Page 17 of Save Us
His eyes dart from side to side, desperately wanting the one thing I can never give him - my love, my adoration, my heart. Oliver knows that, at the end of the day, all he has is my physical body, nothing more.
“I don’t know,” I openly lie to him, and only because exhaustion has finally taken over. The thought of having to live through what he means by ‘really hurting me’ is suddenly too overwhelming to bear. “I’ve never not been scared of you. You’ve always hurt me, Oliver.”
“Then I won’t, not anymore!” he says as though trying to convince himself, then presses his lips to my forehead. “I will be soft and gentle with my Beth, and then you will love me.”
His words come out as more of a command than a suggestion, with him reverting back to the little boy who is craving to be loved. Oliver’s emotional immaturity often surfaces in this way, showing that he doesn’t understand that you can’t make someone love another person, no matter how hard you try or how hard you punish them. It’s during these moments that I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
A week passes by, though it may as well be a month or a year; I can’t tell these days because one hellish day turns into another without me even noticing. Oliver has been trying extremely hard to play nice with me, but rather than endearing me, it’s only been making me feel more and more unsettled. In fact, it’s been the longest time it’s ever been without him losing his temper with me, without marking me in some violent way. Though he still demands sex from me whenever he wants it, he’s always telling me sweet nothings when he tries to ‘make love’ instead of ‘fuck’ me. It’s been so disorientating that I haven’t thought about my upcoming doctor’s appointment or the fact that my little pill secret is about to be brought to light.
And so, here we are, sitting in the clinic waiting room, staring at the same wall of baby faces as we were only a week ago. My face remains devoid of emotion as I sit before their chubby cheeks, their big eyes, and toothless grins, choosing to remain impartial over the fate awaiting me. Most people in my current position would be secretly terrified, readying themselves to fall into a nervous breakdown, but strangely, I’m not. Once he finds out what I’ve been doing, how I’ve been interfering with his plans to produce a super heir with not one, but three founding members’ bloodlines, Mr Play Nice will vanish. He will be back to the same vindictive, rage-filled monster from before, and with added bite no less. And while I had once tormented myself over the repercussions of my actions, and what it is he will choose to do to me first, eventually it all boiled down to one simple question - what else can he do to me?
My life is an existence, nothing more. My daughter is being brought up to believe her birth killed me; my true love is living under the same lie; and my daily, physical being lives in torture, just waiting for the next thunderstorm to befall it. As for my mental being, the one who used to be Beth Taylor, it gave up a long time ago.
An hour later, and I’ve been poked, prodded, and examined in every conceivable way. We’re now waiting for my results. More sitting before the babies of wispy hair and cutesy outfits, beside a man who is literally going to destroy me with his own two hands in probably less than thirty minutes’ time. Even though I had stupidly tried to make him go back to work, telling him that I would call with the results, I knew it was a futile effort. Predictably, he merely gave me an angry glare and a grunt, which was his special way of telling me to hold my tongue for the foreseeable.
“Mr and Mrs Lawrence?” The same grey-haired physician from last week calls out into the hallway, then gestures to his open office door with a tight-lipped smile on his face. One that I can instantly read; one that says he knows exactly what I’ve been up to.
As usual, Oliver pulls me up without any words or chivalry to his action and proceeds to march us toward the doctor’s small office. As I walk past his overbearing presence, he eyes me cautiously, so I am under no illusion. He now knows how I’ve been betraying my husband for all these years. Bracing myself for the ensuing explosion of fists and God knows what else, I follow Oliver into the office and sit down like an obedient dog. Once satisfied with his ‘pet’, Oliver confidently leans back into his chair and awaits the results that will finally shine some light over his lack of heir.
The doctor takes his time to sit down before theatrically shuffling some papers in front of his bearded face. He looks pensively at them for a moment or two before finally bringing his eyes over to meet Oliver’s stern expression.
“It would seem some of your wife’s hormone levels are a little off, Mr Lawrence,” he announces with what sounds like concern. “It means her environment is not quite at its best to accept any potential sperm.”
“And why the hell would that be?” Oliver growls at him as though he is the one responsible for such a condition. I shut my eyes and wait for the doctor to deliver the blowing truth to him, the one that might finally lead me to the mortuary under Oliver’s hateful vengeance.
“My best guess is stress,” he lies, prompting my eyes to burst open with a furrowed brow, looking toward the man who has just risked his position for me. “Could be medication, could be diet, could be a number of things. I’m going to give you some information leaflets that will offer advice as to how to improve your chances of conceiving, as well as give your wife some pills to try and optimize the conditions in her womb. Then, I’ll see her again in a month.”
“Leaflets?!” Oliver growls. “Fucking leaflets!”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a magic conception pill, Mr Lawrence,” the doctor replies before pulling off his glasses, “if I did, I’d be a billionaire!”
Seething with frustration over something he cannot bend to his will, Oliver sneers at the poor man, then jumps to his feet, pulling me along with him for the angry ride.
“Wait!” the doctor calls out just as we approach the door. “Angela, I noticed you haven’t had a pap test before. It’s recommended for all women to start having them from your age.”
“Ok,” I reply quietly because I distinctly remember having a smear test just last year.
“It won’t take a minute, and I know Nurse Kelly is here; she is excellent and very speedy,” he says with a warm smile. “I can show you the way myself. It’s very important for women to get checked. You understand, don’t you, Mr Lawrence?”
“Of course, anything for my wife,” Oliver replies and seems to physically mellow as he kisses the top of my head like any other loving husband might. One can never tell if he’s being sincere or merely putting on a show for the man before him. “She is vitally important to me. I’ll come with you.”
“No can do, I’m afraid,” the doctor fake laughs softly. “Nurse Kelly is quite the formidable woman and very old school. She won’t have a man in there with her.”
Both the doctor and I look at my husband who has already entered the realms of psychotic anger, while he considers what his reaction is going to be. Eventually, he smiles tightly, then reluctantly sits in one of the waiting room chairs out in the hallway.
“Lovely!” The doctor beams in relief, then gestures for me to follow him down the hallway and into a little waiting room on the left.
Once inside, I notice it’s just another office, devoid of any medical equipment. The only thing of note is a small computer sitting on the table beside the window that overlooks a park. As soon as the door clicks closed behind me, I let out the heavy sigh I’ve been holding, already more than aware of what he’s going to say to me.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me, Mrs Lawrence?” he finally asks.
Initially, I remain quiet, being almost hypnotized by the people going about their daily business outside, looking both carefree and happy. He remains silent while I take some time to consider my answer. When I eventually turn to face him, I notice he’s now propped his considerable backside on top of the tiny desk, waiting patiently but with his arms crossed.
“Do I really need to?” I whisper guiltily.
“I guess not,” he replies, looking sadly to the floor and sighing over my sorry situation. “Mrs Lawrence, I won’t lie for you again. I know what happened to the last physician who lied for you.” His words instantly bring tears to my eyes when I think of Doctor Sawyer dying because of me and my lies. “You have a month, Ange…Beth.”
We look at one another for a few moments before he nods and gets up to open the door for me. Without any other communication between us, I walk past him and head straight over to Oliver who is still looking angry with me. I have a feeling Mr Play Nice has gone.