Fear.

I was sure he could see the fear in my eyes. I was sure that it just added to the thrill. I cowered under the table trying get away from him. He was faster than me and stronger than me. He grabbed my by my hair and drug me from under the table. I felt a blow to the side. He was wearing his steel-toed boots. There was no way that he didn't fracture a rib. I covered my face and curled up in the fetal position. I knew I couldn't defend myself. I just needed to try and make it through it all-- and to make it out alive. He yelled at me to get up. He grabbed my arm and jerked me up. He pinned me against the wall. Holding my body up so that I couldn't even double over as he punched me in the stomach. "Bitch" was the last thing that I heard before I blacked out.

I woke up on the floor. Blood in various pools around my body. Somehow, I knew I deserved it. I'd moved his tools while re-painting the garage. Something that he specifically asked me not to do. I picked myself up off the floor. The room was spinning. My head was pounding. I dragged myself into the bathroom and climbed into the tub. I turned the knob until the water was scalding hot. It was my distraction from the pain. I peeled my clothes off as I soaked in the tub. I just hoped that he was passed out somewhere or out again.I wanted to be better for him. I wanted him to know that I was trying to be better. Still, I knew, somewhere deep down that it would just keep happening. It had gotten worse recently. He told me hate me. I just wanted it to all go away. I slid down in the tub, letting my head drop under the water. I didn't want to lift my head again but my body wouldn't let me go that easily. I sat up, gasping for air. Cleaning off the blood, I got out of the bathtub. I glanced at myself in the mirror. It was going to be days before I could leave the house again. Bruises covered my thighs and torso. My lip was busted and my eye was bloodshot from a blow to the head. It'd probably be a black eye within hours.

Wrapping myself in a terry cloth robe, I began the search for him. I found him on the bedroom floor. My heart raced. It wasn't the first time that I'd come upon his passed out body and momentarily pictured his neck broken and a lifeless body. I hated those thoughts. Bending over him, I checked to make sure he was breathing. He was the meanest man I'd ever met but he told me that he loved me. And he did.

I went to the kitchen to clean up the blood and broken beer bottles. The cast iron skillet sat on the counter with pieces of glass in it. My mind flashed back to his body, wishing that I could return to the bedroom, skillet in hand and smash his head in until my arms ached. I could never do that though. Once the kitchen was clean, I sat down on the couch taking a cigarette out of my purse. Nicotine was somehow calming. I lit it and took a drag. Really, it was just another day. He'd be a different man when he woke up. We'd cuddle and watch Sleeping with the Enemy.

Memorial Day.

Today was a very boring Memorial Day for me. I haven't done anything productive except maybe this post--but that's debatable.

I watched White Oleander. I think I've seen it before, or parts of it, because I remembered the plot generally but was still "surprised" by the storyline. White Oleander is one of those movies that someone should tell you what you are getting into before you watch it. There should be a section on the DVD cover or a note in the Info on cable tv. "You shouldn't watch this movie if you have mother issues." "You shouldn't watch this film if you are intolerant of children being harmed." "You shouldn't watch this film if you are prone to depression." The film is a depressing one. It's a strange coming of age story intertwined with a intense depiction mother/daughter issues. Why did I watch the film then? Because it was on tv and something to do. None of my friends are in town and I need to do laundry. What else is there to do?

Really, it was just one of those days that I didn't feel like getting out and exploring on my own. So here I am, writing on my blog for the first time in months.