Page 27 of Yours to Conquer

I take my keys and purse and run downstairs to pack my bag. It’s time for me to go home. I get halfway down the stairs before I hear the unmistakable sound of breaking glass, and it transports me back in time.

I’m a twelve-year-old girl climbing out of my bedroom window. I hear shattering glass and the screams of my mother as she puts up the last fight of her life. My father yells at her, calling her a whore and she tells me to run to Kat’s.

I feel disoriented; nothing is as it should be. I climb into the closet and crawl deep into the corner. I bury my face in my hands and sob.

The minutes pass like hours. The house is silent as I hide in the closet like a terrified child. I finally get my tears under control, but my stomach is in knots. I feel physically ill. The fiery burn of bile rises in my throat and threatens to spill from my mouth. I make a mad dash out of the closet and into the bathroom just in time to empty my stomach. There isn’t much to lose since I ate very little today.

I wash my face and focus on packing my bag, grabbing my essential bathroom items and several changes of clothes. I hastily toss my things into a bag and breathe deeply. At the bottom of the stairs, I try to gain the courage to take the twelve steps up because I have no idea what will be waiting for me when I get upstairs. Will he still be in a rage? I refuse to repeat the mistakes of my mother.

I take the steps one at a time, reach the landing and listen intently. All I hear is the crash of the surf as it smashes against the sand. Most times, it’s a soothing sound, but tonight it sounds angry. The waves are loud and furious, just like Anthony. The wind blows through the open door, and a chill runs down my back.

I glance around to see what had been broken but find nothing out of place. My eyes are drawn to the beach, where I see the silhouette of a man. I can tell it’s Anthony by the sheer width of his shoulders, and the fact that no one else would have access to his private piece of paradise. He’s sitting on the sand, facing the water with head is in his hands, and his elbows are on his knees.

My first instinct is to run out and wrap my arms around him, to comfort him, but who will comfort me?

I take one last look before I walk into the garage and out of Anthony’s life.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The drive to my house takes an eternity. I turn on the radio and listen to whatever is playing. I choose a station for their emphasis on love songs. I listen with a heavy heart to songs like “Bound to You” by Christina Aguilera and “Somewhere Only We Know” by Lily Allen. I completely lose my shit as I pull my car up to the curb in front of my house, just as John Mayer’s “Dreaming with a Broken Heart” plays.

The words of the song crush my heart and strip my soul. How could I have been so wrong? How does a man hold back your hair while you puke your insides out and then call you a whore less than eight hours later?

I slip slowly from the driver’s seat and walk up the cement walkway. I’m going to have to remember that the only person I can count on is me. I put my key in the lock and open the door. The house smells musty from being closed up for so long. There must be fifty pieces of mail on the floor. I’m supposed to do a change of address, but I never get around to it. In the end, it’s a good thing I didn’t find the time.

I shut the door behind me and walk over to the couch, andcollapse. I allow myself fifteen minutes to wallow in my sorrows. Once I finish, I pull my phone out of my pocket.

There are over twenty missed calls from Anthony. I delete without listening to any of the voicemails. There are many texts, but I don’t have the energy to read them. There is nothing he can say at this point. The last call on my phone is Kat. I go to the kitchen to get a Diet Coke from the refrigerator, then back to curl into a ball on the couch.

I look at my phone for a minute. Avoiding the compulsion to read Anthony’s messages, I type a quick text to Kat.

Hey, Kat, it’s Emma.

Oh, sweetie, are you okay? Where are you?

I’m home. My home. Please don’t tell Anthony.

He knows, honey. He called us and asked us to check on you. He said you wouldn’t answer your phone or his texts. He guessed that you went to your house. What happened?

I don’t want to talk about it. Can we talk tomorrow? I just want to go to sleep.

I’m on my way. Hang in there. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

Please don’t come. I’m going straight to bed. Let’s meet at Java Joes for breakfast around ten o’clock tomorrow morning.

All right, but I’m worried about you.

I’m okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you!

You’re full of shit, Emma, but I’ll respect your decision. I’ll meet you at Joe’s. Love you!

Night

I end my text and turn off my phone. I’ll have to get another charger tomorrow, because I left mine at Anthony’s. It’s hard to get all the things you need in a few minutes. You just run. It’s the classicfight-or-flight response, and I was trained for flight because I saw what happened when you stayed to fight.

I spend the next two hours deep cleaning the house. Roxy is coming tomorrow to see the space, and I want it to show well. I have always used cleaning as therapy. If the house is spotless, then my life is not going so well.

I throw my sheets in the washing machine and make a cup of tea. My stomach is still upset, and I’m hoping the chamomile has a soothing effect. I sit on the couch and run the day through my head again.

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