmed—since it happens to be open enrollment season, Ken was able to remove us from his coverage. I had snapped at the receptionist at the medical office and promised I’d call the 1-800 number to fight the sudden removal, but she claimed it had already been processed.
Now this.
Flowers on Blake’s front door. I haven’t even had the energy to tell him what happened. He’s texted and called several times asking why I never returned to the shop.
you have ten minutes to reply. if you don’t… I’m coming to find you.
That message was fourteen minutes ago. I had finally replied telling him I was fine, but that was the end of his texts.
