Page 1 of Mia Amata

Chapter 1

I used to believe in love at first glance, but the past five years have shown me that it is a complete myth. Now I consider love at first glance the biggest line of bull I’ve ever heard. In fact, I don’t believe love exists. I will never let my heart overrule my common sense and brain ever again if I am ever given the chance to, I mean. If things continue the way they are right now, I will not be around to see my next birthday let alone have the chance to make decisions about future relationships.

Five years ago, I met the man of my dreams, or so I thought. He turned out to be the stuff of my nightmares. An ongoing nightmare that I cannot seem to escape—ever. He has his hands tightly around my throat and squeezes the life out of me more and more every day. I have nowhere to turn, no one to trust. My main thought on a daily basis is whether I should end this myself or wait for him to end it for me.

These are the thoughts that run through my head as I shower this morning. It would be so easy to just grab the razor and let my life drain out of my body through slits on my wrists. This seemed like it would be so much less painful than waiting for him to kill me. I look down at my body, and I see the scars and the bruises in various stages of healing all over my trunk. This morning is different than all the other times.

I look up at the mirror and see the brand-new bruises on my face. For the first time in five years, he lost control and hit my face, more than once. Tears fall as I look at the black eye and the fat lip, the cut on the forehead. What is next? Does he stop using his fists and grab a knife? A gun? My gaze falls again on the razor, and I reach for it, stopping just inches from it. Why? Why can’t I do it? Why am I so willing to let him be the one to kill me instead of taking control of the situation—the only thing I could have control of?

The alarm goes off, and I automatically reach out, shutting the water off. I grabbed a towel and shut the alarm off. I move out of habit now, knowing that if I don’t follow his plan for the day, I will suffer for it later. I put on the clothes that he laid out for me, jeans, T-shirt, a bra, panties, which are not the usual ‘around the home’ clothes he would put out for me if I am staying home, so he must need me to run some errands. This both terrifies and thrills me. I never get to leave the house so whenever I am given the chance, I am excited to do so. It also terrifies me as I know how my face looks.

I look at the counter in the bathroom and see that he has set out some makeup for me. He never lets me wear makeup, so I am guessing he wants me to use it to hide my face. I apply the makeup to the best of my ability, considering I am not sure how to wear it anymore. Also, there is no way to completely hide what he has done to my face.

I leave the bathroom and head to the office to look at THE LIST. That is the way I see it in my head when he refers to it. ‘Damn it, Megan! What did THE LIST say you were supposed to do today?’ or ‘Did you even read THE LIST today? Are you stupid and couldn’t understand what THE LIST said?’

I hate THE LIST as much as I hate him. I turn toward the whiteboard with THE LIST on it and grab a marker. I check off the shower, makeup, dressed. I put the marker down and read what I was supposed to do with my day. I see that it does involve me leaving the house, he wrote a grocery list; the list and the money for the groceries are on the board under a magnet. I haven’t gotten groceries in a long time. He decided he would do it, another thing taken away from me to keep me trapped in this house.

I took the grocery list and the money, walking out of the office to head to the front door. The office is his, the only thing I am allowed to do in there is look at THE LIST. A new alarm goes off on my phone. I look at it, it says go to the store. I have to leave now or I’m in trouble. One of his methods of control is to set alarms on my phone indicating when I am supposed to start or stop each item on the list.

I head to the front door, knowing he will check the cameras later to make sure I am leaving at the time he expects me to. Next to the front door, on the stand, sits my purse, the car keys, and a pair of socks, while on the floor next to the stand are my shoes. I sit down on the bench, putting on my socks and shoes. When I stood back up, I noticed a pair of sunglasses sitting in my purse.

He thinks of everything, how considerate I think wryly. I leave the house, climb into the car, checking the phone to see how long he has given me to get groceries. I also check the GPS to see which store he has me going to. Turning on the car, I back out of the driveway.

***

I pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store 20 minutes later and parked. Climbing out of the car I am suddenly struck with dizziness and nausea; I manage to turn toward the front of the car before I throw up. When I finished, I leaned against the driver’s door, sliding to the ground as I was too dizzy to stay standing. I put my head between my knees and breathe deeply when I hear a voice asking me if I am OK. I can’t speak yet, so I give a slight shake of my head, just focusing on breathing. I hear the rustle of sacks, then become aware of someone sitting on the ground next to me.

“Here, honey, let me help you,” a woman said.

I feel a cool, damp paper towel on the back of my neck. It feels so nice, and I am so grateful that I started crying. This one little gesture of caring has shocked me so much I can’t stop crying.

“There, there, it’s OK. If you think you can, try a sip of water,” she said, slipping a cold bottle of water into my hands. I take a sip, finally starting to get a grip on my emotions.

“Thank you,” I say so quietly that she has to strain to hear me. Forgetting what my face looks like, not realizing I had taken the sunglasses off during vomiting, I look at her. She lets out an audible gasp. It was only then that I remembered what I look like. I turned away quickly, looking for the glasses.

She grabbed my hands and said, “No, dear, don’t look at me again.”

Hesitantly, I did so. She takes the cool, damp paper towel, wiping my face with it. I close my eyes, letting her do so, noticing how tender and comforting this feels.

“I don’t know what happened,” I said. “I got out of the car. Suddenly, I felt sick and dizzy. It just hit me so fast. Must be a flu bug or something.” She just keeps wiping my face, listening to me, then feels my forehead.

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “You don’t seem to have a fever. How are you feeling now?”

I considered it for a couple minutes before I replied. The nausea was still there a little, yet the dizziness was gone. My face and body hurt terribly from last night, but I told her I was feeling better. I started to get up, but she stopped me, telling me to take it slow.

I shook my head, I really had to get going, I had to be home soon with the groceries, and I still had to do the shopping. She stands up with me, helping me. Suddenly, I realized we were not alone. There is a young woman standing close by, watching. I hide my face, looking for the sunglasses again. I finally see them, pick them up, putting them back on.

“I think you need to come with me,” the lady said. I looked at her, wondering what she was talking about. “Is this your car?” she asked, nodding at the one behind me. I nodded yes. “OK. This is what you are going to do,” she said, taking charge all of a sudden, “Put everything you have back in the car—your purse, your sunglasses, the keys, any money, everything.”

I didn’t understand why she was telling me all this. I said, “You don’t understand, I have to get the groceries and go home. If I don’t…” I let the thought trail off. I didn’t need to finish it, she did it for me.

“If you don’t, he will beat you again, won’t he? I am offering you help to get away from him. Right now. Isn’t that what you really want? You don’t really want to go back home to him, do you? To face this again tonight or tomorrow?” she asked.

“Mom,” the other woman said, “if we are going to do this we need to go—now. Before people…”

“I know,” the lady replied. “Put everything back in the car and come with me. Now.”

In a state of shock, I did what she said. I put everything, including the phone, my purse that held my only ID, the money, the list, all back in the car. As I was doing so, she was telling me what to do next, speaking quickly.

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