Page 25 of Save Us
When I eventually reach the top of the stairs, being that I have tried to draw the process out for as long as possible, I turn to face our room. The door has been left wide open; it’s the only room that has any light shining inside of the entire house. I remain taking my time to walk down that long corridor. My slow ambling is probably a foolish thing to do given that it will only be irritating Oliver more than he already is, but I can’t seem to make myself go any faster. I’m too scared. Each step is heavier than the last, and by the time I reach the light, I can hear Oliver breathing noisily, angrily, like a prowling wolf readying itself to attack.
I cautiously step inside, only to come face to face with complete chaos. The room has been ripped apart and all our things, mainly mine, have been thrown wildly around the place, making small heaps of mess across the floor. Bottles of perfume have been obliterated against the wall, my bedside lamp has been thrown across the room, and my book torn to pieces. However, the thing that makes me gasp and break down into uncontrollable tears, is the bed. It is made up as perfectly as it had been this morning. Not one cushion is out of place, apart from a tiny, pink, baby hat. It sits unapologetically on top of the satin bedspread.
My hands fly over my open mouth at the same time as his large hand painfully grips at my hair. Within seconds, I am being pulled over to the bed where the sweet, innocent object, which has provided me with so much comfort over all the years of abuse, depression, and grieving, now stares at me.
“Please, Oliver…” I manage to whimper. The sound of which only makes him tug on my hair more painfully, pushing my nose toward it like I’m a household pet that is being punished for doing its business on the living room carpet.
“Lift it up!” he growls furiously through his clenched teeth, and with anger radiating off him like an uncontrollable beast begging to be set free. “NOW!”
Slowly, I reach out with my fingers to pick up the soft, cotton memento of my baby girl, the only one I have. Once it has been lifted clear from the bed, it reveals a shiny, silver packet that contains my contraceptive pills. I’m dead, my brain says to me, which may well be an accurate summation of what is about to befall on me. I knew this day would eventually come, though it doesn’t stop my shoulders from beginning to shudder as I start to cry. My almost violent trembling is not enough to soften his rage, in fact, from the way he psychotically roars inside of my ear, I can only surmise my fear is spurring him on to go even further.
Before I can make sense of anything, I am thrown to the ground with a painful thump to the back of my head. With all the energy I have in me, I slowly manage to turn onto my back to see him standing over me with the pink, tiny hat clutched inside one of his hands. The other is holding a lighter.
“No, no, no!” I cry out, trying to reach for it before he can do what will fracture my heart that little bit more. As I try to fight him for it, he uses the pointed toe of his expensive Italian shoes to kick me back to the floor. Before I can even grasp hold of my ribs, where he’s inflicted yet more bruising, he flicks the lighter and proceeds to torch my baby’s hat. He may as well have set fire to my heart, for now I have nothing of her. Nothing!
“You have no daughter, Beth,” he sneers, “I am your family! No one else! Do you fucking hear me, you vile bitch?!”
I don’t answer him in any kind of way other than to continue trembling; I can’t. I’m too shocked and horrified over what he’s just done.
“You will love and serve me! You will bear my children even if I have to tie you to the fucking bed and keep you there till you give birth. Do you understand me?!”
Suddenly a searing hot rage begins to penetrate my every pore, every cell, and every thought within me. His wild eyes search for my submission, but instead, I narrow them into slits with bravery I didn’t even know I possessed.
“I HATE you! I can never love you because I HATE you!” I shout so loud, there’s no doubt the miserable bodyguard from downstairs will have heard me. “Fucking kill me, Oliver, because I would rather die than be anything to you! You are nothing but a monster to me!”
His eyes flare with a madness that is both terrifying and ugly. With no other choice, I turn over onto my front to try and crawl away from him, but he is much too strong and much too quick. He is soon able to grab at my hips to pull me back, but still, I refuse to submit and make this easy for him. In fact, I am literally breaking my nails, clawing my way over the floorboards in the opposite direction, all the while screaming bloody murder. And I don’t stop, not even with tears burning down my skin as he reins down punch after kick after scratch. His sanity is all but disappearing as he loses every ounce of control over me. It’s the first time he’s hurt me so badly that I’ve blacked out, fallen into a darkness that I never want to wake from again.
