My heart pounds anxiously in my chest as I wait for Damien to come home. It shouldn’t feel this way. A woman should be excited for her husband to come home. She shouldn’t fear it so desperately like I do, but I just can’t help it.

How the hell did I ever manage to end up in this situation? How did I end up married to such a horrible man?

I don't remember ever living in Kazan in Russia, but from my mother has told me, our life there was really good. My father was successful and my mother was happy, I was growing up well... but then my father got greedy and he wanted more. He made the decision to try and move his shoe business over to America, thinking he would be able to live the American dream and become an instant billionaire... a dream which very quickly got turned on its head.

What my dad didn’t realize was that America is filled with competition. When his business failed, he was forced to get a mediocre job in a factory and got paid less than what he would have gotten in Russia, he quickly turned to the bottle.

Once the alcohol infected our lives, everything went downhill. Combined with his financial problems, the booze made him angry, aggressive, and violent.

At first his behavior only affected my mother. She tried to keep it from me, but despite my young age I still knew all about it. I was still aware that my dad was an asshole, that he beat up my mom, and it turned me into a rebellious teenager. At first, I just wanted to see how far I could push things, and it didn’t take long to discover it wasn't going to be very far. Before I could get into too much trouble, his fists put a stop to that, and I retreated back into my shell—quiet and shy. And that’s how I remained for a long time.

Until Damien came into my life.

I was only sixteen years old and he was like my knight in shining armour. Four years older than me, he was sweet, charming, he had money and a house of his own, impressive cars that blew me away. He seemed like a God send, and I instantly became hooked. It helped that he was gorgeous too—tall, sinewy, strawberry blond with a very cheeky grin. He was even charming enough to win my parents over, and for a while things were actually all right.

The abuse began insidiously. At first he only made small, snide remarks. He’d say things to put me down, to make me feel bad about myself. Then, he slowly drew me away from everyone I knew. It started with the couple of friends I’d made at school. Gradually, he made life so difficult for me to spend time with them that it wasn't worth trying to hang out with them. I hated the arguing so damn much. Next, he separated me from my family too.

I was easily swayed in that department because the negative things he said about my dad were true, so I soon cut my parents out of my life completely. It wasn’t until it was too late that I realized this left me completely isolated.

I really have tried to make the best of my married life, to recall the man I fell in love with, but now I’m afraid he’s involved with drug trafficking and it scares the shit out of me. At first I didn’t dare question him about it because I knew how it would turn out, but one day my curiosity got the best of me, and I brought it up.

As soon as I mentioned it, he lost his temper and delivered the first blow. He smacked me so hard across my cheek that I fell to the ground and hit my head hard on the way down. I was shocked, stunned to find myself in a situation so similar to how I grew up. But I figured it was my own fault for marrying someone in haste, someone I barely knew.

So I continued to try. I put my head down and got on with it because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I had no money, and since Damien didn’t want me working, I had no connections to the outside world either. So I did my best, but the beatings kept coming. As soon as Damien realized I wasn't going to leave him, his behavior grew even worse. He started attacking me more regularly and for smaller things.

Then came the cheating.

The first time I caught him in bed with another woman, I sobbed and begged him for a divorce. I told him it was clear I couldn't make him happy and that he should just move on. I was devastated to have to say goodbye after I’d tried so damn hard, but at the same time I was relieved too. Finally, this might be my way out.

But he refused, and he threatened to kill me if I ever tried to leave him.

It took a long time for me to decide to call the assassin agency, but once I did it felt like I was finally making the right decision, the one that would ultimately free me. Ever since I found that service online, I’ve gone back and forth. I’m absolutely petrified of actually taking that step, but I now that I’ve stolen the money from Damien to pay for it, I feel like I have no choice but to follow through with my plan. If he ever finds out that I took that money from him, even if he doesn’t know what it’s for, he’ll kill me. I really am stuck now.

It’s come to the point where one of us is leaving this marriage in a body bag, and it’s either going to be him or me.

