2 Bittersweet Victory

Julia

March 2010

The alarm clock's annoying beeps startle me out of fitful sleep. Grumbling, I roll over and smack the snooze button. Every inch of my body screams in pain with even the slightest movements.

My husband Andy came home in a fit of rage and took his anger out on me. A common occurrence after a night of drinking with the boys. Slipping on my fuzzy slippers, I shuffle across the worn carpeted floor. Everything in this place is memorabilia from Andy's childhood. From the cast iron bed to the faded shag carpet floor. Like my husband, it hasn't fared well with time.

I see a shell of what used to be a vibrant young woman staring back at me when I gaze into the bathroom mirror. My once beautiful blond hair has streaks of gray. The twinkle in my baby-blues is no longer there. My ghostly-white face is decorated with a combination of colors. Bruises in different stages of healing. "Why did I let it get to this? Why?"

At first, the abuse was small stuff, a push here, a slap there with degrading comments in between. Andy would apologize after promising he'll never do it again. Soon the beatings became frequent, more violent with fewer, I'm sorry, in between. I tried to escape. He dragged me back and beat me worse than he had before. The last time he threatened to kill me if I tried to escape again.

Seeing our wedding picture shattered in the trash, I scoop it up. The blissful day suddenly comes to my mind. I remember how we strolled arm in arm through the tropical paradise. It was a week of total bliss. I then recall all of the hot passionate nights we spent making love in the sand. I thought you were my prince charming, my dream come true; that this poor little orphan girl would have her happily ever after. I wipe a tear from my face. What happened to us, to them? Images of me being beaten race through my mind, all the bruises, the broken bones that followed. I tear the picture in half and then rip it again and again. No more, you hear me.? No more. I'm taking my life back, and it's going to start today. A warm, peaceful feeling comes over me. I smile.

"Did you say something?" Andy asks.

"Just talking to myself." I scoop the pieces off the floor and toss them in the trash.

"Well, stop your yapping and get me some breakfast."

It'll be the last time I ever do anything for you. I smile.

I'm putting breakfast on the table when Andy storms into the kitchen.

"What did you do to my razor?" he demands.

I turn to find nicks all along his face. "I didn't touch it, Andy,"

"You must have done something to make it cut me like this." He grabs hold of my neck. "

"Please, Andy, don't," I sputter, trying to catch my breath. Hot salty tears run down my face as I gasp for air.

"I shouldn't have married an ungrateful piece of shit like you." He slings me across the room.

My body smacks the wall and then crumbles to the floor.

"Please, don't do this."

Grabbing a fistful of hair, he kicks me in the ribs. "The guys were right about you."He draws back his leg and kicks me again. "They said you'd only drag me down, but I didn't listen."

"Please, Andy, stop."

He kicks me in the stomach.

I double over in pain. "Please, don't hurt the baby," I cry.

"A baby that probably isn't mine."

"Of course, he is."

"Stop lying to me, you worthless whore" He slams my head against the cold hard floor. "I've had to put up with your bullshit for ten years." He forces my head down again. "But I'm not going to deal with you anymore."

He slams my head down one last time. My vision blurs my head begins to spin.

"I'm going to take care of you and the kid once and for all."

He slams my head down again. My world grows dark.

I cough as I come to. I smell something burning. I then see the smoke in the air. I glance over to find the front room engulfed in flames. Looking up, I discover the fire is on the ceiling. I use the table beside me to pull myself up. I take an unsteady step and then a second. I try to take a third when I fall to the floor. I look back to find the fire is closer. Springing to my feet, I continue towards the back door. My eyes sting, and my lungs burn. The smoke is so thick I can barely breathe. A crippling pain surges through my body. I tumble to the floor. I glace up to find the fire is directly above me.

Panic emerges from the depths of my soul as I watch the flames spread out in all directions. You're not going to win, Andy. Your not. Not now, or ever. Do you hear me, Andy? You're never going to win! Never!" Having renewed inner strength, I try to climb to my hands and knees but soon realize my lower extremities are useless. Pulling myself with my arms, I propel myself across the floor. A ceiling joist falls behind me. Screaming, I quicken my pace.

I'm halfway across the front porch when I hear a loud bang behind me. I turn to find flame-engulfed timber diagonally in the entryway between the deck and the house. More frightened than ever, I scamper across the filthy wood. I reach the door when I hear someone outside.

"Please, help me!" "Please, someone, please help me. I'm trapped on the porch." I stretch my arm towards the knob. My fingertips graze the copper ball. I move closer, reach for it, and miss. I try again. Feeling the cold metal against my palm, I turn it. The door moves a fraction of an inch and then stops. He's locked it from the outside. I turn towards the partially opened windows. I'd have to break the glass and then cut through the screen. I then remember how air fuels a fire. I crumble to the floor. "So much for my happily ever after," I sob, yielding to sleep.

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