CH.2

 

The staggering height difference between his muscular 6'2" frame and my petite 5'3" made me feel even more powerless and insignificant in his presence. I could smell his cologne, the same scent that used to make me weak in the knees but now just made me nauseous.

"I am a man, whether you like it or not," he growled, his hot breath reeking of stale coffee and cigarettes fanning across my face.

I tried not to gag.

"A real man, not some weak little pussy-whipped bitch like you want to turn me into." He added through gritted teeth, turning off the burner on the stove before I could with his other hand.

The pan's contents was now a blackened, smoky, inedible mess. Just like our relationship.

I stared at the ruined food, which was a perfect metaphor for my life.

"You're the one who's unfit - unfit for this house, unfit for my bed, unfit for my seed." His cruel words stabbed at my femininity and my sense of self-worth like a rusty knife.

I thought of the pregnancy test I'd taken in secret last week… the relief and sadness I'd felt at the negative result.

Richard noticed the pain and humiliation etched on my face. The corner of his lips raised in a sardonic smirk.

He always did enjoy seeing me suffer.

"Seeing your miserable, pathetic form in front of me makes me lose my appetite for food and sex. What did I do in a past life to be afflicted with a woman who doesn't even resemble a real woman? Why do I feel like I'm living with someone of the same useless sex as myself?"

He succeeded in stealing my voice. He succeeded in rendering me mute as I fought back the sting of tears.

I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Not again.

Then he shoved me aside, nearly making me topple over.

I struggled to maintain my balance in the ridiculous heels he demanded I wear around the house.

My hip collided painfully with the edge of the counter, and I knew it would leave yet another bruise to add to my collection.

"You'd better take care of the move and have everything ready at the new place while I'm gone, unless you want a repeat of this morning's fun."

He snatched his suit jacket from the back of the kitchen chair and headed for the front door, not even bothering to look back at me.

"I'm leaving for work. Don't disappoint me again, Emmeline."

I stared daggers into his back as if I could burn holes through his tailored shirt with the intensity of my glare and hatred alone.

"I hope you get hit by a truck," I muttered under my breath, even though some dark, shameful part of me still craved his approval and affection like an addict.

I hated that part of myself, the weakness that kept me glued to this monster.

I let out a deep, shuddering sigh of relief once the front door slammed and he was finally gone.

The silence in the apartment was deafening.

Should I be thankful his busy work schedule and lack of time meant he didn't go to even further extremes abusing me this morning?

It's not like the physical and emotional torture was anything new or that I'm not used to it by now. That's what my life has become - bracing for his next outburst, walking on eggshells, never knowing what small misstep or perceived insolence on my part would trigger his unchecked rage.

After taking a few minutes to compose myself and clean up the mess in the kitchen, I slowly made my way to our bedroom to change clothes for the day ahead.

Each step was painful for my body marred with a road map of old and new injuries.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back at me.

Where was the bright-eyed, ambitious girl I used to be?

No amount of makeup could conceal the fading yellows and purples of old bruises around my eyes and jaw.

I was trapped in this waking nightmare of a marriage, and I didn't know how to escape without risking even worse consequences.

All I could do was keep my head down, avoid his wrath as much as possible, and try to survive another day as an empty shell of the vibrant, hopeful young woman I used to be.

While applying another layer of concealer, trying in vain to hide the evidence of my husband's "love," I kept wondering how I'd ended up here.

I thought of my parents, of my friends, of all the people who should have protected me but instead pushed me deeper into this abyss.

I thought of my dreams, the career I was slowly watching slip away as Richard's control tightened.

My gaze darted to the clock.

The movers will be here soon.

Richard had recently been promoted to department head of surgery at the prestigious Riverwalk National University Hospital, where he works. And with his salary more than doubling, he went on a spending spree.

He put a down payment on an ostentatious villa in the ritziest neighborhood in town - Achrafieh Hill, where only the wealthiest upper-crust families resided. Against my wishes, of course.

He's the spoiled second son born into an obscenely rich, influential family, while I'm the youngest daughter of a respectable but solidly middle-class household.

The stark difference in our backgrounds had always been a source of tension, with Richard often reminding me how "lucky" I was that he had deigned to marry beneath his social status.

As if I should be grateful for the abuse and humiliation he heaped on me daily.

I had to put on a brave face and pretend everything was fine.

I began gathering my things. A small voice at the back of my mind whispered that this couldn't go on forever.

Something had to change. I just prayed that when it did, I would survive the fallout.

I stared at my reflection in the tall mirror of the ornate dresser, at my petite frame drowning in the short blue dress with its thin straps over a long-sleeved white shirt.

It was mid-November in Riverwalk after all, and I had to cover the marks on my arms.

My long brown hair was pulled up in a high, messy bun, and my hazel eyes flattened with dejection and anguish over my small, helpless body.

Do I really lack femininity and womanly appeal like that cruel bastard claimed?

I turned slowly left and right, critically examining my reflection in the tall bedroom mirror.

My curves were undeniably present - full breasts straining against the thin fabric of my dress, a narrow waist that flared out to shapely hips and a toned backside from years of ballet and yoga.

Despite being only 5'3", my feminine charms were quite prominent.

My long, silky black hair cascaded down my back, and my almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips gave me a delicate, classically beautiful appearance.

My body wasn't bad at all, or at least it didn't used to be before the constant stress and torment started taking its toll.

Dark circles had begun to form under my eyes from sleepless nights, and my skin had lost some of its youthful glow.

Still, I was far from the unattractive shrew Richard made me out to be.

He's the one who needs to visit an ophthalmologist, not me!

I closed my eyes tightly, expelling the toxic, self-doubting thoughts from my mind.

Don't let his vicious, misogynistic words penetrate you and erode your self-worth, I scolded myself.

The problem isn't you or your appearance - it's him and his archaic, controlling mindset. You're beautiful, smart, and capable. Don't ever forget that!