schizo // heathers

eight

Veronica

It was only the week we took Emily home when JD hit me again. It was just a smack but it stung emotionally. I had gotten accustomed to his sweetness over the past few months. Him switching back to brutality was throwing me for a loop. But that same night, JD was begging for my forgiveness and telling me it wouldn't happen again. That he wanted to be a better husband than his father was. That he didn't want Emily to turn out like him.

This was a cycle that would repeat for years. He'd hurt me in some way, storm off, and cool down only to come beg for my forgiveness afterwards. Though, he'd never once been even remotely aggressive to Emily. Nothing interesting happened outside of this abusive cycle I was trapped in. And it worsened when I was pregnant with my second child. By the time we had Chloe, our second daughter, Eliza was eight. She had long since been begging for a little brother and was rather disappointed to find out she'd have a sister instead.

At the same hospital I delivered Emily at, I delivered Chloe. Some of the nurses noticed the bruises and contacted the police, which we found out about a few days later. During those four days, JD had beaten me seven times. For things he considered serious, like refusing sex, as well as minor things like leaving a burp cloth on our bed. It was bullshit and I was getting sick of it.

Then the police were at the door. The police asked me what my name was and I answered the way I had since the night I had Emily. "Veronica Dean." I said, knowing that they were looking right at the bruises on my wrist. My sleeves were rolled up and I was holding Chloe against my chest. My wrists, and the yellowed marks left by my loving husband, were on full display. I was terrified.

"Are you alright, miss?" The one officer, a really cute guy, asked me.

"I'm perfectly fine." I lied, a tight smile on my face.

"Well this is a wellness check so I'll have to observe for a while." He told me.

Your husband won't like that.

I'm well aware. I gulped. "I really can't let you come inside." I said, almost fumbling over my words. "The house is a mess, my older daughter really likes painting and she's painting today." I added.

"Veronica!" JD called. "Where the hell are you?" He added, quieter as he approached.

"Someone's at the door." I informed him.

"I see that. Go find Em and stay with her while I deal with this." He directed of me. I did as told because I knew that the police wouldn't help me very much. Maybe they'd rescue me, but I doubted that. I just seemed like a battered wife, not a kidnapping victim.

"Why is Dad talking to a cop?" Emily asked me as I found her in her bedroom, not painting because that was something I was making up to keep the officer out of the house.

"Someone called a wellness check." I answered her as I sat down on her bed with Chloe still against my chest, sleeping.

"What's that?" She queried.

"It's when the police make sure no one is getting hurt." I replied, shifting to lay Chloe on the bed. She wasn't old enough to roll over yet so if I watched her, I figured she'd be okay to sleep on her sister's bed.

"Who called?" Emily wondered, sitting beside me on the bed. I pulled down my sleeves.

"Probably the nurses who saw bruises." I told her. She gave me a very confused look. JD didn't hit me in front of her, ever.

"From what?" She questioned for the millionth time in her life. She always wanted to know what caused the bruises on me.

"Your dad." I admitted to her. Her look of confusion grew.

"Why are you married if he hurts you?" She wanted to know.

That's the question you don't have an answer for.

I didn't answer her and suddenly, the door burst open. "You stupid bitch." JD hissed at me.

"JD, the kids." I reminded him, my voice shaking. Emily slid backwards onto her bed, curling in the corner.

"I don't give a fuck about that right now!" JD shouted at me. Chloe woke up and started crying. I picked her up, held her to my chest as I tried to shush her. "I care about the fact that the fucking police were just at my door!" He went on. Emily started to cry, putting her head down into her knees.

"That's not my fault." I mumbled. He stalked up to me and grabbed my face, squeezing hard.

"The cops saw the fucking bruises." He told me. "You're not slick." He added, shoving my face away from him.

"I'm exhausted from our newborn, I forgot that my damn sleeves were rolled up." I defended myself, tears in my eyes as my babies both cried. I couldn't cry.

Don't cry.

Crying makes it worse. Besides, I can't cry for my children. "You're a fucking moron." He muttered.

"I'm sorry." I apologized, feeling beat down despite the fact that he'd hardly touched me. I continued bouncing Chloe in my arms.

"The cops are gonna come back with a warrant. They're gonna find all the unlicensed shit I have." He added.

"JD, I said I'm sorry. I don't know what else you want me to do." I said quietly.

"I want you to stay here with Emily and Chloe. Don't answer the door, don't leave this room." He said back to me. He then turned away, left me with our crying children. I heard the front door slam.

For the time being, I focused on comforting my children. I held them both close to me, rocking my daughters as if they were both infants. "He's scary." Emily cried into my shoulder.

"I know."