Xander
It doesn’t surprise me when they announce that it’s raining as soon as we touch down in Heathrow, London. It always seems to be raining whenever we come to visit Beth’s family. However, this time it’s fitting for the occasion. Rosalie Taylor, Beth’s grandmother, died last week after having battled with dementia for many years. Her body finally succumbed to the disease and shut down completely in her sleep. Tom, her husband, remained by her side all night, holding her hand until the final breath.
It cut through me to hear this, for I should have been there for Beth when she passed on. The only comfort I can take is that perhaps they’re now up there together; my love will finally have someone to hold onto when she looks down on all of us. I like to think so, anyway.
Mal is cut up, understandably so, even if it had been expected. He knows as well as anyone that his mother held on a lot longer than anyone ever thought she would. And we all know it was Tom coming back that kept her going. He made her better so she could have those last few years with the man with whom she had fallen in love with. Mal called me at the weekend and just about managed to hold it together to deliver the news, but as soon as I heard Jen’s voice take over the call, I knew he had broken down. The last time I heard him break like that was when he had lost his daughter, my Beth. I can’t say I’m looking forward to seeing that broken expression of his again; it’s going to bring back a torrent of painful memories.
Fortunately, I have my ever chatty five-year-old daughter to accompany me. She’s always in the habit of breaking me out of my funk, whether I like it or not. She doesn’t really understand that we’re here for a set purpose, a sad one at that. To her, this is just another trip to visit Nanny, Grandad, and Uncle Riley.
She’s excited by everything she sees and has to ask a billion questions about each and every one of them. With every playful skip, her little doggy rucksack rattles, being that it’s full to the brim with tiny, pointless, surprise bag toys. The type that has you cursing like a sailor when you tread on them first thing in the morning. They easily rival the torture of stepping on a piece of Lego. But each one is of vital importance to her; her life is literally unbearable if she loses one. The girl has a mental catalog of each and every toy, no matter how old or how small it is.
I decided to rent a standard Hyundai, cozy enough for us two but completely boring to drive. It’s fine, though, it’s only a two-hour drive down to her parents’ place along the coast. I don’t need to turn up in some flashy piece of metal when we all know the only reason that we’ve come over during term time, is because something awful has happened.
When we arrive, Rosie is the first to leap out from the car and onto the gravel driveway of their small country cottage. It is a beautiful place and is one of Rosie’s favorites. Out the back, it opens onto the forest with ponies and Aberdeen Angus cows roaming about freely. Jen has also made the garden into a fantastical place that houses fairy doors and windows all over the fruit and oak trees. Even the flowerpots house the odd elf or winged creature, all of it just for when Rosie comes to stay. She and her grandmother spend hours making up stories about the make-believe inhabitants. They also write letters and draw pictures to leave out for them before bedtime. Rosie adores it and eats it all up as any five-year-old would. I hope it lasts for a long time, keeping her young and dreaming for as long as possible.
“Hey, baby!” Jen beams at Rosie as she runs up to the front door and literally leaps into her nanny’s arms. Jen gasps with a smile as she wraps her long, willowy arms around her granddaughter, and breathes her in. She releases a few tears like she does every time she lays eyes on Rosie for the first time. Though, my little munchkin never seems to notice. I know that to Jen it feels like she’s embracing her own daughter. You can tell it’s both painful and comforting for her.
“How are you, Rosie? You ok? Is your Daddy behaving himself?”
She takes a moment to look up and smirk at me, wiping her wayward tears away with a surreptitious wink.
“Hey, Jen,” I greet her with a smile as I walk up and give her a hug. “How’s he doing?”
“Not good,” she replies with an obvious wince. “It’s brought up a lot of painful memories…for all of us, but particularly for him.”
“And Tom?” I ask with a sad sigh. “He must be pretty devastated.”
“That’s an understatement,” she says, shaking her head before gesturing for me to come inside. “He’s aged in the last week, it’s like he’s giving up. She was the love of his life, his everything!” she explains on a small sob, making Rosie look up at her with confusion and a little anxiety. No child likes to see a grown-up cry, particularly one they care about; one who they look to for protection.
“Sorry, baby, Nanny’s ok,” she says to Rosie’s little worried face, and quickly plasters on a smile to try and reassure her. “Come and see what I’ve got inside my naughty drawer!”