Page 29 of Make Me Whole

I nodded. He kissed the top of my head.

“Yeah. He wanted to make me stop crying, and he did. I was too stunned to cry. I just laid on the bed, feeling dead as he gave me an hour-long tongue lashing. At the end, he apologized for striking me. He said I was hysterical and that he needed to shake me back to sanity. I believed him, even though I wasn’t in love anymore.

“The verbal abuse never stopped, but it took about a year for him to lay his hands on me again. It was a hard shove against a wall. The third time was after eight months, and the next after four. At first it was just a slap, a shove, or something like that, but as the frequency increased, so did the force. During the last two years of marriage, he was slapping my arms or back almost every day and really hurting me at least once a month.”

“And you never thought about leaving?”

I pulled back from him so I could look into his eyes. There was no accusation in his question, but I wanted him to see my truth as well as hear it.

“Of course, I did. I thought about it all the time, but abuse is meant to take your power, to make you feel worthless and weak. The more abuse you endure, the harder it is to believe that you don’t deserve it.

“And I had to think about Ella.”

I was a twenty-five-year-old nobody with only a GED, no job, no house, and no money. Eli had a college degree, a job, a house, money, and influence. I needed proof of the abuse to get custody, otherwise, I had no chance.”

“So you waited for proof.”

I nodded. “It wasn’t a conscious decision. Like I said, I had no power, no hope. I just tried to survive and protect my child.”

His eyes were full of compassion as he nodded. “When did you decide it was time to leave?”

My heart tightened at the question. I didn’t want to tell Max about this. I didn’t even want to think about it. But I had to. I knew that if I kept putting a lid on this pain, burying it inside my mind, it would eventually kill me.

“On the day of today’s nightmare.”

He waited quietly for me to continue or move on. That respect helped me to push through the blocks in my mind and find the courage to tell him.

“It was Friday,” I started. “I was reading in bed when he came home. He entered our room drunk and with red lipstick smeared all over his face. Not wanting to start trouble, I ignored how disgusted I felt and simply asked how his day had been. He thought I was provoking him, which I never did, and started an angry rant.

“I don’t remember everything he said. All I remember is him saying I had no right to judge him for fucking other women when I was as cold as a fish toward him. When I didn’t engage, he escalated with all kinds of name calling and bullshit accusations.”

My eyes filled with tears as I continued, “Finally pushed to the limit, I told him he revolted me and that I was glad he had found another poor soul to torture with his dick. Better her than me.”

A gleam of pride punctuated Max’s worried face, and the emotion bloomed in my heart as well. Despite what happened next—what I’d tell him next—I was proud that past me had found the strength to shove some truth into Eli’s face.

With the tiniest hint of a smile, I continued, “His face grew red with anger. He slapped me across the cheek hard enough that I tasted blood, but not hard enough to give me the proof I needed. Then, he tugged my feet so I was lying in the bed instead of sitting, pulled my pajama pants off, and got on top of me.

“I wanted to scream,” I continued, lost in the pain of the memory. “But the only person around was Ella, and I would die before letting her know what was happening. I shut down and let him do what he wanted. I don’t remember any part of it, just that after he was done, he whispered that claiming I was raped by my husband would make me sound crazy. Though I agreed with him, I made a vow that with or without proof, I’d escape with Ella.”

Max looked devastated. He tightened his hold on me, as if it would protect me from the pain of my past. In a soft but strained voice, he asked, “Did he ever–”

“Do it again?” He nodded, and I shook my head firmly. “No. That was the only time. Though he kept physically abusing me until the day before I left—which was the worst beating I'd ever had and yesterday’s nightmare. That day, he grabbed me by the hair so hard it yanked a patch off and then punched my wrist. I don’t know if it got broken or just strained, but it still bothers me a lot. That’s why I yelped when you touched it.”

“And why you asked me not to tug your hair yesterday?” The question brought the kiss back to my mind, and I blushed a little.

I nodded. He dropped his eyes to my wrist to examine it. “I wish I’d known. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” I told him honestly. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me—neither time.”

“I didn’t.” He sighed. After a while, he asked, “Is there anything I can do? This includes murder. I really—really—wouldn’t mind doing that.”

I laughed, which was strange given our painful conversation. “As appealing as the idea is, please don’t murder him. You’d end up in jail, Aiden would be alone, and I’d miss you.”

He smiled—at my admission? At my flushing cheeks? At both? Who knew and who cared?

“Why are you assuming I’d get caught? I’m smart enough to make it look like an accident.”

I laughed again. “My dad said that, but still, no. Just do what you promised and keep me safe. And I don’t just mean my body, I mean my heart too. I’ve told none of this to anyone because I don’t trust people. But I trust you. Don’t prove me wrong, Max. Please.”

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