Worn Me Down

Chapter 12 Gwen

“Please, keep your voice down. Emma might hear you.”

My pleading fell on deaf ears as William tightened his hold on my arm and roughly yanked me closer to him.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do! Maybe it’s about time our daughter finds out what a slut her mother is,” he shouted, his lips curled back in an angry snarl.

I used to love those lips. I used to trace my fingertips over them when we would lie in bed at night.

I stared at his lips as his hand squeezed around my upper arm so hard that I knew there would be a bruise left behind in the shape of his fingers. It wouldn’t be the first time and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. Suddenly, the thought that I would spend the rest of my days walking on eggshells, hiding bruises and wearing clothing that covered scars seemed like a worse fate than dying.

William shoved me roughly away from him and I stumbled backwards, my feet getting tangled in each other and my hip hitting the corner of his desk.

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered, wincing in pain.

The swear slipped passed my lips without conscious thought as I pressed my hand to the tender skin of my hip. William doesn’t like women who swear. I should have been more careful.

He charged at me and I had just enough time to brace myself for the fist that connected with my cheek. The force of the blow sent my body away from him and I sprawled across the top of his desk, my arms flying out to catch my fall. Medical books, patient records, his laptop and a cup full of pens went crashing to the floor. He hadn’t hit me in the face since that very first time. Too many people questioned what had happened to me and he couldn’t take the chance of anyone finding out. After that, he was careful to inflict his pain only to places where no one would see – my thighs, my stomach, my back, my arms… so his lack of concern about the bruise that would surely grace my cheek tomorrow scared me to death.

His hand clutched onto a handful of my long, blonde hair on the back of my head and he dragged me up from the desk, pulling my head back until I stared up into his furious face.

My cheek throbbed from the punch and I blinked back tears as my hands reached up blindly behind my head to try and get him to let go of me.

“Does the guy you’ve been fucking behind my back have a mouth like that?” he questioned angrily.

“William, there’s no one else, I swear to you,” I sobbed, my tear-filled eyes pleading with him to believe me.

My arms up, clutching onto his hand at the back of my head, I’d inadvertently left my body wide open for him. His fist slammed into my ribs, stealing the breath from my lungs as a sharp pain shot down my side. His balled up fist connected with the same spot again and again until blackness swam at the edge of my vision and I heard the snap of a rib breaking.

He shoved me away from him again and I could do nothing but crumple to the floor, the pain in my side so severe that I knew I was going to throw up. Nausea swirled around in my stomach as I held my hands to my ribs, my breath coming out in short bursts, each one sending a fiery burn down the side of my body until I dry heaved.

“You’re a liar and a whore. I’ve done everything for you and this is how you repay me?” he shouted, standing above me.

I wanted to tell him not to yell, that Emma was going to wake up and see what was happening, but I couldn’t form the words. The pain in my ribs was so bad I knew I was going to black out soon.

I was so busy struggling to breathe face down on the carpet in his office that I didn’t even see him pull his leg back. I didn’t see his dress shoe covered foot coming towards me until I feel the crunch of bone in my bicep.

“You’re a fucking tease! No wonder you let someone else screw you.”

I bolt up in bed, my body covered in sweat and my heart racing. I unconsciously wrap my arms around myself, recalling the pain of broken ribs and blows to my body from that final beating, the last time I ever allowed William to hurt me. Glancing over at the clock on my nightstand, the red glowing lights read three-fifteen and I know I won’t be able to go back to sleep. Austin’s cocky words from earlier that night play on a loop in my head.

Fucking tease, fucking tease, fucking tease.

I know he didn’t mean them the same way William did. I know he only said that to me because I pushed him away. I got home from dinner with Ellie and I couldn’t think straight. Overwhelmed by fear and shaken to the core by her betrayal, I just wanted to forget about everything Ellie told me and the clusterfuck my life has become if only for a moment. I used him, never thinking about what I was doing, simply wanting to do something to erase it all. I didn’t want to think about William or Ellie or how betrayed I felt by my best friend. I had no idea that kissing Austin would only fill my mind with more doubt and confusion. I didn’t think I would ever want to be touched by another man ever again, but having his body against mine, feeling his need for me pushing between my legs… it made everything go away until there was only him. I shouldn’t have pushed him away like I did, but I had to. If Emma hadn’t come into the kitchen when she did, I wouldn’t have stopped him from going further. I would have stripped bare for him and he would have seen all of my scars – physically and mentally. It’s better this way. I’m no good for him or any man. I’m damaged and that’s the way it’s always going to be. Underneath that smart-ass nature is a man who’s passionate, generous, protective and pours himself into something one hundred percent. I don’t have one hundred percent of myself to give anyone other than Emma.

