Marit and AJ sat on the edge of the bed,
only a few feet apart,
though the distance between them stretched
for miles. Marit sniffled
into a tissue, trying to compose herself.
She sat with her feet on
the edge of the mattress, chin on her knees,
making herself as small
as possible.
"Talk to me," AJ said, looking down at his
hands.
"I'm sorry," Marit apologized for the
thousandth time. "I was just,
um, a little overwhelmed. I'm okay, now,
actually, and a little
tired. If you don't mind, I'd really like to
go-"
"Marit," AJ sliced through her babble, and
she shut up
instantly. "Cut the bullshit." He looked up
suddenly at her. She
sighed.
"It's all in the past, okay? Where it
belongs."
"It's not," he said. "It's still there,
inside you, eating you up.
What is it?"
"It's nothing."
"Marit. I think I deserve some sort of
explanation."
"It's my story, my problems, okay?" she
cried out. "I don't owe you
anything."
"That's not what you thought a few minutes
ago," he said. She turned
to look at him then, but not meeting his
gaze, instead staring at
some spot on the wall, at something only she
could see. The haunted
look in her eyes cut him to the quick.
Inching over, he hesitantly
touched her. When she didn't protest or
recoil, he wrapped his arms
around her, pulling her toward him. She
sighed, and laid her head
against his chest, drawing from his
strength. He caressed her cheek,
kissed her eyebrow, temple, hairline, not
speaking, waiting for her
to break the silence.
"All my life," she started, "I've been
taught that tears are a sign
of weakness. And weakness is a sign of
failure. And yet, in the past
year, I've cried enough to fill an ocean."
He rubbed her back,
willing her to continue.
"When I was growing up, I was daddy's little
angel. I thought he was
absolutely perfect. My mother, on the other
hand, she was weak.
Always crying, always doped up on some
painkiller or another. She
wasn't strong like my father. It wasn't
until I was 19 that I
learned the truth, and my perfect little
world came crashing down."
"What happened?" She lifted her chin to meet
his gaze.
"Do you know what it's like to be betrayed
by someone you loved with
all your heart and soul?" she whispered. "I
didn't, and it hurt like
hell. See, there was a reason my mother was
always crying, always
cringing. He beat her. Everyday. You know
why?" He shook his head.
"Because she was weak. She was always
messing up. Even when she
hadn't done anything, and I was the one at
fault, she still
shouldered the blame. He didn't lay a finger
on me, choosing instead
to believe that somehow she had failed in my
upbringing."
"Marit, you can't hold yourself responsible
for what your father
did," AJ tried to reason. She just laughed
bitterly.
"You don't understand, AJ, it's not what my
father did. It's the type
of person I realized I was. Cruel,
heartless, self-serving. I'm just
like him," she said.
"Hush, that's not true," he said.
"Yes, it is." He watched as a far-away look
came into her eyes, as
though she were reliving the moment.
Marit got out of the car, looking in
alarm at the ambulance parked
in the driveway, lights flashing. She ran
towards the front door,
which opened just as she reached it. Two
paramedics came rushing out,
rolling a gurney between the two of them. In
the instant they passed
her, she caught a glimpse of coal-black hair
and a pale, limp arm,
covered in rapidly developing bruises.
"Oh my God, Mom?" she asked, tearfully. She
felt her legs give,
falling to ground. As she looked up, two
police officers walked out
of the house. Seeing her kneeling on the
front lawn, they rushed over
to her. One of them knelt down, concern
etched on his face.
"Marit Rawlings?" She nodded, dumbly.
"We're afraid there's been a little
incident. We'd like to ask you a
few questions, do you mind?"
"What... what happened?"
"How about we go inside, we can talk there."
He helped her up and
guided her towards the house, when she
stopped suddenly.
"Wait, where's my father?" she said,
glancing around, her eyes
searching for her pillar of strength. The
two officers exchanged
looks, before the one holding her elbow led
her forward again.
"Let's talk inside."
Marit stared at the officer, dumbstruck.
She sat on the edge of
couch, unable to believe her ears.
"You've arrested my father? Why? I don't
understand."
"Your mother is very badly battered," the
officer said. "Your father
called 911, saying that she fell down the
stairs, but we suspect foul
play."
"From my father? Surely you misunderstand.
Maybe there was an
intruder, someone broke into the house, he
beat her, pushed her down
the stairs, my father came home and found
her," she babbled, on the
verge of hysteria.
"Miss Rawlings, are you aware of the events
that have transpired in
your house for the past 20 years?" She just
looked at him, not
comprehending. The officer sighed.
"I'm sorry you have to hear it like this,
but your father, well, he's
been abusing your mother since they
married," he stated bluntly.
