Blue Comes Through

Prologue

The strike when it comes is as much a shock as it is expected. This time, the first hit is a swift punch to the right side of my face. The pain explodes near my cheekbone, radiating to the side of my head and nose. I can feel a warm trickle of blood as my lip splits and the taste of iron as the blood seeps into my mouth. I hear a vicious tirade of expletives coming out of his mouth, but nothing makes sense, just white noise crackling around my head. I silently stare at him, watching his mouth forming the words, but I can't process them. I feel as though we are at opposite ends of a sound vacuum. I can see his face, snarling with venom, his mouth twisting as continues to spout the vitriol, but my brain doesn't absorb the words.

My only fleeting thoughts are; how did I ever find him attractive? How did that charming, flirtatious, flatterer become this monster? But those thoughts are fleeting. Another punch connects with the side of my head and I fall to the floor. I curl tightly into the foetal position, protecting my head with my hands, my stomach with my knees. I stay silent. Screaming or crying will only prolong the attack and increase the savagery. I need to remain mute and still.

My ability to defend, distract or delay has long passed. The feisty girl who would have considered those things has gone too. Now I'm just a shell, a weak, empty vessel, spending my days walking on eggshells and living on my nerves. Compliant and complicit, my respect for myself has died along with any feelings for this man; the father of my baby. Great choice, Maddie, great choice!

I can hear Will's baby babble, via the nursery monitor and pray he stays quiet. I'm not sure how much he can hear from his bedroom. So far in his young life, he'd been spared watching his father hit his mother; although he's seen the after effects. I'm not sure if an interruption from him will act as fuel to the flames of his father's anger, or douse them, but frankly I don't want to find out. I want my baby to stay quiet and safe until it's over.

After a final vicious kick to my ribs and another angry tirade, I sense him walk away and I hear the slam of the front door and the squeal of tyres, as he roars away from the house.

It occurs to me that he's over the limit, the bottle of red he consumed over dinner, putting him way over the safe and legal limit to drive. Why I should feel any concern for a man that's just beaten me seems ironic, even pathetic. But that's me, weak and pathetic.

Maybe, the police will pick him up. A night in a cell for him would be a blessing for me. I'd have time to get away. I could pack some clothes, grab Will and go.

But the idea is quickly squashed and the small bubble of hope quickly dissipates. Where can I go? I have nothing. I have my car; I have a few pounds in my purse. I have my baby. But now I've lost my job and my family have washed their hands of me, his control is almost complete.

I lie there for a few more minutes, until the rough wool fibres of the carpet start to chafe against my cheek. The rough sensation triggers me to open my eyes and start to move. The adrenalin is draining away now and the pain is kicking in. I gingerly get to my feet and make my way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and holding it under the tap with shaking hands. I find some painkillers and manage to push the small, white pills into my mouth and swallow them. I get ice from the freezer and wrap it in a tea towel and hold it against my cheek.

My whole body starts to shake then and I sit at the kitchen table, before my legs give out completely. I can just about hold the ice to my cheek as my arms and legs are seized with a paroxysm of trembling. I need to ride out this phase and then survey the damage. I'm used to the routine now. I know how my body will react. I know for now, I must not think too much. I push my panic and fear to one side and keep my mind blank except to issue brief instructions, drink this, take these, bathe this, ice that. Sleep. If I start to think, it will only prolong the shaking. The feelings of fear and hopelessness and self-disgust will swamp my mind and overwhelm me. If I'm overwhelmed, I can't function, the despair consumes me and I want to curl in a ball with the duvet over my head. I have to function though. After all I am a mother.