I’d much prefer it to be him.

Shit, a bolt of panic shoots through me as I hear a car pulling up in the driveway .I race towards the window to see Damien finally arriving home. Fuck. My eyes flick across the room, checking I’ve got the place as tidy as he likes it, because I don't want to encourage his wrath if I can help it. I do my best not to provoke him these days.

My heart thunders against my ribcage, and a tight knot forms in my stomach. He emerges from his car, and a sight that once filled me with happiness, now brings only terror.

My husband is home, and my hell begins.

I hate him, I ball my fists. I fucking hate him.

Then, another sight that I’ve started to see more and more frequently—a woman pulls herself from the passenger’s seat, giggling and flicking her hair back flirtatiously. She’s in a skin-tight dress that hugs her curves, accenting her massive fake breasts. Compared to me in a simple pair of jeans and t-shirt, she looks incredible. And young, if a little plastic. My heart sinks as I witness his blatant disregard for our marriage. At least he used to be discreet with his affairs, now it’s as if he doesn’t give a shit. He flaunts his infidelity, wanting to hurt me, to humiliate me. It’s like he needs for me to be in pain—just one more way he can control me.

I suppose it’s good because he doesn’t hit me in front of other people, and it also means he won’t be coming anywhere near me later on. But it still cuts deep, confirming that I’m useless, not worthy of love.

“...I know, I know...” I hear Damien laugh at something the bimbo said. He makes sure he does this loud enough for me to hear. I flinch as she pops her gum, their footsteps are coming my way.

I’m going to have to face them—the shameful, humiliated wife, and it damn near kills me. “Oh, Nadia...” he acts surprised, as if he wasn’t planning this all along. “I didn’t realize you were going to here.” He pulls his random skank closer to him, making his emotions very clear. “Well, Janelle and I will be taking the master bedroom. Don’t disturb us, okay?”

I don't answer. I simply stand there with a determined look on my face until he takes a step towards me, the threat evident. “Okay,” I finally whisper, angry tears pricking my eyes as embarrassment engulfs me. A split second of pride bursts through me, and I give it one last shot. Grabbing hold of his shirt, I whisper, “Will you please give me a minute? Speak to me alone?”

I don't know why I did it,, I have no idea what I intend to say, I just know that I need to give it one last. If we could just talk about it, I might be able to find something there. My guilt was mounting. Anything to give me a reason to call the whole thing off.

But I can already see from the look on his face—the contempt—that there’s nothing left between us. Nothing good anyway.

His hand swings forward and before I know it, he’s connected with my face, and I’m flying backwards. He’s actually hit me in front of an audience. That’s how low I am. I glance back at him, desperation filling me, but he simply sneers at me.

“You should know your place by now,” he snipes, turning to walk away from me. “Just leave us the hell alone.”

“Is that your wife?” The girl laughs nastily, wrapping her arms around him and sticking out her oversized bottom lip. “What the hell is wrong with her?”

What the hell is wrong with me?

Tears roll down my cheeks. Why have I stayed and let this happen? Why haven’t I stolen money before and just run away?

Because I’m terrified he’ll find me. His murder might not be what I want, but it really seems like the only way.

With him gone, I’ll be able to restart my life. The only problem is I don't know what I’m going to do with it. I don't have any plans, any dreams, any goals...

Oh God, this is far too overwhelming for me. I don't know what the hell to do anymore.

But before I let that get me down, I’ve got to focus on getting out. Once I’m free, then I can figure the rest of it out.

I race to the spare bedroom, the one that I use when Damien has “company” where I collapse onto the bed, crying. I weep for my crappy life, for the stupid decisions I’ve made, and for the fact that I’ve had to resort to such extreme measures to solve my problems. And I try not to think about the fact that I have no idea what I will do when he’s gone.

But as the sounds of energetic, animalistic sex burst from the room above, my resolve strengthens because my other choice is to be a coward and live like this for the rest of my life.