Page 42 of Bossy Hero

I’ve been legally free from Travis for over a year.

Yet I’m still living as if he’ll come back any day and make me pay for daring to find my own happiness. When he does, I fear I’ll open the door and usher him inside. Exactly as I’ve done countless times before. All because he’ll turn on the charm that won me over initially. He’ll remind me of the good times before everything went horribly wrong. There’ll be so many promises, each more grandiose than the last. And he’ll make me feel like he can’t survive without me, turning my caring nature against me.

It’s always the same. For decades, I’ve been stuck in a loop with him. An emotional merry-go-round in the middle of hell.

I’m the proverbial lamb leading herself to slaughter.

As that tragic thought crosses my mind, I grind my teeth and shake my head, physically and metaphorically forcing the notion away.

No. It isn’t true. I’m honestly done this time.

For good. D-O-N-E.

As many times as I’ve thought it before, it rings truer now than ever.

In actuality, I was ready for a permanent separation years ago, but Travis held something over my head. A threat I couldn’t let him follow through with. I knew he would. He doesn’t ever threaten things he’s not prepared to carry out.

So I took him back one last time. And began counting the seconds until I could break free. Praying it would happen before my life was taken.

The very same day Travis’s threat stopped holding weight, I left him. Didn’t even pack. Drove straight to the courthouse to get another restraining order, then went to the Legal Aid office for assistance filing for divorce.

The ink has finally dried on those papers. And I’m rid of him.

Although I’m perpetually looking over my shoulder, I honestly feel as though I can start to turn the page.

I want to find happiness.

Whether I deserve it is another question entirely.

Interestingly enough, when I was living through daily misery, the self-deprecation was less severe than it is now. Isn’t that strange? You’d think I’d be happier—and I am—but I’m also filled to the brim with a severe loathing of my past-self.

How could I put up with everything he did to me for so long?

Why did I give him the best years of my life?

Knowing how good it is to be free—truly free—makes the reality of how much of my life I lost all the more painful to bear. It cuts me with a dull knife. Constantly sawing into my flesh, drawing small drops of blood that pool at the bottom of my gut. Never a deluge or gush. The arteries won’t sever.

Nothing that will end my life.

Instead, I’ll languish in a mental prison that’s often more painful than the injuries he gave me.

One sweet day, I’ll figure out why I didn’t value myself enough to make thelastbreak sooner. Better yet, why the first punch to the gut didn’t have me packing my bags.

What happened to me to enable his lies and manipulation to work as well as they did? And for so long? Is my childhood to blame, or is it something more? Am I just broken?

Until I uncover that mystery, I’ll keep berating myself for my infinite number of mistakes.

Maybe I should move. Somewhere Travis won’t follow. Get away from this town and all the memories. All the secrets it holds. The ghosts waiting for me around every corner.

Perhaps I could convince the kids to move with me. I hear Florida’s nice.

And there’d be a familiar face to greet us. A handsome one.

Alan.

He’s patiently waiting forsomeday. At least he was the last time we communicated about a month ago. I assumed he’d be married by now with a couple of kids. However, he’s as single now as he was when we met nearly a decade ago. Suppose he doesn’t want to give up his playboy ways. The perpetual bachelor.

Men have that luxury. No ticking biological clock for those who want a family.

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