In The Blood

Insomnia

(Jenika)

Flipping around like a fish out of water, I buried my face in the pillow. Eww. I'd drooled on it. I rubbed at it absently for a minute. Laundry. I needed to do a ton of laundry. Whites, colors, towels, pants. And bedsheets, apparently.

I sat up, rubbing at my eyes. I was tired, both physically and emotionally, but I just didn't sleep much anymore. A couple of hours at a time, if I was dead on my feet. Just near impossible to turn my mind off. And believe me, I tried. I freaking tried everything. Sleeping pills made me feel goofy and high. Drinking made me throw up by the time I got to the point where my mind would shut off. Yoga made my back ache. Meditation made me bored but not sleepy. I'd even booked a massage once but it only made me cry. It felt good but it felt like I was bleeding money. That I just didn't have anymore. I couldn't spend it and throw it around like I'd been used to doing. I had no constant source of income that I could depend on. I would have to throw myself wholeheartedly into finding a job, an actual full-time position. No more playing around and just trying to scrounge around for gigs. If I was lucky maybe I could secure a spot in a lineup in a lounge or something. It'd be damn hard to get into music like I'd always wanted to. And this time, it'd be do or die because I had no fall-back plan or second source of income. I had a small savings account and the Bank of Mom and Dad. How much more could I drain from them? I was like a leech, sucking everything dry, using up every resource I'd ever had. Because he'd locked everything away. All our assets, all the money we'd ever had, just out of reach. I had always been well-aware that he made the lion's share of our income and he just kept lording it over me. Even out of sight, presumably out of my life at this point, he made his presence and his impact known. Nothing. I had nothing anymore. I'd had it all but it was gone now. I was only left with family and friends. I considered selling our house but naturally, it's got his name on it and I can't do anything without him or his approval. Which would never come. I'd burned bridges with him. His love, his money. I couldn't even go back to the house. I may not be having "panic attacks" (panic attacks, my rear. How much of that attack had been real? It looked real enough to scare me but still. Ann kept telling me he was faking it. Was he really? I couldn't be sure), but the house saddened me. Jason, Becky, and I had gone back a few times to get clothes and things. I'd grabbed my jewelry box. I knew I could get some money by selling my jewelry. Real diamonds, good diamonds. That he'd given me.

I sat up in bed, reaching for my engagement ring and my wedding band. Cash. I could get money for them. The wedding band had two rows' worth of good diamonds; the engagement ring had one diamond encircled by smaller ones. I slid them on, crying slightly, emotions all over the place. I always knew he had a bit of a temper and, damn, that sarcastic side could irk me to no end. Sometimes he just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. Underneath the hot temper and sarcasm was the real him that he kept hidden until he felt he could trust a person—his sweet and loving side, his sensitive, caring, and loving heart. That I'd broken. I knew I'd hurt him deeply and, to a degree, I hated and regretted having done it. I guess I was needier than I ever thought I was. I just needed to hear his voice, his words, his quirky sense of humor that I loved. Yet days had gone by and I grew scared, knowing that I'd never be good enough for someone like him. He could have any woman wanted. And I knew many women would love to have been me back when we were together, would have loved to have been in my shoes, to have him so absolutely, to have every part of him, his love, body, and soul. That he'd given to me willingly and openly. He had loved me. Yet I was replaceable. I had been replaced. And when I couldn't get ahold of him, I panicked. Clearly, all my panicking had done was make him mad. And his four stooges. I guess my feelings and my fears didn't matter to him. That made him mad and, when backed to the wall, a caged tiger is going to strike. And strike, I had. Relentlessly. Tiger angry. Tiger hurt. Tiger not good enough. Tiger insignificant to big-time circus tiger. But little tiger still loved her circus tiger and tried to keep her circus tiger from straying. Maybe he'd stay for a baby tiger. That had worked for a few days, tops, until Aunt Flo came calling. And PMS. God, sometimes I hate being a woman. Then he found out and he was royally pissed (well, to be honest, couldn't say I blamed him). I'd just wanted the real man, underneath the tiger suit, that I loved back. Unfortunately, it had blown up in my face (in hindsight, I deserved it), and the next thing I knew, we were both yelling. He was shouting (hurt—he was so hurt), he was throwing things, wringing towels (I could just picture my own neck being one of those dishtowels he was tearing into), he was growling at me (defense mechanism thrown up against me), he was hitting the counter. Every time he brought his fist down onto he granite, I was never sure if he was going to hit the counter or me. Would he hit me? Would he really hit me? If he tried to beat me, he would have me; there was no way in hell I could defend myself against a strong six-foot-three-inch man. Yet, backed into a corner, scared me had taken the offensive—and I hit him before he could hit me. Even then, he didn't hit me; he just tried to hold me in place. But I never knew what he'd do next and it scared me. And the oven—that part was fuzzy. I'd heard it beep and it was opened (by me? By him? I wasn't sure). I wasn't sure if I reached in, if I stumbled in, or if he pushed me into it. Either way, my hand got burned. Then, like a light, my exercise-hating circus tiger wanted to go for a run. Scared out of my wits, I called 911 only to have then tell me there was nothing they could do for a woman scared of her husband. Did he hit you? Did he hit you? Did he hit you? If he did not lay a hand on you, there's nothing we can do, ma'am. Did he hit you? Fine! He hit me, will you do something???) Practically badgered into that, I was boxed in. All I could do was watch him get arrested, stand by, and watch. If I told the truth then, I'd be in legal trouble. I was still shaking after they took him away. I started calling all our friends, begging them to let me run for safety. Blake and Kelly, and Jason and Becky, without question. Davis and Abbie, hard sell but finally heard me out. Lee had put me through the third degree until I finally just told him to either support a pregnant woman or fuck off. I still wasn't sure whose side he was on.