Page 9 of Viktor

Sara quickly looked away. This was not good. Her reaction to this man was insane. She’d never in her life felt like this. She wrote about this feeling, sure, but now that she understood it, she knew what she wrote about was a pale comparison to the real thing.

“Sara?” Viktor asked, concerned. “Are you okay?”

No, nothing was okay. But how could she tell him she wanted to jump his bones so badly she was shaking? It wasn’t right either. She was still married, having only left her husband a few weeks ago. Part of her said screw Roger, he didn’t deserve her loyalty, but the other part said don’t be an adulteress. She was better than that.

“I’m fine. It’s just this whole mess with Roger…” Sara picked up her fork to dig in to her food. “It’s just hard.”

Viktor let her have her lie. He knew exactly what she was thinking when she’d looked up. He also understood the lie. They needed to keep this professional.

“I understand, and I wouldn’t push you if it wasn’t necessary. I need to know these things to protect you and your daughter.”

She nodded and took a bite of her food. “The first time he hit me was on his birthday. I’d planned a romantic evening, excited to show him the watch I bought him. It took me months to save the money for it. When he got home, he was in a foul mood. I had learned to read his moods, but I hoped seeing the meal I’d made, the candles, every little detail I’d painstakingly seen to would help.”

“But it didn’t,” Viktor guessed. Her expression changed to utter despair when she talked about her husband. Her shoulders hunched as she spoke of her past and the brutality she’d suffered both physically and mentally. Sara was such a vibrant, passionate person. It was one of the first things he’d picked up on when they met. Seeing her like this made him want to find Roger and beat the shit out of him.

“No.” She played with the straw in her drink, swirling it and listening to the ice rattle against the glass. “It was his favorite, mushroom risotto to start, steak, and garlic mashed potatoes, with triple fudge chocolate cake for dessert. I can remember that meal when I can’t remember anything else.”

Viktor wasn’t surprised. A lot of the battered women he’d worked with could tell him in vivid detail about the first time they were hit by the person who loved them. It was something they weren’t likely to ever forget.

“He’d just opened his business, and one of his mechanics made a mistake, costing him a lot of money. He fired the man, but that wasn’t enough. He needed to take his anger out on someone, and he couldn’t on the kid he’d fired. Instead, he took it out on me. The risotto was too watery. The steak too well done and tough. The mashed potatoes were too stiff and reeked of garlic. And the cake? When I reminded him it was his favorite, he took it from me and threw it. I can still remember the wetthunkas it hit the wall. It slid down and made a mess. That only enraged him more. He turned to me, telling me it was all my fault, and the next thing I knew, his fist came at me.”

Viktor hid his hands beneath the table to keep her from seeing how he’d fisted them. It would scare her, and she was reliving enough of a nightmare without him adding to it.

“I don’t remember much after that. I woke up on the floor so sore I could barely move, but I crawled to the bathroom. Roger had gone out, and I was so grateful. When I managed to stand, my eye was swollen shut. I was so mad, not only at Roger, but at myself. I wasn’t a woman who let a man hit her. My father taught me better than that. But then I could hear Roger’s voice telling me how it was my fault, how stupid I was, how I had made him so furious he couldn’t help but hit me. I’m still not sure if he actually said those things to me that night or if I imagined them.”

The instinct to hold her and tell her she was safe nagged at Viktor. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck to keep his hands to himself. One thing he was certain of. Roger wouldn’t be able to hurt her or her daughter again. He’d make sure of it.

“He came home around midnight. I’d scrubbed the cake off the wall and cleaned up. My only thought was if I didn’t, he’d just get mad again. He crawled into bed stinking of gin and went to sleep. He was gone the next morning before I even woke up.” Sara pushed her food around on the plate. “When he came home that night, he brought me flowers and apologized. He was so sincere, and I loved him, so I stayed. The good outweighed the bad. That’s how I rationalized the next couple weeks. He’d get mad, and I’d get hit, but it wasn’t that often, and he went back to treating me like I was the most precious thing in the world, except when he didn’t.”

“You said you thought about leaving him?” Viktor prompted when she stayed silent.

