Apple Pie covered in Punches

        On the floor exhausted, I lean against the kitchen table holding on gently to my bruised aching head. Legs tremble as I wait for his return. Tears continue and in my heart of hearts I know the horror will be repeated.       

        My tortured mind spins backwards through the lost and lonely years... how long could this go on for?  It’s time to make a change, but how? Where could I take my children?  I can’t do this, not with two children to think about. I have no one in my life, nothing...  More liquid tears cascade into splashes as I feel a deep dark empty oblivion engulf me... Feeling its pressure, I scarily sense the big black hole as it looms nearer.

        Statuelike, I inhale the atmosphere’s stillness; this just cause’s the tick of the kitchen’s clock to sound much too loud. Inside I feel intense irritation just by its mere presence. Disconnected from time, it passes... Willingly I move into a dreamlike state. Somewhere in the darkness I hear his screams. Unwanted flash-backs cause me to flinch again and again, as I repeatedly experience the fierceness of his punches. Involuntary I screw up once pretty eyes; despite this, I still witness him knock me viciously to the floor. With the look of a demon he scowls as he kicks out. Instinctively I recoil; narrowly he misses. As he leaves the house he screams a barrage of abuse which floats out angrily from behind him... The door slams, in the following all consuming silence, I cautiously curl into a ball. I weep for me... I weep for my children... I weep for lost love, knowing clearly, this is not the man I’d fallen in love with all those years ago... We have two beautiful children, what the hell happened?  Oh my god, what happened to us?  

        Lying in the eerie silence, I hear a noise from the front of the house.  My eyes flicker nervously whilst my heart catapults into overdrive. Is he here? Sitting bolt upright, for the longest time I hold on to my breath... the moment moves forward. Realising it’s not him; I fall back against the table crying as if my battered heart will break. I need a plan. They say a plan is needed especially under circumstances like these, a safety plan.... a code, that’s it. But thinking of a plan just caused me more confusion. No, I was too tired to make plans, so for tonight... the plan will be, endeavour not to make a sound.

I don’t want my children to wake. I’ll take his punishment and then tomorrow I would make the plan... Struggling to get up, I slowly move around the kitchen. Listening to the noisy hum from the kettle... I imagine him not returning, sometimes he did that. I don’t know where he’s gone; to be honest I couldn’t care less. What I do feel is a little better, more positive. I hope this might mean my plan could formulate sooner.

        The kitchen door flies open and bangs hard against the kitchen drainer, causing a small pane of its glass to smash into smithereens. Hastily I put the boiled kettle down, just in time to see my

husband stride towards me; his right hand viciously grabs my hair, violently he pulls my left ear up close to his stinking alcohol fuelled mouth, words convulse from him as he sprays spittle over me.

“I told you I’d be back you rotten little bitch”

        Before I respond, he pushes with brute force... flying backwards through the air, I land like a ragdoll in the hall. Running on adrenaline I jump up and fly quicker than the speed of sound into the lounge... I just knew I didn’t want to take this upstairs. My children would wake. As I turn around to face him, he runs hitting me with the force of a rugby player. Tackled to the ground, I feel the carpet graze my already battered body... Laughing like a crazed man he sits on me; he proceeds to belt me across the face. Powerless, determined not to cry I recognise his resolution is to break me, little did I know by remaining strong I unknowingly caused further physical abuse for myself. His bombardment of slaps and belts continue unabated. For some reason though, my experience this time feels different. I thought; this man can’t hurt me anymore he’s done enough, so much blatant damage. With each cracking slap, I struggle defiantly to hold eye contact with him... In doing so I observe he begins to look uncomfortable; unfortunately, I also notice the following slap is harder.