Page 2 of Saving Ren
He finally releases his grip on my hair, and for a few long seconds, the pain is actually worse.
“It's steak, I didn't want to ruin it, so I wasn't going to cook it till you got home.” I can barely breathe, let alone talk through my sobs.
“That's why I kept calling…” I attempt to gasp out my explanation, but he cuts me off by spinning me around with so much force, my back slams against the fridge, and the whole thing shifts.
“That's why I called,” I try again. “I just wanted to know what time you'd be home, so I didn't ruin the steak. . . I didn’t want it ruined,” I sob.
His eyes meet mine as he pins me by my throat and for an infinitesimal moment, he's there, Jay, my husband, the man I've spent over half my life loving, he's there.
And then he's gone.
He launches the plate across the kitchen; I watch as it crashes into the sink, breaking into four large pieces.
I'm not sure if it's his fist or his palm that makes contact with the side of my head, but the blow takes me off my feet, and I crash to the floor.
“Well, it's sure as fuck ruined now.” Jay stands over me and sneers while I curl into the foetal position. “My steak, my night, my entire fucking life, you ruined it all. You’re nothing but a fat, lazy, useless bitch.”
My ears are ringing, but I hear his words and the venom and spite with which they’re delivered.
The blow from his boot hits me low in the belly. While I gasp for breath, he turns and leaves while I vomit over the kitchen tiles we chose together when building our dream home.
* * *
I’m notsure how much later it is my tears finally stop. I’m still lying on the cold kitchen tiles. My heart rate has slowed, the pain in my scalp eased, and the echo of my blood whooshing through my ears has quietened. The bubbling of the spa and Nazareth’s cover of ‘Love Hurts’ filter in from the alfresco. Pulling my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around them, wincing at the pain the movement causes. My stomach cramps and I wonder for a moment if I’m going to throw up again. Rocking from side to side, I contemplate my next move.
I should leave tonight, things have become progressively worse between us over the past couple of months, but he’s never been this violent towards me before.
You’d think at my age it’d be an easy decision to make. I’m forty-four, my kids are grown, but my only income is from my interior design business, and that’s been a bit hit and miss of late due to a lack of effort on my part. I’ve becomethatwoman. I lunch, I get my nails done, my brows and lashes, my hair. I’m not big on the gym, but I enjoy my weekly yoga class. I meet my friends for lunch and drinks, and we have girls’ weekends away. All of this has meant I’ve let my business slide, but I’m good at what I do, and I’m sure I could soon pick up clients old and new if I put the word out I was looking for work.
I have friends, close friends. I have brothers, a sister, and my own two sons, who I know wouldn’t hesitate to help me out. But there's not a single one of them I've told about the deterioration of my marriage over these past few months.
Given time, I thought Jay would change. But now, lying here feeling devastated by my husband's abuse, isolated by the secret I'm keeping from people, I know love and care about me, and devoid of any hope that things are likely to improve, I know I have to get out. I need to escape this marriage. I need to find the woman I used to be or at least a version of her. And to do that, I'm going to have to confide in someone and ask for help.
Chapter 2
Lauren
As soon asI hear Jay’s key in the front door, I rush to use the heel of my hand to wipe the tears from my face and attempt to compose myself.
Deep breaths.
Relax.
Don’t let him eventhinkyou might be awake.
It’s dark, and I know. . . I know he can’t see me, but the irrational part of my brain is scared he’ll somehow know I’m awake. This has been the routine every night since he attacked me almost a week ago.
I contemplated sleeping in one of the spare rooms the night he attacked me, but I’ve done that before, and it just made things worse. Much like the way he dragged me out of the spa the other night, in the past, he’s dragged me from one of the spare rooms and back to our bed, just so he could carry on the fight, and I really don’t think I have any more fight left in me. Thankfully, he’s stayed out late every night since then, and there’s been zero communication between us.
Rollingonto my side and into the recovery position, I settle facing away from Jay's side of the bed.
My heart rate picks up as I hear our bedroom door open.
I know exactly what to do as it closes.
I've done this so many times lately it’s become my new normal. That realisation alone has me swallowing back a sob.
Nowis not the time for tears. The time for sentimentality isover.
