Page 19 of My Destiny
“I mean every single word.” And in that moment I do. I never thought I could despise a man as much as the one who helped create me, but Jake has somehow managed to top the list.
His facial expressions change, like something inside him snaps. His hand moves up a fraction, and the grip on my throat tightens. “You bitch!” His murderous glare penetrates me as he shoves my head roughly into the wall. He’s never been violent towards me before, but the pressure of his hold tells me he’s trying to do me harm.
“Jake,” I cry, but my plea goes unheard.
“You’re not going anywhere—you hear me?”
I struggle to get air into my lungs, but it’s fruitless. His hold is so tight, it’s cutting off my airway. Panic sets in as my lungs start to burn and my vision becomes blurred.
Dropping the bag in my hand, I grab hold of his arms and desperately try to pry his hands off me, but he’s too strong. I feel like I’m on the verge of losing consciousness. I need to do something; I can’t let things end like this.
“You’re my wife, you belong here with me!” Raising my leg, I use every ounce of strength I have left, kneeing him in the balls. “Shit,” he groans, letting go of me and falling to the floor with a thud.
I cough and splutter as I breathe in as much air as I can. Jake is rolling around on the floor by my feet, blocking my exit to the front door.
After picking up the bag I brought home from the hospital, I race up the stairs and into our bedroom, locking the door behind me.
I can no longer hold my tears at bay as I slide down the back of the door and into a crumpled mess on the floor. My body starts to tremble from the shock of what just happened. Not only has Jake never raised a hand to me, I’ve never seen him show violence towards anyone.
Moments later, I hear the door handle rattle, followed by a knock. “Brooke, let me in. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”
His voice is soft and calm, but he’s delusional if he thinks for one moment that I’m going to unlock the door. How can he be so psychotic one minute and so sweet the next?
“Leave me alone,” I say, my voice sounding raspy. I flinch when he punches the door.
Managing to get onto my hands and knees, I crawl across the room towards the en-suite. I can’t trust that he’s not going to lose his shit again and try to break down the door.
Using the vanity, I pull myself up into a standing position. When I look at my reflection in the mirror, I see that some of the blood vessels have burst in one of my eyes, making the white part of my eye bright red. Tilting my head back, I can see his handprints still visible around my throat. The sight makes me sick to the stomach.
My hands tremble as I turn on the tap and splash water onto my face. One thing is for certain, I need to get the hell out of this house and as far away from that man as possible. But first, I need to clear my head and think this through. I’m not opening that door until I have a solid plan. There’s no telling what he’ll do to me if I try to walk out of the house now.
Walking back into the bedroom, I sit on the side of the bed. Maybe I should’ve listened to the doctor and stayed in the hospital a while longer.
From downstairs, I can hear Jake screaming and things smashing. The psychotic Jake has returned with a vengeance.
Opening my eyes, I feel dazed and confused. Sitting up, I see I’ve been lying on top of the covers, and my legs are still hanging over the side of the bed. I look over at the clock on the bedside table. It reads 1.08 am. I must’ve fallen asleep.
Swallowing, my throat still feels tender. I stand, and the moonlight shining through the window slightly illuminates the room. I tiptoe towards the en-suite, since I presume I’m still alone, but can’t be sure.
I turn on the bathroom light before gazing around the bedroom. Jake is nowhere in sight. One hand on my chest, I breathe a sigh of relief and walk towards the door to see if it’s still locked. It is. I feel lethargic and emotionally drained, but I have to get out of here.
Opening the wardrobe, I pull out a small suitcase. I can’t take much—only the essentials.
After placing it on the bed, I open it and then grab as many clothes and underwear as I can and squash them in. In the bathroom, I get my face cream, makeup bag, toothbrush, and a hairbrush. I can buy whatever else I need.
Glancing in the mirror, I’m not surprised to see that I look like shit. The bruises have started to form on my neck. My fingers glide over the offending area. I still can’t believe he did this to me. You think you know someone, only to find out you don’t really know them at all. After splashing some water on my face, I grab an elastic out of the top drawer and pull my hair back into a ponytail.
Rushing back into the bedroom, I strip out of the clothes I’m wearing, slipping into a pair of jeans and a red up-down top. After sliding into a pair of red ballet flats, I rummage around in the wicker basket at the base of the wardrobe, looking for my red silk scarf. I need something to tie around my neck to cover the bruises. People are only going to ask questions if I don’t.
I grab my mobile phone charger off the bedside table, and the phone out of my silver clutch purse. I see Logan’s business card and for a split second contemplate calling him, but I’ve already disrupted his life enough. Placing the card back inside, I drop the purse on the bed. He doesn’t need any more of my drama in his life.
Reaching inside the brown paper shopping bag, I grab the prescription and letter from Dr. Goldstein and shove them in my back pocket.
Dashing back around to the wardrobe, I reach up to the top shelf and feel around for my album. It’s one of my most treasured possessions. In it are photos of me growing up and, more importantly, photos of my mother. The stretching sends a shooting pain across my abdomen, but there’s no way I’m leaving without it. In my heart I know I’ll never be coming back here. Most material things are replaceable, but this one is not.
Once it’s safely packed in between a few layers of clothes, I go to my jewellery box and retrieve the gold heart-shaped locket my mother gave me for my eighteenth birthday. It was one of the last gifts I ever received from her. Inside is a small picture of us together.
Taking off my wedding band, I place it down on the dressing table. I no longer want it. That part of my life is over.
