Worn Me Down

Chapter 8 Gwen

Growing up, every movie or television show I ever watched where a woman was abused always made me shake my head in irritation. Who in their right mind would stick around and put up with that again and again? Didn’t these women have brains in their heads? I knew for a fact that if a man ever laid his hands on me, I would tell him off, kick his ass to the curb and never look back.

It’s always easy to judge other people when you have no idea what kind of life they live behind closed doors, when you’ve never walked one footstep in their shoes or when you’ve never given your heart to a man you believed when he told you it would never happen again.

I met William at a charity function my mother was hosting. He had just finished his medical residency and secured a full time position with Mount Sinai hospital. He was the most charming man I had ever met and the first man to make me laugh since my brother left for the Navy when I was sixteen. At twenty-two years old, my parents were starting to pressure me more and more about finding a husband and settling down. Not that I was a wild child or anything like that, but in their eyes, it was high time I find someone so they could impress their friends with a lavish wedding and give them grandchildren they could brag about. Over the years, they tried setting me up with some of their friend’s sons and each one was worse than the last. They were all too much like my shallow parents and I wanted more. I wanted a man who would let me be who I wanted to be and not who my parent’s thought I should be.

I still remember the night I met him like it was yesterday. I was standing at the bar with a full glass of champagne in my hand wishing I were anywhere but there.

“Don’t slouch, Gwendolyn,” my mother scolded out of the corner of her mouth as she smiled and waved at someone she knew across the room.

I sighed and stood up taller, taking a small sip of my champagne. I wished Brady were here. He would be standing off in the corner making fun of all the pretentious people in the room, our parents included and making me laugh. It’s sad that I can’t even remember the last time I laughed. My life has turned into the movie Groundhog Day – one day bleeds into the next, the same things over and over until I’m so bored I could cry.

“I’m going to go find your father and start making the rounds to all the tables. Make sure you smile and thank people for coming,” she told me distractedly as she wandered away.

It took everything in me not to roll my eyes at her retreating back. I should have told her that I didn’t feel well and stayed home tonight, but then she wouldn’t have been able to parade me around to all of her friends bragging about how I just graduated at the top of my class with a degree in business. A degree I didn’t want, but the only one that would make my parents happy and keep them off my back. I wanted to study social work, but my parents thought it was a frivolous waste and one that wouldn’t make me any money in the future. Just like always, I did as they instructed.

“Is this the most boring party you’ve ever been to or is it just me?”

A voice next to me at the bar brought me out of my thoughts. I turned to see a man in a black tux smiling down at me, dimples in each of his cheeks giving him a boyish look. He could be a few years older than me, but his friendly smile and the sparkle in his green eyes made him look younger.

“Well, my parents are the ones hosting the party, so I think I’m required to say that I’m having a wonderful time,” I replied to him with a smile of my own.

“You’re Beth and Karl’s daughter?” he asked in shock.

I nodded, taking another sip of my drink.

“Forgive me if this is a little forward, but I had no idea their daughter was so shockingly beautiful,” he told me softly.

Over the years, I had heard enough trite compliments and pick-up lines from men in my parent’s social circle that I could fill an entire book. But the way this man said it, so honestly and quietly, it didn’t come off as anything but genuine.

“My name’s William Stratford the third. I realize that makes me sound like a pompous asshole and I apologize for that. If I don’t tell people I’m the third William Stratford, my father will tell me I’m ungrateful and I’ll have to hang my head in shame. So really, you should just blame him for it,” William said with a laugh.

He held out his hand for me to shake and when our palms touched, I wanted nothing more than to hold on to him for the rest of the evening. His large, soft hand wrapped around my own small one and my heart skipped a beat.

“My name’s Gwen Marshall, but if my mother is around, you’d better call me Gwendolyn or she’ll think you’re a common man who has no social skills,” I informed him.

William threw his head back and laughed and I couldn’t help but join him. His laughter was infectious and it made me forget for just a moment how much I hated my life.

“Well, Gwen Marshall, what do you say we defy both of our parents? I’ll let you call me Billy if you let me take you out onto the dance floor and show you my moves.”

