Day 2: Write a scene involving a simple item that triggers a memory.
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Julia Clifford was up before the sun. She wasn't sure if she had even fallen asleep in the first place, all she knew was that she couldn't keep lying there on her mattress made of stone. Or did it just feel that way because her body felt so heavy? Maybe she was the one made of stone.
As she made her way out of the house to the beach front she shivered. Her spindly fingers grazed over the protruding bones of her elbows and shoulders as she hugged herself to fight the cold. The early morning wind stung her eyes, but atleast it wasn't tears anymore. She'd been crying and blaming herself too much, and it showed. She was weak and hauntingly thin, her eyes droopy and hollow when they were once a lively blue. Her hair was dry and frizzy and her mouth had moved to a seemingly eternal frown. She used to be the girl they laughed at for being so happy all the time, and she wanted to be her again.
Looking down at her left hand, a gold wedding band shone against her pale skin. She walked along the sandy shore barefoot as she felt tears rising up again.
She used to call it "the happiest day of her life." On June 17, 1997, she'd married the love of her life. Thomas Clifford was everything she'd asked for: sweet, caring, responsible, handsome and smart. He'd swept her off her feet on their very first date, and she could never forget the way his green eyes lit up when he proposed and she said yes. Everybody she knew had been there at their wedding, from childhood friends to college sorority sisters. Everything was the way she wanted it to be--from the flowers to the food and everything in between. He'd made her feel like she was the only girl in the world, more special than diamonds or even gold. He handled her as if she was a precious gem...at first.
But then the company he was working for failed. They needed to get rid of some people and despite Thomas' assumption that he'd been doing so well, he found his head on the chopping block. He was devastated. But Julia had held him, saying he'd find another job and do much better there in an effort to console her grieving husband. But apparently what she'd said had been wrong, because the next thing she knew, he was screaming at her and his hands were around her throat.
A fresh new batch of tears tumbled down her cheeks as she choked down the sound of her sobs. She found the memories flashing in her head again: the times he'd throw her against the wall and even down the stairs. The way he'd beat her and punch her and say terrible things to her. Instead of hearing words like "love" and "darling" every night before they went to bed, she heard "stupid" and "slut." He blamed her for everything, saying that she was the reason for his downfall and that he shouldn't have given her all the expensive things he did. She remembered her agonized screams of mercy and how she'd shrivel up in the corner as he loomed over her with a golf club in his hands. Some nights she wished he would just kill her already. He was never happy until she had atleast ten new bruises, and then afterwards he'd force her to make love with him. He'd press down on her wounds and injuries as they did, and when she'd cry he'd beat her all over again. And as she'd lay there with him snoring beside her, she knew that even though she was with her husband she had never been lonelier in her life.
Despite it all she was expected to be the perfect wife. Attend every family affair, go grocery shopping, host barbecues and parties and dinners with friends. She was expected to look pretty in a dress and cover up the bruises. She was expected to lie whenever she didn't hide one well enough, and she was supposed to endure the punishment that came along afterwards.
Once he even gave her a black eye the day before her little sister's graduation, and she was forced to cover it up with make-up as much as she could. It was so big and dark that her family still noticed it, but she was so afraid of him that she'd told them she'd hit herself with a two-pound dumbell while she was working out. That night, he really did hit her with a dumbell.
Along the way, she lost her appetite and her energy to go out with people. Her own family seldom got to see her or talk to her, because the prospect of having a long conversation with them meant lying, or worse, telling the truth. She was horrified of both.
At one point, she'd taken a step back and realized she'd given everything to him. She left her hometown and her job, her friends and everybody she cared about. She wondered if he'd moved her far away from those things because he'd already had this nightmare planned. Had he wanted to ruin her life from the get-go? It hurt to think about it that way because it meant that everything--even the moments before the wedding, or before he lost his job--had been a cruel lie.
She had even put off having kids for him, because he wasn't ready. But now she was glad she'd agreed because she wasn't sure how she'd be able to save her child when she couldn't even save herself.
And now he was having an affair.
Julia calculated in her head and estimated that she'd been going through hell for close to eight years now. If he was planning to go away with his whore, she wasn't going to be the one left behind. No. It was about time she stood up and fought for herself.
She stopped crying and wiped the tears away with the sleeve of her sweater. She slid her wedding ring off, looked at the message engraved inside it for one last time, and threw it as hard as she could into the vast salty sea. This was her throwing him away--all the memories and all the lies and the bruises and painful words. She watched him land so far away she knew she'd never see him again. And this was her going back to herself; finally giving herself what she deserves.
The white-tipped waves crashed and licked at her ankles. She looked up at the sky and smiled, knowing that soon, she'd be as free as the seagulls soaring overhead.
