People always say that once you’ve hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up.
Now here I am, having officially hit rock bottom. Only I don’t think there is any coming back from all of this for me.
I have been in a relationship with Patrick Holmes―we call him Rick―for five long years, and when I say long, I mean extremely long. The kind of long where you wished you’d have bitten off your own arm and beaten yourself over the head with it because it would have been so much easier than this.
At the beginning of our relationship, I always wondered what Rick saw in little ol’ me. He’d say I was perfect and that I was beautiful. I, on the other hand, never saw the appeal. I was boring. Yes, I loved going out and having fun with Rick, but I was always at my happiest when I’d be sat down on the sofa, cuddled up and reading one of my favourite romance novels by myself. I could live my life reading, relaxing and getting lost in another world.
When I met Rick at my grandpa’s law firm, I was finishing my final year at university, on my way to a business degree. I also had a work placement at one of the biggest editing companies. I was a bit hesitant to date him as he was eight years older than me, but after some persuasion from Rick, I didn’t let it bother me.
We weren’t even a year into our relationship when the strain began to show at home. It started with him working long hours, which I understood, as my father and grandfather both worked in a law firm. In fact, they owned it.
Rick would always come home giving me grief on how my grandfather had treated him unfairly and how it was my fault, accusing me of going to my grandfather and telling him what a useless boyfriend he was to me. This of course wasn’t true, even though he really was a useless boyfriend; it just took me a while to figure that out. He changed, turning into someone I didn’t recognise, someone who made me wonder if I had ever loved him to begin with.
When my parents died, I felt like a part of my soul died along with them. I just wanted someone to love me the way they did, but letting my emotions rule my heart gave Rick the power he needed to control me.
I wished I had never met him.
After long years of arguments and violence, I lost who I was, slowly and painfully. I questioned everything I did, calculated every move I made within the house and out. It was like he had taken hold of my soul, my mind, my body and had the means to break them all in two. I knew what he was doing to me was wrong, but for some reason, I still stayed.
And now? It’s worse. I’m sitting here on our en-suite bathroom floor, shaking, bleeding and scared beyond anything I have ever felt before ̶ and Rick has a tendency to scare me.
Moving forward, I grab the sink for support, directing my eyes to the long mirror behind the bathroom door. Gasping at the sight in front of me, my tears flow freely as I take in my bruised eye, swollen lip and the blood that pours down my nose and over my mouth as well as from the gash at the top of my head. I inspect the rest of my body as I stand naked in front of the mirror, trembling from head to toe. The fresh bruises are scattered around my arms, stomach and legs. I think he may have done some serious damage to my ribs; either that or the bruising just feels worse than it looks. Though, from the angry blue bruises, there’s no denying that I’ve taken a beating.
Blood gathers between my legs, running down from where Rick forced himself into me. My mind travels back to an hour ago, but before I can conjure up the painful memory, I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. I don’t want to think about what happened, what he did or how it felt.
I can’t.
I don’t have the luxury of breaking, not yet.
Focus! I need to get out of this house and away from him. I turn to grab a towel to cover myself and freeze at the sight of my back. A pained noise escapes my throat as I eye the red welts cutting into my skin. The memory of the belt Rick used to create the thick, swollen lines across my back and backside has me flinching.
I hate him!
No, I loathe him!
Up until this moment, I really believed I could get him to change, get him to love me. I believed that because I didn’t work―not that he would let me, of course―that it caused more stress on him somehow and I shouldered that blame for a long time, using it as an excuse for his behaviour. Not that I needed to work financially; I’d inherited my parents’ millions when they died. I’d never spent the money, not until Rick had asked me for some towards the apartment we bought together last year. I only agreed because I honestly believed that without having to worry about rent he’d relax, but I was wrong.
God, I was so naive.
Banging on the door startles me from my thoughts. When Rick’s loud voice booms through the wood, I begin to panic, hoping he doesn’t try to get in. Tears run down my face as I shakily watch the door, my eyes never leaving the handle.
“What the fuck are you doing in there, Lola? Finishing yourself off?” he says with an evil snigger. My breath hitches painfully.
Deep down I know I can’t be here anymore, that I need to get as far away from him as possible. But I'm afraid he’ll just chase me down again and that this time, he’ll kill me.
The few times I did manage to escape in the past, he found me, and it never ended well. The last time I escaped, he nearly killed me. My hands automatically go to my throat, remembering the feel of his fingers tightening around my neck and hearing his cruel laughter in my ear.
“I’ll be out soon. I’m just grabbing a shower,” I lie, shuddering.
There’s no way I’m going out there until I know for a fact that he’s passed out on the sofa. And with all the whisky he’s consumed tonight, I predict that won’t take too long.
Jumping in the shower, something inside me breaks, and I end up on the tub floor, sobbing with everything I have left inside me, ignoring my pain.
An hour later I make my way downstairs quietly, finding Rick passed out on the sofa as I’d predicted. The nearly empty bottle of whisky is on the floor, having slipped from his fingers.
This is my chance to decide whether I should stay.
The next time Rick gets angry could mean my death, so I know I no longer have a choice. I have to go. Looking at him on the sofa, my stomach curls with disgust and all my doubts fly away.
It takes me a while to get back upstairs because of my ribs, but I grab my suitcase from under my bed, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
Not really caring what I pack, I grab whatever I can reach and throw it in my suitcase. Finally having packed most of my clothes, I walk over to my dressing table, unlocking the bottom drawer that has all my private documents, contact numbers, bank cards and driver’s license hidden inside. Grabbing the brown envelope out of the pile, I inhale deeply. It’s the last and crucial part of this plan, one I’ve had set up for a while but have been too scared to carry out. I pull out two sets of keys, a small, shaky smile reaching my lips.
The first set of keys is for Cabin Lake. My parents were close friends with the owners there and we were always visiting, mostly during the summer holidays when we could stay as long as we wanted. I haven’t seen the Salvatore’s since my parents’ funeral, but I hope they’ll still remember and welcome me. I don’t think I could handle them pushing me away right now, even though it’s nothing short of what I deserve.
At the time, they reminded me too much of what I had lost, and my heart couldn’t handle it, especially knowing I’d never be able to visit there without my parents again. I miss them though, all the time. I miss Dean too. He was my best friend growing up, but because of me, we didn’t keep in touch. Like I said, everything at the time was hard for me.
Going back there will hurt me, but it’s better than dealing with the physical pain I endure here. That’s what I tell myself when I grab the second set of keys, the ones to the cheap vehicle I had the doorman help me buy a few months ago. Keeping it from Rick was surprisingly easy.
I never even told him about the Salvatore family. It was easier to just ignore that they existed, and at the time, I didn’t want Rick to see me as a coward for cutting them out of my life so easily.
Looking around the room one last time, I make sure I have everything, grabbing a few personal pictures on the way out. He can keep the rest for all I care.
Rick is still passed out and snoring when I make it back downstairs, for which I’m thankful. The thought of him waking up when I’m so close to freedom terrifies me, and I remind myself that this is a solid plan.
Glancing at him I notice that he appears to have aged ten years in the five that I’ve known him. The drinking has made him look haggard, tired and old.
I thought I’d feel something, like regret or sorrow, but all I feel is relief. As I look down at his drunk, motionless body, I realise I’m saving myself. I walk out the door without a backwards glance.
This is for me.