“Are you okay?” Annie asks as she relieves me a few hours later.
“I'm all right,” I say and wince when my voice sounds as if I took a chainsaw to it. I clear my throat. “It’s just been one of those days.”
She nods her understanding, though, really, she has no idea, and for that I’m grateful. If she knew precisely what I’d done, she’d be running just as fast as she could in the opposite direction. We’re trained not to get close to inmates for exactly this reason. We lose our objectivity, and that can be dangerous, even deadly. One mistake . . . one misstep and we could fuck up and cost someone their life. Or lose our own.
I berate myself for my stupidity and utter selfishness. It must have been insanity, I reason. Nothing else would explain why I let Gracin touch me. Why I let him do so much more than touch me.
No.
I can’t go there.
“Take care of yourself,” Annie says to me as she winds a stethoscope around her neck.
I say something appropriate back, or at least I hope I do. Annie seems to accept my response and starts checking over charts. God, I need to pull myself together. I push my fingers into my eyes until I see spots.
Compared to my own life, Annie has it easy. She’s about twenty-five, maybe. I’m only two years older, but it feels like a lifetime of differences separate us. According to her, this is only a temporary job, and she plans to use the experience to get a job as a traveling nurse. She wants out of this city and to see the country. I’ve never been out of Michigan, and I don’t foresee an end to my life at Blackthorne, at least not while Vic has any say in the matter. He likes keeping me well and truly under his thumb. She’s happily single, and I suffocate a little bit more each day I’m married to Vic.
A sigh turns into a yawn as I make my way back to the lockers to retrieve my things. My self-pity is exhausting. I put myself into this mess. My marriage to Vic, my . . . whatever with Gracin. Both are entirely my fault.
I wave goodbye to the people at the front desk, but they pay no more attention to me than they did this morning. Sometimes, I think I could walk into the prison with a gun like a stark raving lunatic and no one would bat an eye. It’s as if they’ve trained themselves not to look at me. It happens that way, I’ve learned. People don’t want to see what scares them. They don’t want to help you with your problems. They want you to stay the fuck out of their lives because the complication of your pain is too inconvenient.
The icy wind tears through my hair as I push through the doors. I tug my jacket closer and lean forward, which only serves to let the cold slip down my neck. I let out a bark of laughter. I just can’t win. Story of my life.
The interior of my old car is no better, and it takes three tries for the beleaguered engine to turn over. While the inside warms, I huddle into my jacket and rest my head on the steering wheel. I shove my hands, already frozen blocks of ice, between my legs to try to get them to thaw. In the thick of a Michigan winter, it’s mostly pointless, but the actions are comforting.
I could use a little comfort.
A lot of it.
Tears pool in my eyes, but I blink them back, which makes my eyelids sting. All my life it has felt as if I’d been looking for affection—something that seems to come so easy to everyone else. My parents—if they could be called that—wouldn’t know the meaning of the word. If they weren’t screaming and slapping each other, they were screaming and slapping me. If they weren’t doing that, they were pretending I didn’t exist.
I must have made the perfect target for Vic. I was no innocent. Not since Tommy Blankenship coerced me into the backseat of his Ford Taurus with all the charm and promises his high school senior quarterback reputation could muster. Of course, there hadn’t been any affection there, either. The roll in the backseat had lasted all of ten minutes, not that Tommy gave a good goddamn about that. I couldn’t fault him. His slight was born from ignorance and not maliciousness.
Still, I should have learned after that, but of course, I didn’t. Following sweet fumbling Tommy was a string of boys and then men who only seemed to feed the nothingness. After earning my bachelor’s of science in nursing, I met Vic. And, stupid me, I thought he was different.
Boy, was I wrong.
He didn’t show me the face behind the mask at first. In fact, he was the most charming man I’d ever met. He lavished attention on me like I was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met. There were impromptu dates, which I later learned he couldn’t afford, but by the time he proposed, I was well and truly under his spell. It made the day he first hit me all the more shocking. It didn’t take long after that for me to learn what my new life entailed.
I bark out a laugh that’s as humanly possible for it to be as my hands finally warm up enough to grip the wheel with some semblance of control. Control. Now that’s a joke. I haven’t felt in control of my life . . . ever.
