CHAPTER TWO
Violet
Alone.
It’s an emotion I’ve felt for years, but it’s never consumed me until this moment. Fact is, even when I’ve felt alone in this home, I’ve been here with Brent, and the loneliness was figurative, not literal.
This afternoon it’s literal. The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence. He’s not sitting in his favorite recliner, watching some game on TV, drinking a beer, and smugly asking me when lunch will be served. I don’t have to stand at the stove with my back to him, every retort running through my head to the foulness he speaks. My back doesn’t have to stiffen when I hear him get up and feel him come behind me. I don’t have to cringe as he touches me, pretend to enjoy the way his hands caress my body. Never again will I have to zone out as he finds pleasure in an act I haven’t found pleasurable for years.
But the silence – the being alone –gets to me.
Truly, I can’t remember the last time I was alone in this home physically. Brent never allowed me to be here by myself. The only time I got a reprieve was when I was at work. Somehow he made his work schedule fit mine. Sneaking away to night classes was hard and probably why I only managed it for a few weeks before he found out. Maybe he thought that if I was left to myself, I’d pack my shit and hit the road. It would have been the smart thing to do, but I’d never been strong enough to do it. The huge task of starting over always exhausted me, always frightened me more than staying with him did. I’m weak, a really fucking weak person. Maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to Anthony; he seems to have zero fear and he seems strong enough to do anything.
My eyes take in the threadbare carpet, the yellowing of the walls. Even though I cleaned them every week, he continued to smoke inside, so they were never clean enough. I can still smell the stale cigarettes. God, I hated that he smoked, begged him to give it up because it gave me headaches. His response? He needed something to tackle the stress I gave him. Often I wondered if he were on other things. Money disappeared pretty regularly from our account, and it wasn’t unusual for the threatening notice of our electricity being shut off to be hung on the front door. One more thing I guess I’ll never know. I don’t plan on ever speaking to him again to ask.
Running my hand along the faded countertop, noticing the scars in the cheap laminate that have been there since we moved in, I tap my fingernails, listening to the sound echo in the emptiness of the space. No pictures on those yellowed walls to absorb the sound. No cute little rug in front of the sink to off-set the cold vinyl of the floor in the winter. The fridge kicks on, as does the air conditioner, on this hot day. I close my eyes against the sounds, and immediately I’m taken back to that day.
I hear the bell ring that hangs over the door and situate myself on the table. I should really lift my head up and wait on this customer. As always, I need the tips more than Leighton does. Before I can lift my head, I hear Leighton’s voice screaming at me.
“Look out!” she yells, just as I get myself out of the fog I’m in.
When I lift up, it happens in slow motion. His hand balls into a fist and cold-cocks me across the face. The force causes me to grunt, and I can taste the blood as my head whips around and I fall immediately to the floor.
“You dumb bitch!” His voice sounds like it’s coming from a million miles away as it reverberates through my head. I scream when he reaches down and grabs me by the hair, yanking me up. “Thinking you can go behind my back, take those classes you’re always harping about. You think you’re so much goddamn smarter than I am.”
Lifting my arms up, I try to grab at his fingers, desperate to get him to let go of the hair he holds in a vice-like grip. Desperate to save myself from whatever this ends up being. I have no illusions, he’s done this before, and I was stupid to think I could take these classes without him finding out. His fingers loosen, and he allows me to drop a few inches until my feet touch the ground. I reach out to the table, to try and steady myself, and when I do he pushes my head forward, causing it to hit the table. Stars bounce around my skull and I can almost swear I can hear birds chirping. All of a sudden I’m ripped from his clutches and pulled over to where Leighton sits. She’s speaking softly to me, and I get a glimpse of Ace approaching Brent, gun drawn. It’s then that I start to go in and out of conscious.
Inhaling air, I fight to get it into my tight lungs, I try to calm myself down, try to prevent the panic attack that’s threatening to take hold of not only my body, but also my mind. Looking around the trailer, I want something to ground me, but all I can see are reminders of Brent everywhere. There’s the paper he insists on reading every morning. His three pairs of work boots, when I’m only allowed to have one pair of shoes for my job. The side table sitting next to his recliner, so he never had to reach too far for anything. It’s painfully obvious how easy his life was made, while mine didn’t matter.
Painfully reaching up into the cabinet, I angrily grab a trash bag and open it up. Ignoring the searing heat in my ribs and general soreness of my body, I eradicate every piece of evidence that Brent Miller lived here with me. Struggling, I open the front door, throwing the bags out.
As fast as I’m able to, I run out and stumble down the porch. Trying to get breath between my lips that can barely open. Putting my head in my hands and threading my hair through my fingers, I pull slightly, letting the pinch of pain bring me back to the present. It reminds me that I’m here, I’m alive, and I’ve made it through an ordeal I wasn’t sure I would.