Sara nodded. “Yes. Deep down, I knew what was happening to me was wrong. I loved him, but my daddy taught me better than to stay with a man who hit me. I’d made up my mind to leave. I still had my parents. Like I told you before, he didn’t try to alienate me from my parents. I think he knew my dad would pitch a fit and it might bring home questions Roger didn’t want to answer. Anyway, I wasn’t feeling well. I thought it was a stomach bug. A week later, I was still throwing up. My mom asked me if I thought I might be pregnant, and it felt like the floor went out from under me.”

Memories of that day still haunted her. She picked up her drink and sipped at it, trying to find the words to explain why she stayed with Roger. It was a decision she’d regret for the rest of her life, but at least now she’d taken back control of her life, and things were going to get better for her and Delia.

“When I told him I was pregnant, it was bad. He didn’t hit me, but he told me I ruined his life. The vile things he said that day will stay with me forever. I wanted to say no when he told me we’d get married, but I had no way to support myself, let alone a baby. And despite everything, Ididlove him. I know it sounds crazy, and I should never have married him, but that’s the crux of it. I loved him. Not the man who hit me, but the man who made me laugh and feel special.”

“It’s not crazy.” Viktor reached over and took her hand. “It’s honest.”

Her hand looked so tiny in his. Delicate, even. She had short, fat fingers, thanks to her grandmother, but in Viktor’s hand, they looked tiny and elegant.

“We were married three weeks later. In a small ceremony with his parents and mine. Things got better, much to my surprise. He lost his temper a few times during my pregnancy, but he never laid a finger on me. For that, I’m grateful. My worst fear was that he’d hit me, I’d fall and lose the baby. I was happy for the first time in a long time. He went back to treating me like the woman he loved, and he was excited for the baby.” She let a small smile slip free thinking about those few precious months. “I remember he painted the nursery five times until he found the right shade of pink. I thought we’d hit a turning point in our relationship. Babies change everything.”

“It didn’t last, though.” Viktor released her hand and sat back. “It never does with men like Roger.”

“No, it didn’t last.” Sara sat up straight. “Delia was three months old. She had colic and cried constantly. Roger blamed me for it.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “That night, when I finally got her to sleep, he didn’t just hit me, he beat me. He kicked me until I couldn’t move from the pain. I thought maybe my kidneys or my spleen ruptured. When he went to the crib, I was so scared he’d hurt her, and I couldn’t do anything, but he only stroked her face and told her goodnight. I didn’t move for the rest of the night. I couldn’t. Roger went to bed, and the next morning, he came in and changed her diaper, fed her, and then put her in the swing, telling me to get up and get dressed, he had to go to work. It was as if nothing happened.”

She glanced up at Viktor, and his expression held nothing but sympathy. He really wasn’t judging her.

“After that, we fell into a routine of sorts. It became normal, almost. He went for long periods where he was the man I loved, and then he turned into a monster for even longer periods of time, be it emotional or physical abuse. The one thing I counted on was that he wouldn’t hurt Delia. He could be cold or loving to her, and I know it confused her, but he’d never hit before.”

“Tell me about the night you left.”

She shuddered. “He went to the bar with some of his buddies. When he got home, he was drunk enough not to control his temper. He barked at Delia to put her things away, and when she didn’t move fast enough for him, he picked her up and shook her. I ran over to try to get her away from him, but I didn’t make it in time. He reared his fist back and hit her in the face so hard it knocked out one of her front teeth. She screamed, and he tossed her, telling me to shut her up or he would. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. I picked her up and ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind us. She was bleeding, and it took me forever to calm her down. I got her cleaned up and took her to her room, telling her to stay there until I came to get her.”

The image of her baby, bloody and crying, enraged her. If she wasn’t afraid of going to jail, she’d have picked up a baseball bat and beat the living shit out of Roger, but he’d have her arrested and get custody of Delia.

“I wanted to kill him, but I didn’t. Instead, I cooked him a late supper and crushed up one of my sleeping pills. It went into his beer. I waited until he passed out, and then I took Delia to the hospital. I called my parents, and they came and picked us up. The next morning, I took out the restraining order, which the judge granted when he took one look at Delia. I didn’t want to bring her, but Dad said the judge would be more willing to give me a restraining order if he saw what Roger did. Dad was right.”

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