Marit stared at him in shock.
"What? That's ridiculous. I would know if he
had been."
"You've never noticed her crying? Or the
bruises? And she displays
classic symptoms of depression," he said.
She shook her head,
refusing to believe him.
"No, it's not true, she's just weak. Daddy
says-" she stopped
suddenly. Images flooded her mind. Her
father constantly yelling at
her mother, throwing things, raising his
hand, her mother crying
pitifully in the corner. Images she'd always
managed to block out,
until now, when harsh reality slapped her in
the face. Her face
drained of color.
"Oh, God, all this time," she said. "And I
never..." She broke down
suddenly, sobbing.
"It was right at the end of my junior year
of college. I was coming
home for the summer, I was so excited to see
my daddy. 19 years, AJ,
19 years, I lived in denial, turning a blind
eye to my mother's pain.
She died that summer, she took her own life,
somehow managing to slip
past the suicide watch. I still believe
she's better off. My father,
he's serving time for manslaughter. I had to
testify against him. "
AJ just held her tight, not knowing the
words to say to make it all
better, but silently willing her to forgive
herself. She pulled away
suddenly, swiping her eyes with the back of
her hand.
"That's the year my life fell apart," she
said. "That's the same year
I met Jordan." He could only nod for her to
continue, unable to
believe there was more.
"Jordan seemed like an angel, sent from God
to aid me in my darkest
hours. Well, God must have a sick sense of
humor. Maybe he was my
retribution, my penitence for standing aside
while my father
committed those atrocities. Or maybe it was
just my fate, to suffer,
not once, but twice, at the hands of men I
loved."
"Marit, listen to me, there was nothing you
could have done about
your father. If you had tried to intervene,
he would have turned on
you too." Marit just continued, as if he
hadn't spoken, still lost in
her recollection.
"He was perfect at first. Caring,
understanding. I found it easy to
talk to him, to share my burden with him.
Too easy, in fact. I found
myself becoming more and more dependent on
him, needing the strength
and stability he offered. And for a while,
everything seemed like it
would work out. I erased all thoughts of my
former life, immersed
myself in my classes and Jordan. I knew,
deep down, that this wasn't
healthy. Once again, I was denying anything
was wrong, pretending to
have healed, when really, I was falling
apart inside. And Jordan, he
was like a predator, taking advantage of my
weakness.
It was little things at first. He'd make
comments about my clothes,
my hairstyle, and I'd change them
immediately, so goddamn eager to
please him. I tried to ignore the fact that
he was taking over my
life, choosing to believe that if I became
the person he wanted, my
fragile, happy little bubble would remain
intact. He isolated me from
my friends, my interests, my dreams. The
final blow came when Eva,
my best friend, and I had an ugly fight
about his control over me.
See, he had forbidden me to sing anymore
with her, saying I didn't
need that sort of entertainment. Instead, I
should be focusing on my
career, on him. So I bailed on her, and she
came over demanding an
explanation. That was the last time I spoke
to her." Marit looked up
suddenly, her eyes pleading.
"Something inside of me died that night.
Singing, Eva, that was me.
Not this empty shell I had become. I
promised myself then that I
would break it off, that I would finally be
the strong person I
always pretended to be. And once again, I
failed. He came home and
somehow, I found myself agreeing with
everything he said. He was so
persuasive, so goddamn charming. He
cried that night," she
laughed, self-mockingly. "And I was
completely suckered. I'd been
hurt before, I'd hurt others, and I didn't
want to do it again. So I
believed his lies, and life went on as
before."
"What made you leave finally?"
"I got a letter. It was from my dad. You
know, I thought the time in
jail would have changed him, made him see
the horrible things he'd
done. But instead, it was the same old same
old. He tried to explain
to me what he did, why he did it. It was
utterly appalling, I thought
I knew and loved this man. He poured out
some crap about showing how
strong you are, because otherwise people
would walk all over you.
And I realized then that my father was the
weak one. He was the
coward. And suddenly, I realized I was doing
the same thing with
Jordan. And I knew I had to get away. So
five days ago, I packed up
my bags, took everything that was precious
to me, got in the car and
drove off. And met you." She looked at him,
her eyes now dry,
waiting for his reaction.
AJ worked his mind around the story she had
told, unsure of what to
say. He opened his mouth several times to
say something, then closed
it again, unable to find words to correctly
state what he felt. He
gave up and instead cupped her face in his
hands. He stared into her
eyes, reading into the depths of her soul.
She stared back, seeing in
his eyes what he was unable to express out
loud. They stayed this
way for a moment, before moving toward each
other, their lips meeting
softly, soothingly, then, deeply,
passionately.
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