“Get your shit together, Violet.” I let the tears come to my eyes, taking in my situation for the first time.
My eyes roam the trailer that’s been our home since we came here. I see the rusted roof, the fading chipped paint, the porch that’s a few strong gusts from tipping over. My car is a car; it’s a few years old, but well-maintained, not something I’m ashamed of other people seeing. My home? I’m devastated and embarrassed that Anthony brought me here, that he saw what I’ve been living in. Even though the inside is impeccably clean, the outside looks like a den for a meth operation. I want something better. I always have, but for once in my life, I’m going to make it happen.
Brent’s voice in my head taunts me. “How ya gonna do that, Violet? You’re a waitress who’s borrowed money to go to school. How in the hell will you make all your bills and still be able to eat? You need me. I’m the only thing keeping you off the street.”
For the first time, l let the rage go, I don’t push it back and pretend I’m fine. A loud scream sounds from my throat. A purge of all the bullshit I’ve put up with over the years. I let the anger flow through. Not only the anger for what’s been done to me on this particular occasion, but what’s been happening for years. It’s a heat that takes hold, washes over me, and makes me curl my hands into fists. He’s beaten me down too long. A part of my personality I didn’t realize was there is pushing itself to the surface. I feel strong, and I feel like I could kill Brent if he were standing directly in front of me. “Shut the fuck up,” I tell that voice of reason. “You’ve held me back for far too long. I’m going to heal, and then I’m going to make a plan.”
With the declaration said aloud, I go back into the trailer, unearthing the used laptop I had Leighton buy me. It had been hard to keep it hidden, but worth it when I went “grocery shopping” or to “run a few errands” to get him things he needed. Those little reprieves from my life allowed me to do school work, to attend the classes, and to hope for something better. They showed me what could happen if I ever got out from under his thumb.
In those classes, there were truly no right or wrong answers. There were discussions and respect from both sides, even if we didn’t always totally agree. At the library, there were people to help. They never made me feel stupid, and they’d always point me in the right direction. A true north, if you will, allowing me to find my way out of whatever situation I couldn’t find the answer to.
Maybe that is the answer. This laptop, Anthony, this whole situation – it’s my wakeup call to be a better person. It’s my defining moment to learn to believe in myself. My one shot that I don’t want to blow. This right here is the true north I’ve been searching for this whole time.
* * *
My resolve lasts until I go to bed that night in the once again quiet home. I’ve done all my homework that I missed while I was in the hospital, and I’ve worked ahead for the week. Turning over onto my side, I grimace when a stab of pain shoots through my ribs. The remote for the TV is on the nightstand, and I reach over, grimacing when I feel the pull of my sore ribs. Heaving a sigh once I have the remote in my hand, I turn it onto Netflix, searching for any show that’s long enough to get me through the night. Leighton had offered to let me stay with her and Holden, but I don’t want to impose on anyone. I need to face facts, to realize I’m on my own now. I’ll never be with Brent again. Beside me, my phone dings with an incoming text message.
I unlock the screen and can’t help the little flutter in my stomach when I see that it’s from Anthony. I had no idea I had his cell number or he had mine, but this message is a beacon of light in a very dark night for me.
A: Don’t think this is creepy, but I figured you might be feeling a little alone. I have some paperwork to do, so I’m parked in your driveway. Nobody’s going to bother you as long as I’m here. You want me to leave, just tell me.
My hands shake as I push the covers off my legs and slowly inch my way over to the window that faces the driveway. Slightly, I pull back the curtain, and breathe easier when I see Anthony’s squad car. Knowing he’s so close makes me feel safer, knowing he’ll be here if anything happens gives me a peace I haven’t had in such a long time. It brings tears to my eyes and makes my throat close. How he knew I would need this, I’m not sure, but I respect the way he’s going about helping me. The only thing I can text back, are two very simple words which fail to convey the depth of my gratitude. Right now, though, they are all I can manage.
V: Thank you.
A: Sleep well, sweetheart. I got your back.
Shuffling back to the bed, I lie down, pull the covers up around my face. Instead of lying there for hours wondering what I’m going to do with my life, worrying about what happens if Brent finds out about the classes, or wishing I were anywhere but here, I relax. And for the first time in a long time, I fall asleep with a smile on my face. There’s still worry and fear, but it’s not crippling the way it’s been in the past. Somehow, I force myself to believe this is the beginning, not the end.
With what remains of my tattered pride, I’ll show Brent that he didn’t break me. He hurt me, and he damaged me, but he didn’t break me. No one has, and no one ever will.