Page 2 of Stealing Home

My eyes sting, and my throat aches, but I won’t cry. Tears never solve anything, and worse, I fear if I start, I’ll never stop. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” I whisper.

“Promise me you’ll try and figure something out. I worry about you. Nando’s temper is getting worse. Please be safe.” I hate the fear I hear in her voice. My job is to make her feel safe, and yet she’s afraid for me. Shame weighs heavily on me, and one of these days I’ll be crushed under all the burden I carry.

“I know how to handle him,” I lie.

Leena and I get off the phone, and I try and see myself the way she sees me, but it’s Nando’s voice that’s the loudest, even in my own head. I face the mirror again. I’m not in my twenties anymore, and there’s a softness in my belly where once my muscles had more tone.

On the occasions I’m able to stomach my own reflection, I have to admit I haven’t changed that much. I’m thirty-three now, and perhaps there’s more sadness in my eyes, but they’re still without wrinkles. My dark hair hangs halfway down my back without any gray. The only real difference is the fact I can barely look at myself now.

The blue dress hangs in the back of my closet. It’s fine really, not something I would choose for myself. The only reason I have it in the first place is because Nando doesn’t like the way I dress at his events, and bought a couple of dresses online. The neckline plunges deep between my breasts, and I have to use adhesive cups instead of a bra with it. The back is also very low. The skirt is loose and flirty, landing just above the knee. I know the reason he wants me to wear it is for the ruching across the stomach he feels will hide the extra weight he thinks I need to lose.

Getting ready to his specifications takes time, but if it were up to me my hair would be up in a ponytail, and my face would be clean of anything except maybe lip balm. Instead my hair is curled into retro Hollywood waves, my eyes made dark and smoky, and my lips stained a deep red. I slip on a pair of black pumps that I hate and get ready to fake a smile for the rest of the evening.

This is our third year here at Central Valley University, where Nando is the Head Coach of the Central Tigers baseball team. This role is a far cry from the life he envisioned for himself when we first met.

When we started dating in college he was the star first baseman at our college. He had sort of a celebrity status at school, and looking back, I can see I got swept up in his limelight. To be chosen by someone like him made me feel special. Our relationship burned hot and fast. We married before graduation, because at the time, neither of us could picture life without the other. I have a hard time remembering what that felt like.

He got drafted in the tenth round during his senior year, but that was the height of his baseball career. Life caught up to us while Nando was chasing his dreams. While he languished for eight years in the minors I worked my ass off since the salary for a minor league player is less than what you’d make working full time at a fast food joint.

Nando still had hope he’d manage to prove himself and get called up. Then he tore his rotator cuff during spring training of his last year, and after sitting on the bench for most of it, he was finally released. His dreams of ever moving up to the majors died there, along with our marriage.

Coaching pays better than the minors ever did, but it doesn’t come with the same fanfare he got when he played. I think in his world view he should be worshiped as a superior being. Anything less is intolerable, but he’s usually pretty controlled in hiding his reaction, to anyone except for me at least.

Shaking off old memories, I step out of our room, and freeze in the foyer of our house. I won’t call it a home, because that implies warmth that is lacking between these walls. In reality this place is just an extension of his ego. A physical manifestation of the life he believes he’s owed.

Nando steps out of the living room, circles around me, inspecting every bit of my person to make sure I won’t embarrass him in some way. There have been times he’s made me change my clothes because what I was wearing didn’t fit the image he had in his head. Hence the reason he took it upon himself to choose my clothes.

He reaches out and pinches my side, hard. “Maybe I should make you come and work out with the guys,” he says, laughing at his own joke.

My face doesn’t even crack. I’m not sure when he stopped loving me, but I can pinpoint the day I stopped loving him. It was shortly after my mother died. The team told him he could miss a game to attend her funeral. He’d been riding the bench all season anyway, but he still decided the team needed him more than I did. I sat alone with my sister in the church to say goodbye to my mother, while he sat on a bench watching a game he wouldn’t play in. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive him for that.

“Let’s go,” he snaps, bringing me back to the present. He’s offended I didn’t think him calling me fat was funny.

He goes straight for the driver’s side, and I let myself in the car. Not that I expect him to open my door, but the gesture never occurs to him. Inside the car I fasten my seatbelt and stare straight ahead.

His fingers tap nervously on the steering wheel. I hold my breath. I already know what comes next. He’s taken down my appearance, now is the time he likes to instruct me on how to behave in public, as if I haven’t been a functioning adult for fifteen years.

“Listen up, we’re going to be sitting by the president of the college and his wife. She’s really religious. Don’t talk to her about politics. She’ll get offended, and we really don’t want to rock the boat.”

Slowly, I turn to face him. “Really? You don’t want me to discuss politics in public? I’ve never heard of anything like that before. Should I also not bring up religion?”

What kind of a fucking idiot does he take me for? Like I go around discussing the two most agreed upon off-limit topics among strangers. I work in the administration of the university, yet somehow he seems to think I’m incapable of managing my own behavior.

The set in his jaw makes me wish I could take my words back, but part of me hopes he’ll get it over with and hit me. His words hurt, but after eleven years, I feel trapped by the promise made by a naive girl. Still, I tell myself, if he were to hit me, then I could leave. I know I should now, but I worry that the things he tells me might be true.

What if I can’t make it on my own? Every penny I make gets eaten by our too big house, his fancy car, the suits he buys for game days, and Leena’s school. How could I leave him if I didn’t have anywhere to go? I couldn’t pull the rug out from under Leena. She’s already lost our mom, I can’t make her lose music too.

His anger isn’t lessening, if anything, me talking back to him is rolling around in his head, gathering speed and knocking down the inhibitions he usually has to keep his hands off me. He puts his hand on my leg and squeezes, hard.

I wince and try to knock his hand off, but he just increases the pressure. This time there will be a bruise.

“This is important. We’re talking about my career here. You know it’s the most important thing to me, and I don’t want you to screw it up with your big fucking mouth. I want you to tell me that you know how to stay on safe topics and entertain Mrs. Harper.”

My teeth clench. It isn’t like me not to speak up for myself, but I get the sense that right now it wouldn’t be safe for me to say anything to him. I breathe in through my nose and exhale, trying to focus on anything other than the five points of pain digging into my thigh. “I won’t offend her. I promise.”

He lets go immediately and smiles as if he hadn’t just assaulted me. “Was that so hard? I know you can be charming if you pay attention. Also, I don’t believe she finished her degree. Make sure you don’t start using big words like you do to make yourself sound smart. It just makes you sound like a snobby bitch.”

He acts as if he too doesn’t have a college degree. Not that I’m going to try and argue that point right now.

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