William asked me on a date during our third dance that night at the charity event. I spent the next two years falling madly in love with him and thinking that my life was finally moving in the right direction. He was encouraging of my desire to go back to school for social work, he was thoughtful and romantic and he could always make me smile no matter what kind of day I was having. My parents adored him, mostly because he was quickly becoming one of the most sought after surgeons in New York and his success reflected back on them since we were dating. I didn’t care if they liked him or not; nothing mattered but the fact that, for the first time since my brother left, I’d found a man who understood me and love me for me and not for who my parents were or the amount of money they had.

The first time William hit me, it felt like a dream. The kind where you’re floating above your body and you can see everything that’s happening to you. You try to yell down to yourself and change what’s happening right before your eyes, but your voice isn’t heard. We had been married for six months. Six amazing months where each day was better than the one before it. William honored my parent’s wishes and we didn’t live together until we were husband and wife, much to my annoyance. I didn’t care about anything but spending every waking moment with the man I loved. I couldn’t wait to fall asleep in his arms every night and wake up to his smile. Looking back now, I wonder if I would have seen William’s true nature if we defied my parents and I moved into his home before I walked down the aisle.

On our six-month wedding anniversary, we got into our first fight. It started off small, something silly where I jokingly teased him about coming home late from work and how dinner had gotten cold. I made an off-hand remark about finding another husband who knew how to tell time. It was meant to be funny, meant to make him roll his eyes and kiss me on the tip of my nose as he liked to do and laughingly tell me he would never be late again. I remember smiling at him, waiting for him to join me and being completely unprepared for the sting of his palm against my cheek.

Tears of shock rolled down my face and he immediately started crying right along with me, pulling me into his arms, kissing the tears away and telling me he would rather die than hurt me ever again. I was more in shock at seeing this confident, strong man fall apart in front of me than having him hit me and I immediately forgave him.

I was such a fool.

As I open the door to the apartment we share with Brady, Emma drops her book bag in the middle of the floor and races off to her room. When I hear the door close and I’m sure she can’t hear me, I drop the mail on the kitchen counter and pull out my cell phone. After a few rings, my lawyer, Michelle, answers.

“Gwen, I was just about to call you,” she tells me.

“Really? I’ve been meaning to call you for a few days, but I’ve been busy,” I tell her as I sort through the pile of mail. “Do you know if William is still in New York?”

I feel stupid asking her this, but I trust Michelle. I spoke to five lawyers before I decided to use her. Each one told me I should immediately go back to New York and handle things the proper way. They told me I was making a mistake by running and that it would only cause problems in the long run. I knew they were right, but I didn’t care. The only thing I cared about was keeping Emma safe. The first time I talked to Michelle, she told me to stay put and she would take care of everything. She confided in me that she was in an abusive relationship when she was younger and she knew exactly what I was going through.

“As far as I know he is, but I can check for you. Why, did something happen? Do you need me to fly out there? Now that your location has been disclosed, we can file a restraining order. Do you want me to call the police?”

I can’t help but laugh at her exuberance. “Calm down there, bulldog. I’m sure it’s nothing, probably just my overactive imagination. I’d feel better knowing he was where he’s supposed to be though.”

“Done. I’ll call his lawyer as soon as we hang up. Oh, the reason why I was going to call you – a friend of yours contacted me. She wanted to get in touch with you, but I didn’t want to give her your new cell phone number until I made sure it was okay. Her name is Ellie Larson.”

I smile as soon as I hear the name. Leaving William also meant leaving my best friend behind. Someone who knew some of what I was going through and finally convinced me to leave him. I knew I wouldn’t be able to have any contact with her until I could figure out what to do, but it didn’t make it any easier. Ellie has always been my rock and I’ve missed her.

I tell Michelle to go ahead and give her my number and hang up the phone feeling a little less crazy about what’s been happening lately. I sort through the mail and stare curiously at a letter addressed to Emma. Brady promised her he’d send her a post card from each city he visited and so far she’s received seven. He must have decided to send something else this time. Tearing open the sealed envelope, I pull out the pink, folded piece of construction paper and open it up.

I let out a gasp when I see what’s on it. The paper slips from my hand and flutters to the floor. I immediately race down the hallway to Emma’s room, shouting her name in fear as I go. I’m now certain that none of this is my imagination.