STACY

Hairs float on the back of my neck as his key turns in the lock. I hurry to bring Celia to her crib, removing the bottle from her mouth and hoping to God she doesn’t cry. She won’t latch onto my nipple no matter how hard I try, and she has to eat. Does he want her to starve? I use a breast pump and save the milk in a bottle for her. He thinks it’s cold and wrong.

Tucking the nearly empty bottle behind our bed, I make a mental note to rescue it before it starts to smell. Last time he almost caught on to what I’ve been doing, after I’d forgotten to retrieve one before it expired. He complained about the odor and I took the blame, saying it was my socks. He slapped me and called me a dirty whore. “Why don’t you bathe and clean up your filth?”

It could have been worse, so I didn’t mind that much.

“Stacy, where you at? You better be home. I had a shit day at work and if I find you out with –“

I force a smile and jump into the hallway so that he can see me, walking quickly to him as I say, “I’m right here, baby. I didn’t hear you come in.” Adjusting my bra I flick a glance back to our bedroom. “I was just feeding Celia. I guess I got sleepy. It makes me really drowsy, you know that.” My laugh doesn’t sound too nervous as I gauge his reaction. I’ve gotten pretty good at faking laughter. “What happened at work? Tell me about it.”

He fists my hair, tugging my head to the side so deep I have to bend at the waist. “You think I can’t handle my own shit? I don’t need your help. Why would I tell you? You think I’m dumb just because I didn’t go to college like you did?”

“I think you’re the smartest man that I know,” I sputter, fear’s bile rising in my throat. His intelligence is always the trigger. “I asked because I knew you’d found a smart way to handle what had happened! I wanted to hear about that!”

When I met Vic, he was so impressed with the fact that I’d gotten in on a scholarship, full ride. All I had to pay for was housing and food. He said, “Even your textbooks are covered?” and I saw a glitter of something behind his eyes but wrote it off as surprise, not jealousy or inadequacy.

He used to really brag about that to his friends before we started living together. But he didn’t go to college. He didn’t even finish high school. It was a sore spot and I felt for him. And while a lot of people get away with that, his wasn’t because he didn’t like school. It was because of his temper. Something I didn’t find out about until he gave me a key and I’d already unpacked.

“What’s there to eat?” He releases my head with a shove sending me reeling and grabbing onto the couch so that I don’t fall. “I’m starving.”

Shit, something really happened to him today. He hasn’t been in a mood this bad in a while.

“I…uh…bought us some sandwiches from the deli on the corner today. Just like you asked me to.”

He stalks into the kitchen muttering under his breath, “Good. I need to eat.”

Calming my breath so as not to antagonize him further, I follow him into our small kitchen. It’s not big enough for a dining set. We usually eat standing up next to the counter. He opens the refrigerator and just like all the other times, does not see the extra bottle I have hidden in a container of decaf tea I keep in there. It’s one of those old tin cans they’ve brought back because it’s a retro and cool product design. For me it’s the perfect place to hide things because Victor hates tea and he thinks decaf is absolutely useless in any form.

Dragging the paper bag across chilled, wire shelving, he slams the door, and plants dinner on the counter in front of me so fast I jump.

“How was your day?” he asks, tearing it open.

Shrugging I smile, “Uneventful. I walked to the store to get this for you and then came back home. I’ve just been spending time with Celia. We watched a couple talkshows.”

“Anything interesting?” He mutters as he unwraps roast beef and sharp cheddar. Taking a huge bite he waits for me to hang myself. I know he’s curious if they talked about anger issues, domestic violence, leaving your partner—any of these hot topics. He’s demanded to know before and I slipped up. The idea that I might escape infuriates him and he wants nobody inspiring that.

I used to plot it every night.

“Nothing very interesting. Some people bought a house in another country and had lost it due to…” I stop myself from saying the words ‘civil unrest’ because he would accuse me of sounding too intellectual. He’d be furious, like I’m acting above him again. “Due to war. It was like, just really crazy over there.” I wave it away.

