KACE. Talking to Shane made me feel like a woman again. He was nice to me because he was a nice person. He thought I was pretty. He told me I was beautiful. We had been communicating through my gmail account on my phone, because Buster couldn’t trace it.

I really liked calling Josh Buster in my head. I was afraid I would accidentally do it one time to his face. Shane told me to find a way to leave Josh even if it didn’t include thoughts of Shane and I being together. He said I needed to find a way to leave him for myself, and not for the reward of being with someone else or the thought of having a relationship with him.

He explained I needed to do it for me. It seemed easy, and as much as I had grown to hate Josh, it was almost incomprehensible for me to think of leaving him. When I thought of it my head spun in circles. I could think of one reason to leave him and about a hundred reasons to stay.

Change scared me. It scared me to death. What if this. What if that. Even though Josh was a prick and he treated me like shit, I have a home with him. And I can always come home. Home, for me, is a comfortable place. If someone could just decide for me it would make everything so much easier. For me to decide might take forever, maybe even a little bit longer than forever.

On the weekends, Josh often left for a good part of the day. He rarely took me with him. When I would ask him where he was going, his answer was generally out.

When he left, I usually baked.

Baking made me happy. I enjoyed baking things. It satisfied me greatly to have someone eat what I prepared and tell me they liked it. When I got upset I baked far more than normal. The baking settled me down and allowed me to feel as if I was accomplishing something. Maybe it was because there was a beginning and an end to it. Maybe I enjoyed creating it from my own mind. My hands creating something allowed me to feel a degree of accomplishment.

Maybe it was all of those things combined.

I was baking pecan and butterscotch chip cookies for Josh. They were his favorite. I had no idea why I was still concerned with making something Josh liked. I never eat this shit. I baked it and he ate it. He took cookies in his lunch, ate them in bed, and ate on the couch while he played video games.

Josh was disgusting.

I pulled the cookies from the oven and set them on the rack to cool. The Tupperware I was placing the cookies in was almost full. Six dozen cookies was a lot of cookies, but not for Josh. He would eat six dozen cookies in about three days or so.

Josh is fat and disgusting.

Shane isn’t.

Every morning, Shane called me at work and we would talk for a few minutes. I couldn’t talk on my cell phone, so he would call me on my work phone. We talked about everything and about nothing. Sometimes I would just sit and listen to him talk or listen to him breathe. Knowing he was there was enough. Someone who wouldn’t treat me like shit. Someone who actually cared.

My time with Shane was valuable to me. If I didn’t get to talk to him it was disappointing. It wasn’t that I was disappointed in him - it was just let down if it didn’t happen. It had become so easy to enjoy his time, and I could do it without worry or effort. Shane didn’t judge me. And he never said anything bad to me.

I removed the cookies from the sheet with the spatula and placed them in the Tupperware. There was almost no dough left and the container was full, so I began washing out the bowl. As I was cleaning the bowl in the sink, I heard the key in the door. My muscles tensed and I started shaking.

Buster.

“What the fuck, did this sum bitch catch fire while I was gone?” he bellowed from the doorway.

“I cooked your favorite cookies,” I said as he walked into the kitchen.

“No bake?” he asked.

You hate no bake cookies, you miserable asshole.

“No, the butterscotch with pecans,” I turned from the sink and smiled.

He reached into the Tupperware container and took a handful of cookies. As he walked to the refrigerator, I could smell the beer on his breath. Perfect, he’s drunk. I started shaking even worse as I rinsed the bowl in the sink. As he reached into the refrigerator, I began to dry the bowl.

“You drink my fuckin’ beer, you whore?” he asked, his head stuffed in the refrigerator.

“I don’t drink beer, Josh. You know that,” I responded.

“Don’t back talk me you slut,” he said as he shut the refrigerator door.

“Somebody drank ‘em. There’s only five left. I had a twelver in that ‘fridge,” he said as he opened the can of beer.

“Only you and I are in the house, Josh. So if they’re gone, you drank them,” I said softly as I dried the bowl with the dish towel.

“You callin’ me stupid?” he asked.

“No,” I looked down at the floor.

“Well, I know who lives here. And I know what I drunk and I know what I didn’t. Who you had in here while I was gone?” he asked as he stuffed another cookie in his mouth.

“No one, Josh,” I answered.

“Now you wanna lie,” he said as he tipped his beer can up to his mouth.

“Back talk me and lie. Somebody has been up in this bitch. My fuckin’ beer is gone. Now tell me who,” he demanded.

“No one,” I repeated. He was scaring me. I really didn’t want to be hit.

“Then where’s my beer?” he screamed.

Sometimes we make decisions and we think the decisions we make are to our benefit. Other times, we make decisions and at the time we make them, they seem to be what makes sense, and later we find out they weren’t such a good idea. Being able to discern the good decisions from the bad decisions, in advance, would be priceless.

“I drank them,” I said.

“How you gonna pay to replace them, you dumb whore? I knew you were drinkin’ my beers. Probably drank that fuckin’ Jack too, didn’t ya?”

I nodded.

I didn’t see it coming, but I felt the impact. His hand hit my face so hard everything went black. I spun in a circle, and landed on the floor. When I could see again I was on the floor, and he was hovering over me, his fists clenched.

“You can drink my beers and you’ll pay me for ‘em. But no one fucks with my Jack. You know that. I knew you drunk it you little drunken whore,” he screamed as he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me to my feet.

“Josh, no! I didn’t drink them,” I cried, my hair pulled tight by his left hand.

“Well, either way, you’re lying. You said you did, you said you didn’t. One’s a lie,” he stuffed a cookie in his mouth and took a drink of beer.

Smack!

He hit me harder than he has ever hit me before. I don’t know what he hit me with or where it impacted me, but my mouth hurt like hell. I could taste blood. I pushed the back of my teeth with my tongue. One was loose.

I opened my eyes. Everything was blurry. My lips already felt ten times bigger than normal. As I cried and sobbed, he pulled me toward the refrigerator by my hair. Grabbing the back of my hair in his hand, he opened the refrigerator door and shoved my head inside.

“How many beers you see up in this motherfucker?” he screamed.

I blinked and looked inside. I could see nothing. My eyes wouldn’t focus.

He said he had five earlier…

“Four,” I guessed.

“See any Jack?” he screamed.

“No,” I answered.

He pulled me down to the floor by my hair and shoved me with his hand, sending me across the floor on my back. I relaxed on the floor, lying on my back crying. I turned my head to the side so I could still see him. The pain in my face and mouth was unbearable.

I watched his hand as he reached into the refrigerator. I heard him open another beer and take a very long series of drinks.

“Know why?” he asked.

“Why what?” I asked.

“What the fuck we talking about, you dumb cunt?” he screamed.

“Josh, I don’t know. I’m scared. You hit me, I’m hurt and bleeding. Please…”

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re bleedin’. The Jack! The fucking Jack Daniels, Kace. You know why you don’t see it?” he screamed.

“No?” I answered, confused.

“Cause you drunk it,” he screamed.

I saw the blur of his boot and thought he was stepping over me to go to the other room.