When I get to the office in a few hours, I’ll tell him everything. He’ll pity me and he look at me like a victim, but at least then he’ll understand why I can’t do this with him or anyone.

Getting out of bed, I make my way to the bathroom to shower off the sweat and feelings of anxiety the dream left in its wake. When I’m finished, I quietly creep into Emma’s room and gently sit on the edge of her bed. I watch her chest rise and fall with the deep breaths of sleep and I softly run the backs of my fingers down her cheek.

Every single day since I walked out of the house William and I shared with just one single bag filled with as much of my and Emma’s things that would fit inside of it, I’ve second-guessed my decision. What kind of a mother takes a child away from her father? William always wanted a boy and the disappointment when we found out we were having a girl was evident. He never spent one-on-one time with her, never read her a bedtime story or did any other special things that a father should do with his daughter, but he still loved her in his own way. He hurt me, he bruised me and he broke me. After I left the hospital three days after that night, the only thing I could think about was – what if he would have killed me? Emma would be alone with him. What if he decided to use her as his punching bag in my absence? I knew if I stayed with him, he would eventually kill me and I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her at his mercy.

Emma sighs in her sleep, rolls towards me and burrows her face deeper into her pillow. I bite back tears as I slowly slide into bed next to her and rest my head on her pillow, wrapping my arm around her small body and pulling her closer to me. I breathe in the scent of Johnson’s baby shampoo that lingers in her hair and I remind myself that I did what I had to do. I did what I thought was right to keep my baby safe, and I would do it all over again if I had the chance.

A knock at the door wakes me up at six and I rub the sleep from my eyes, glancing down to see that Emma is still asleep next to me. With a kiss to her head, I carefully get out of bed, closing her door behind me and heading out into the living room.

Looking out of the peephole, I don’t see anyone there. A feeling of unease washes through me when I think about the letter that came in the mail and how William knows where I am now. Brady’s apartment building is small, but it’s secure. No one can come up to an apartment without being buzzed in first. Feeling like an idiot for being nervous when it’s probably just the super dropping off the rent bill, I slide the chain off of the door and unlock the deadbolt, opening the door slowly.

Glancing down at the floor in the hallway, my blood runs cold and my hand flies to my mouth to cover up a sob. Standing in a row like little soldiers guarding the door are three crystal vases, overflowing with bunches of purple orchids. Their spicy, vanilla scent fills the hallway, overwhelming my senses until I feel like I might throw up. I quickly slam the door closed, my hands shaking as it takes me three tries to put the chain back on and secure the deadbolt. Once the door is locked, I back away; staring at the door like it will burst open at any moment and my worse nightmare will be standing in front of me. I keep walking backwards until my ass bumps into the wall next to the television and I slide down to the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.

I used to love purple orchids. Growing up, my mother kept vases of them in every room. It was the one good memory I have of being a little girl – going to the flower shop with her every Sunday and buying orchids to fill the house. We would pick out the plants with the prettiest blooms and the softest petals and then she would take me to the country club for lunch, just the two of us. She wouldn’t nag me about sitting up straight, minding my manners or acting like a lady. We would talk about the beautiful flowers and how nice the house would smell as soon as we got home.

My head thumps back against the wall and I squeeze my eye shut to try and keep the tears from falling as I think about how much I loved orchids and Sundays alone with my mother.

I loved them until my mother told William they were my favorite flower. I loved them until he would buy them for me every time he hurt me as a way to absolve himself from the pain he inflicted, as if a bouquet of flowers could erase what he’d done.

The smell of the flowers in the hall clings to my nose and my body shakes with the memory of each and every time I received a vase of those flowers.