She Forgot Me...

She Forgot Me…

He has pulled into the driveway. She knows what will happen next. For a moment she wonders; Who’s to say what the worst is?

Is it really the grave? Who is to say?

Not me. I am merely here to watch. For watching is all I can do.

She stands in the living room, unable to see what might be wrong this time. She knows there’s something, something out of place or undone. But she can’t see it, and she is certain he will.

She sits on the sofa with a thousand-yard stare.

I hear her thoughts, they are of nothing but submission, it will be what it will be, she can’t change the outcome. Her heart no longer races as it once did, she has no fear, she has no fight, she is resigned, and she waits.

She waits.

He is like the weather in a way, today he might bring sunshine, or he might bring a storm. The storms are most common. She has seen so many storms that she has lost her faith in the sun and knows she can never bask in it’s warmth again. She has learned the hard way that it will burn her every time.

But I remember when…

Once she was so bright, she glowed. She was amazing and powerful.

Then he lied to her. He made her believe he carried her fire. He made her, more... She believed, and she was so wrong.

He was then, and is now, darkness. He needed her. He needed to devour her.

Years have passed since then, and he has stolen her light, used it as his own, fed himself with her pain. So much so that it has become almost impossible for her to feed him anymore. She believes she is, empty.

I wonder if she’s right this time.

He sees it too, and it angers him. He needs more from her. So much more. But he has kept her in the dark and bled her dry. She seems to have nothing left to give. Maybe he should have let her have a friend. Someone to help her heal from his feedings.

But no. That might weaken his control.

No, he never let her feed the light he needed so much, it was safer for him that way. Soon he too will starve. But he won’t take the blame. Everything is her fault. She has failed him.

And she doesn’t seem to care. She feels nothing. But I do.

I hate him.

I too wait. I wait, with my rage to keep me company. I can’t help but smile, just a little, I know soon I will be able to do more than watch. She will set me free. More to the point, He will set me free. He will burn her to ash, and I will rise.

Then he and I will meet for the first time.

She knew me well once but then she tucked me away and forgot me. For her, I stayed hidden from him. Also, for her, I have never left.

Who am I?

I am that little piece of her she buried long ago, her memory, her power. I am her survival. Her Phoenix.

She hangs her head as he walks through the door. She knows not to say anything until he asks her a direct question. If she remains silent perhaps, he will too. His silent treatment is better than his verbal attacks.

But not today.

Today he asks her…

“Do you know what I think?”

She closes her eyes for a moment then meets his gaze, “No.”

He smirks at her, “You’re worthless.”

She looks away, “I know.”

He screams, “If you know why didn’t you say so? You’re so stupid! What the hell is in this for me anyway?”

Her head still bowed, but there isn’t even a hitch in her dead response, “Nothing, there is nothing here for you now.”

His anger is boiling, he grabs her by the arm and yanks her up off the couch to face him. He flips open his pocketknife and holds the blade under her chin. This is something new. He has never done more than shove her before.

“Nothing. That’s what you are. Nothing. A worthless bit of Nothing. I’ve let you use me too long. Maybe today I toss you out like the trash you are.”

I am filled with rage! But she, she feels… Hope.

She calmly whispers, “I am trash.”

He throws his head back and laughs. He almost let go of her, then grabbed her tight. He jams the blade to her throat again, this time he draws blood.

She’s not afraid, she is welcoming death. But that’s not what he wants. He doesn’t want her to be welcoming to anything.

He shoves her down, and she hits the floor hard. A gasp of pain finally escapes her. It’s a drop of the fuel he so desperately craves, and he kicks her in the stomach.

She feels the physical pain, and he kicks her over and over, she begins to try and get away, she begs him to stop. And he is feeding off her again! He's not stopping. Each time she tries to crawl away he kicks her down.

She is crying out in pain, until he kicks her one last time in the head, and the world goes black.

I wake up.

He has laid me on the couch and placed a cool cloth on my battered head. She remains asleep.

I hear him in the kitchen, he is humming a happy tune. I am so angry. I hope he is well fed.

My body aches from the beating. But that won’t stop me. If I fail, she and I will die by his hand.

She has too much to offer the world for me to allow that to happen. So, I ignore the pain.

I hear him put something down on the table in the dining room, he’s made his own dinner. I’m wondering if he made enough for the both of us.

I doubt it.

Slowly, as quiet as I can be, I get up and walk to the bedroom.

He pretends to be a sportsman, and I consider taking one of his guns to shoot him with. But my left eye is swollen shut, and I can’t risk a bullet going somewhere other than it’s intended target. Besides, he has never shared the combination to the safe. I couldn’t take one of his weapons if I had to.

There it is. His overpriced deep sea fishing gear. 500-pound test line.

I’ll be taking a chance. Is this body still strong enough to fight him?

As soon as the fishing line is in my hands, I can feel the adrenaline flow through me. Yes, I am strong enough. It will cut me. But it will do worse to him.