He smirks, “People don't know what the fuck they’re doing. They’re so fucking dumb. Why buy a house in another country anyway? What’s wrong with this country?” He chuckles and shakes his head, scarfing the sandwich in the most unattractive way.

Everybody thinks he’s hot.

I did once, too.

Dirty-hot, I used to call him to the friends I used to have.

We’re not far from Hells Kitchen where most of the gay bars are. Victor enjoys telling me how much he’s whistled at when he walks down those streets. He tells me the dirty things they whisper to him every time he walks by. It used to make me jealous. Then I realized that was his aim. And I felt confused.

“I missed you,” I say out of habit. “I get bored here all alone.”

His fingers run a soft caress down my cheek. “I missed you, too.” He hands me my sandwich I wouldn’t dare touch without him offering it. “Why aren’t you eating? I’m already done.” Unwrapping it for me, Victor breaks off the bite of my turkey and avocado sandwich, and offers it to me. I eat from his hand. He doesn’t do this often, and I know it’s a bad sign.

Nausea spins as the feeding continues. It happens a little faster so I have to chew as quickly as I can in order to make room for the next bite. His eyes grow intense. The hairs raise on my neck again. I swallow hard, wishing I had some water. This bread is so dry. They didn’t put enough mayonnaise on it. I’ll have to ask them to make sure they do that next time. Don’t forget, don’t forget, don’t forget.

Victor wipes his fingers on my shirt and tugs it up. I’m chewing and swallowing as he unzips my pants and flips me around. I don’t know if you can call it rape because I’m not telling him to stop. It would just get worse if I did. He so rarely does this anyway. I can survive it, I can survive it, I can survive it.

He zips up, “I needed that. You ever just need to fuck to release some steam?”

It’s like hearing someone speaking from a parallel universe that you don’t belong in.

I nod because I know I have to.

My daughter needs my strength.

He’s not always like this.

Victor’s just had a bad day at work. He didn’t have the good parents I had. His luck has been bad. He tries, he tries, he tries.

“You wanna watch a movie?” His voice is gentle and loving again. “We could watch anything you want. I’ll even sit through a girly flick and not complain.” His winning smile flashes and I hang onto it for dear life.

“That would be great. Let me get Celia and she can watch it with us.”

He laughs, “She’s only five months old, Stacy. She can’t watch TV yet. But bring her in. Can’t hurt since we’re watching one of your stupid romcoms. You get her while I clean up here.”

As we’re watching one of my favorite brain candy films, the heroine smiles at the handsome hero, and his face is replaced by Tonk’s.

Tonk…the type of guy I never would’ve looked twice at before. He’s pretty-boy handsome, dresses like he’s going for a job interview, except for the bracelets. There’s not a drop of darkness in his soul.

I was always a good girl.

Dark shadows enthralled me.

Now I want to live with light.

But it doesn’t matter, does it? I’m stuck here.

Stuck, stuck, stuck.

As Vik picks Celia up and puts her on his lap, fear slithers into my heart.

If he hurts me and says he loves me, then why would she be exempt?

Exempt.

Another word I could never use here.

“You watching the movie? Why are you looking at me?”

“I was just thinking how that guy is not very cute.”

Victor sneers, “He’s a jackass. There’s no way those two would ever be together in real life. She’s gorgeous. Look at her fucking body. It’s like yours used to be. She would never go for a wimp like him. Girls don’t want a guy like that.”

He touches our daughter’s face, then drops his hand on my knee and goes back to watching the movie.

When we go to bed we have sex again. I’m a receptacle. He pumps away until he’s finished, which doesn’t take long.

It was only after a series of instances, that I realized I might be in an abusive relationship.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

I’ve no idea exactly what day things turned toward a direction I never ever wanted, but I know that when it happened, I denied it, and stuck my head in the proverbial sand.

Proverbial.

He would hate that word, too.