Page 2 of In the Cover of Darkness

Deciding on an incredibly flawed and convoluted plan I figure my best chance of freedom is trying to get to his car outside, it's still running after all. The realisation hits me all at once.

I don't want to be here.

I can't keep doing this.

I don'twantto do this anymore.

This is that moment the pamphlets talked about. The ones that the nurse would kindly place in my hand during the occasional trip to the hospital if things went too far. The onesthat say there is a safe place waiting for women who need help. I just never thought I was that woman until this moment.

I used to be so confident and strong, and I want to be that version of myself again. I want to be carefree and happy.

Happy, when was the last time I felt happy? Such a small thing in everyday life but I can't remember when I last felt something that wasn't shame, guilt, or pain.

Feeling my eyes start to water, I accept that today is the last day I'm living this version of my life. I'm officially leaving this piece of shit. I’m taking back my power.

I was always the rational person in my friend group so I don't know why it has taken until now to feel secure in making the decision to leave. I can't believe I actually used to have friends, but one by one they drifted away as I let him control more and more of my life. I still have one friend though, Charlie, so I'm not totally alone in the world. Even though it's not a friendship where we can have wine nights and make fun of the little things that happen in our day to day life, sheisstill my friend. Probably the one important relationship I have left in the world. If you had told 19 year old me that this is what my life would look like at 25, I would have laughed in your face. I would never have thought I would put up with this, let alone for so long.

I try to refocus but I keep slipping into these dream-like states. I really hope he hasn't done any permanent damage when he hit me with that bottle. I need to figure out how to get to the back door, ideally without him knowing, or maybe I can just run for it and see how far I get.

I realise I've officially become that girl in horror films, the one that goes into the dark basement, right where the danger is. Here's a great idea, run toward the scary monster. My best option, I realise, is my least favourite, but one that has workedseveral times in the past. I wince just thinking about it. Future me please forgive what I'm about to do, but know that it is hopefully the quickest way to get him to leave this room.

In my softest most feminine voice, I say, “Please Trevor, I'm so sorry, I'll do better I swear.” He glances toward me, his face contorting like he doesn't know how to process what I'm saying. I look to the floor, not rushing his response. I wouldn't dare look him in the eye right now. I treat him like I would a wild animal and try to make myself small and submissive, letting him think he's in charge. The ironic thing is I'm not apologising for anything in particular, but it lets him think I was wrong and calms him a bit.

“Please, let me make it up to you, let me make you feel better,” I whisper, the nausea hitting me like a tsunami. I'm officially repulsed at myself.

“You should be sorry,” he yells. Okay, this is good, I think, he's no longer screaming at me, he's just yelling. It's the small wins I guess.

“I promise if you let me, I'll make you feel good,'' I say, swallowing the stomach bile that's creeping up my throat. Slowly I reach out and gently rub his crotch, I can feel his cock grow slightly, but not much more seems to happen. Taking a deep breath, I try to remain focused. Stick to the plan. Distract him, get to the back door, then get in the car and leave.

My mouth is so dry waiting for him to process my offer. Licking my lips I can taste the coppery tang of blood on my tongue. Gently, I touch my mouth trying to find out where I'm bleeding from, but it all just hurts. My fingers come away with fresh blood on them so I definitely have a cut somewhere.

“You better make me feel good or else I'll make you pay,” he says menacingly, his eyes squinting at me, looking at my mouth.

“Let me freshen up here and I'll meet you in the bedroom,” I say softly.

In a few short steps, he's in front of me and has smacked me across the face again. I gasp, taking in a rattled breath. Whatever vision I had in my right eye has now gone. I can feel my eyelid swelling shut and my head might actually split in two from the pain. Grabbing my breast, he squeezes so hard it takes everything in me not to cry out. His eyes continue to stare at me, waiting for my reaction, wanting to see me in pain.

After what feels like a lifetime, he lets go of me, walks to the fridge, and gets a cold beer from inside. I can sense him looking at me but I don't say anything, I don’t move a muscle as he contemplates his next move; I just hope it's one that works in my favour. He takes one step toward me. I can hear his heavy breathing as the seconds pass. Taking a swig of his beer, he clears his throat and spits on me. The fucker actually spits on me.

“Two minutes, and you better look pretty,” he hisses at me before leaving the kitchen and walking down the hallway. I can hear his heavy footsteps fade away as he enters our bedroom.

MoveI hear my brain scream to myself,FUCKING MOVE, jolting me into action I take a strangled breath and slowly go toward the back door. Gently lifting my handbag off the hook it was hanging on, I feel as though it makes the loudest sound as the items inside readjust themselves. My right hand is on the door handle and I pull it down slowly, holding my breath as I feel the latch move out of the way.

Opening the door, I step through and stumble toward the car, looking back toward the house to check if he's there. The doorway and the space between it and the car remain blissfully empty. Getting into the driver's side, I fling my handbag on thepassenger seat next to me. I tug the car door so it's resting in place, and then yank it until I hear the latch click. Thankfully I still have enough sense not to slam the car door shut.

Trying not to hurt my bad arm any further, I change the car gear into reverse and start to back out of the driveway. I hate this fucking car, it's so impractical but he insisted on needing it for his job. Who needs a cherry red sports car other than a single man or someone going through a midlife crisis. I hate the colour, I hate the stupid leather seats that are sticky in summer and cold in winter. I hate that he cared for this car more than he ever did for me.

With that parting thought I take a second to look at the house and see the front yard is empty. Hopefully, he's passed out on the bed and I have a few hours to get a head start before he realises I've left.

“Fuck you, Trevor,” I whisper out loud to myself, “fuck you,” before I gently press the gas and drive down the road as if it was just another day.

Chapter 1 - Dante

Wish It Was True - The White Buffalo ?

Godsdammit, my ass is sore. You would think they could make truck seats a little more comfortable these days. I've been driving for six hours but it feels like twenty right about now. I've never been great at long road trips, not only because I struggle to remain comfortable during them, but because I get bored at the monotony of staring straight ahead. I like to always be doing something.

I guess that was a good and bad thing about being Special Forces, every hour of my day was planned. How long I had to sleep, how many hours I had to prepare before a mission, what I ate, when I had free time; it was all determined by someone else and I didn't mind one bit, until I did.

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