As I pull out of the parking lot, I shake my head in denial, but the thought whispers through the walls I’ve thrown up, as determined as the freezing wind in search of skin. You were certainly in control in Gracin’s arms. And just like that, I’m not cold anymore. The desire that’s been so hard-won during three years of marriage seems so readily called to the surface where he’s concerned.
Wind batters against the car as I carefully navigate the slippery streets back to the house Vic and I share. The confrontation with Gracin today only underscores a fact I’ve been ignoring myself.
I can’t stay with Vic.
I don’t know how I’m going to manage to get away from him. Even thinking it to myself makes me want to tremble in fear, but I know I have to. What other alternative do I have, though? Let him kill me? I won’t lie to myself and say I hadn’t contemplated that. Just let him end it once and for all. Death would almost be a relief.
There’s a part of me that simply won’t let myself give up. I almost hate myself for it, but despite the times he’s tried to beat it out of me, he hasn’t quite managed yet.
I begin to plan as I make the long trek home. No doubt, Vic will take retribution for me fighting back, but I will do what I do best . . . I will endure. But only for one more day. One more day, and then while he’s at work late tomorrow, catching up on what he missed today, I’ll make my move when I get off my shift. I’ll run and hide as far and as long as it takes to be free of him.
Gracin—what happened between us was a mistake. I shiver as I pull into the driveway and idle for a few more precious seconds of peace. Kissing him, letting him touch me and give me pleasure was a measure of control, of freedom, that I haven’t had in a long time. It gave me the wake-up call I needed to break out from under Vic’s control. I’ll leave it at that before anything else happens. Intuition tells me he's just as dangerous as he appears and I’ve had enough manipulative men for a lifetime.
A light blinks on in the living room window. Vic is no doubt waiting for me inside. Watching, seething, biding his time. Tonight’s punishment will probably be worse than anything I’ve ever had to live through, but live through it I will, because tomorrow . . .
Tomorrow, I will be free of the prison of my own making.
My gait is slow as I navigate the slippery sidewalk. A bone-deep weariness settles over me, making each step a small feat of its own. My show of defiance the night before had caught Vic off guard, but tonight, he will be ready. He’s had all day to think about the disturbing things he wants to do to me.
I open the door with steady hands and find him sitting on the couch watching a football game, which makes me want to laugh all over again. The entire time we’ve been together, Vic has espoused the idea of watching sports. He prefers the news or documentaries. That’s how I know he’s only pretending for my benefit, trying to lull me into a false sense of security.
“I’m home,” I say lightly because two can play at this game.
He grunts but doesn’t look my way. As I walk by to put my purse and jacket in the coat closet, I don’t miss how his hands clench reflexively on the arm of the sofa. I bet he imagines them around my throat. I go straight to the kitchen to begin fixing dinner. Around an hour later, once the sharp implements are out of the way, he makes his appearance in the doorway.
“Dinner’s ready,” I say calmly and plate the steak, mashed potatoes, and organic green beans. Habit is the only thing that kept me from charring the meat and overcooking the beans.
I shouldn’t have bothered because Vic doesn’t spare the food a second glance.
“You’re late again,” he says, his voice deceptively calm.
“There was a lock down in one of the cell blocks.” I try to keep my own response just as calm and matter-of-fact, so he won’t hear the lie in my voice.
“Is that so?” But it isn’t a question.
Tension rises, and my mind goes to the steps I’ll need to clean up dinner. First, I’ll have to gather the dirty dishes and put away any leftovers.
“Yeah, there was another fight today, I think. We were pretty swamped.”
I’ll rinse the dishes in the sink and leave the worst of the lot to soak while I pre-wash and load the rest in the dishwasher. Once that’s finished, I’ll scrub the oven and countertops and the sink until they gleam.
“Uh-huh,” is all he says.
I nudge his plate in his direction and turn to make two tall glasses of tea. The moment I turn my back, I know he’ll make his move, and I’m not wrong. I’m only sad he didn’t begin in the living room where I secreted a gun underneath a side table for the moment I gathered enough courage to leave him.
His hand whips out, and his fingers tangle in the long line of my hair, yanking back and tearing strands right from the root. I cry out in surprise and pain as my body comes in contact with his.
“I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you, but it’s going to stop now.”
I tilt my chin up in a silent invitation for him to do his worst. “You’re right about that, Vic. I want a divorce.”