I cut just enough, wrap it a few times around my left hand leaving plenty for me to wrap an equal amount around my right hand with a center length just the right size to pull around his throat.

I put on my long sleave robe, wrap the opposite end of line around my right hand and tuck my hands and the hanging line into my oversized sleeves.

Now I just need to get behind him.

She is waking up.

I sit on the edge of the bed.

We will think about this together.

Has it really come to this?

When was the last time you spoke to your family?

This is not who I am.

No, but this is how you get to live and go back to being who you really are.

I can’t.

Why?

I am nothing.

You are nothing to him. You are everything to all those who wait for you. All those he has taken you from. You are everything to me.

I will just leave.

He won’t let you. He will kill you.

He wouldn’t.

Look at yourself.

I can’t believe…

Believe. We have no choice. Him, or us.

I’ll go to prison.

Maybe.

I will never be washed clean from a sin like that.

There is no sin in survival.

I should have left him long ago.

You didn’t believe you could. He has lied to you for so long. None of that is your fault.

If I am strong enough to kill him, I should be strong enough to leave.

Agreed.

Than, I will just leave.

He won’t let you. Let’s compromise. We will try to render him unconscious, tie him up, pack and go. Then we will go to the police and tell them what has happened. We will press charges on him. Or you will never be free of him.

Try to render him unconscious?

If he fights too much the line could cut his throat.

I see.

There is a ripping pain in my kidneys, I let her feel it too. Do you?

She takes in a deep breath. Yes. We will try. Then I think I need to go to the hospital.

He is still eating at the table as I walk into the dining room. I am careful not to let him see me, I only want him to see her. His plate is almost empty, but I just stand there waiting for him to ask a direct question.

He sounds like sunshine, “Oh honey, you didn’t need to get up yet. You should still be resting. That was an awful fall you had, wasn’t it?”

I let her answer, “It was. But I’m ok now.”

He smiles broadly. Obviously, he’s enjoying his control over her.

“That’s good. Come here, you can take my plate and wash it now. After you’re done you can bring me a beer.”

She hesitates, she knows that once we are behind him to take his plate we will have to act. She is squeezing her wire wrapped fists tight under the sleeves of her robe.

I remind her, you are everything to me.

He snaps, “Hello? You hear me?”

She looks at him and tries to smile, “Sorry, I got lost for a second.”

He is smiling again, “That’s normal for you. Isn’t it?”

“It sure is.” She is on auto pilot.

We are behind him now. I can’t have her slow me down, I step in front of her and take control.

At first, he’s just sitting there, I stepped almost completely behind him, and almost changed my mind. Maybe she can just leave?

Then he speaks again and seals his fate.

“If you weren’t so clumsy, you could have cooked this and might have been able to eat dinner to.”

All the times I had watched her go without flashed before me.

In the blink of an eye, I pulled my now bleeding hands apart, jutted my makeshift garrot over his head, and pulled it tight around his throat.

He’s jerked back by the force but quickly gets to his feet, grabbing at the wire around his neck and trying to slam me into the wall.

But he can’t stop me. Can’t shake the harvest that he has sewn for so long.

Tonight, he is being fed alright. Fed what he himself has grown.

I don’t think he likes it. But I do.

It’s me who was laughing now.

But not her. I can feel her begging me to stop. But I can’t. Not yet. He is still fighting.

Finally, he slumps to the floor, the line has indeed cut his throat, but he is alive. Barely, but alive.

I drag him into the kitchen and tie his wrists to the refrigerator door. That should hold him for a bit if he were to wake too soon.

We pack what we need and take his car straight to the police station.

She tells them everything. They do not arrest her; they take her to the hospital. She has a concussion, a couple broken ribs, and both of her kidneys and spleen have been badly bruised. They say she is lucky…

If her spleen had ruptured, she probably wouldn’t have survived.

She has remembered me.

Later she learns that the authorities had also taken him to the hospital. He too lived. But perhaps he wasn’t so lucky. He was found guilty of attempted murder and died in prison only 6 short weeks into his stay.

Maybe someone was upset that he could not feed them the way he once fed off her…

I hope so. Even if she still feels sorry for him.

Where is she now? Oh today?

Today she laughs from her heart, she can feel, she’s better. She is successful, strong, she glows, and she is absolutely amazing. She has her power back, and she will never forget me again.

Moral of the story?

Believe in yourself. Never forget you are so very important… Perhaps not to them, but you are to me, and to so many other people, maybe even people you haven’t actually met yet…

Help is always available.

If you, or someone you know is living with domestic violence, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at

1-800-799-7233 that’s 1-800-799- SAFE

and get help 24 hours a day 7 days a week.

Can’t call? Text START to 88788

If there is an immediate threat involved, please don’t hesitate.

Call 911 or whatever your local emergency number is and get help right now.

There’s no reason anyone should ever live in fear. There is no reason anyone should ever forget their own power.