Head spun as I tried gasping for air, "Hey, look at me!" He growled, his hands grasping at my throat, leaving me without air, I took a step back and he took a step forward, trapping me against the drawers, "I'm going to ask again, where we're you?" he squeezed my throat.
I dogged my fingernails into his wrist, trying to dislodge him but it was of no avail because his grip was too strong to wriggle out of, he enjoys tormenting me.
"Luke...I can't breathe." I wheezed, sinking my nails in his hands to make him stop but his hands gripped tighter and yelled from the top of his lungs, "You think I don't know what you've been up to, how you flaunt your body at those men?" I tried kicking and prying his hands off because I was feeling my esophagus closing and my vision blurring, but despite the pain, I began to thrash and buck in wheezes,
"Luke..."
His eyes snapped and in seconds I was smacked hard to the floor, pain shooting through my body, and then came another, I curled on the floor and tried to shield myself from the blows that were being thrown at me, I couldn't defend myself I was still weak from the day's exercise and sore from the mornings beaten to fight back, so I just laid there on the floor crying, afraid to move, holding my stomach and laying in a pool of my blood, waiting for him to stop.
He finally did, leaning down to my bloodied body,
"You're going to stop working." He spoke slowly. "I don't want you working anymore--" I cut him abruptly with a grunt,
"I've toiled so hard to be here and I won't quit so you can satisfy your damned ego." Upon me saying this, he smacked me across the face again, letting out a single chuckle as he continued,
"You will stay home and look after our home as a good wife should, no more working, you've had your freedom, Jane. It's enough." He waited for my response and when he realized he wasn't getting one from me, he grabbed a bunch of my hair and made me look him in the eye, "Are we clear, Jane?" He tightened the grip and winced, he knew I would never submit to quitting my job, so he was torturing me so I would get really vulnerable and give in, working was the only way I kept sane, the only way I kept relevant and independent, and it killed his ego,
"I'm not quitting my job, Luke,,." I spat and in seconds, he grabbed me by the hair and threw me at least 5ft in the air, I hit the wall and landed on the floor, pain shooting through my entire body instantly, he hurdled over starting another rollercoaster of beatings, this time I didn't just lay back, as he threw punches at me, I swung at him and bit him hard on the leg and as he yelped in pain, I crawled away and ran into the bathroom,
"Get back here!" Quickly, I lock the door. "Jane!" he pounded on the door and I curled my knees tightly, rocking and whimpering.
The door rattled and I gasped, "Jane, open the damn door." He yelled.
I winced in pain, my head and chest pounding from where he hit me and tossed me around, my sides hurting from hitting the wall, and clumps of my hair lying scattered around me. I howled until I don't hear him anymore. Then wiping the blood coming down from my lip, I struggled to get on my feet and staggered towards the bathroom sink, I reached to the mirror viewing my new marks, my bloody ribs and busted lips, blood filtered the rest of my skin.
Believe it or not, this wasn't the first time I have been in this position. These beatings and bruises are a joke compared to the other injuries he's inflicted on my body. But he was always careful not to leave the bruises where they show the next day, appearances meant everything to him. Smacking me around wasn't just about losing his ego, it was a sort of stress relief for him. Some folks played squash, my husband played smash and I know what you're thinking, it's what folks think when they hear about abused women, why won't she leave him? Why won't she take her kids and run far away from him? She clearly enjoys the abuse. What's even her excuse? Is she nuts? But it's easier to judge from the other side of the glass, it's easier to judge when you're not the one completely sulked in, when you've not witnessed every side of that person, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful. Luke wasn't always physical. Yes, he had obvious anger issues but never did he lay a finger on me while we were dating, it all started when I insisted on starting my own firm, before then I was an obedient housewife, taking care of James, making Luke's fresh meals, scrubbing and cleaning. Because Luke didn't want me working, he didn't see the point of me earning more money, since I could never meet half of his earnings.
Luke was a really successful businessman, he owned one of the largest advertising companies in the city, one he always proudly bragged about. It took a lot of bargaining and night fights before we finally agreed on a fixed schedule.
Exhaling, I sunk to the stained floor afraid to move, and then closing my eyes I tried to escape the pain I was feeling when I was suddenly startled by the sound of keys on the door, my heart began to pound when Luke busted through and strode towards me, I was afraid of what he might do to me this time, "Luke, I can't do this with you anymore." I shrieked, And to my surprise he leaned in and cupped my face in his hands, kissing my forehead softly. "I'm sorry, Jane," he whispered soothingly.
In concern, his eyes flash down to the bruises on my skin before flashing back to my face, then grabbing a clean towel from the rack he began wiping the blood off my skin. He extended his hand to the left drawer and grabbed the half bottle of hydrogen peroxide, tattering it in cotton he began dabbing it on the bruises gently, "Let me know when it hurts." He whispered, and I hissed out when he started applying more pressure, he quickly kneeled before me and began blowing up my wound lovingly.
Tears fell off my eyes watching him tenderly care for the same wounds he inflicted, "I'm so sorry, Jane. I don't know what came over me." He whispered as he continued tendering to the wounds, "I never mean to hit you. It's just sometimes you make me so frustrated that I find myself on the verge of killing you." He justified his actions and more tears spilled down my eyes, "You know I love you, Jane." I couldn't even respond because I was too hurt and broken to speak. He always claimed to love me, but how can you do this to someone you love? He finished cleaning me and helped me to my feet, then he pulled off his clean shirt and wore it on my shivering body, "C'mon, let's get you to bed." he tried to swoop me and I shoved his hands away and hobbled out of the bathroom, "Jane!" he called after me, I ignored him and slumped into bed, I just laid there in tears.
