There has never been any physical violence – this is what she clings to, sometimes, as a reason to stay. That, and the happiness they enjoyed in the very beginning: their moments of tenderness, before the suspicion and threats crept in. Perhaps some part of it seemed romantic, at first – their closeness, the way they knit their lives around one other, the passionate declarations that moved her beyond words.
‘You are my world’, ‘I’m so lucky I found you, ‘I would be lost without you’.
‘Lost without you’ – that, she supposes, is the core problem. Any moment when her attention is elsewhere is taken as an affront.
She has tried to empathise, to understand, to accommodate.
But she cannot endure, any more, the cold silences that billow between them when she has been judged and found wanting. Or the way she has, little by little, shrunk her life in an effort to avoid their fights. Or the excuses she has to come up with when it has been decided that they cannot go somewhere. Or the texts that pour into her phone, on the rare occasions she does manage to go out with her friends.
What are you doing?
Hello???
I see you’re ignoring me now. Not smart.
God forbid you should tear yourself away from your precious bestie, right?
Who else are you talking to? Who else is there?
???
The silent buzz in her pocket as she does her best to appear cheerful, bright, unbothered in front of her friends – because she doesn’t want them to know anything. She doesn’t want to be pitied.
How she casually excuses herself when the phone has rung a dangerous number of times, going outside and taking a deep breath before returning the call.
‘Oh, so you’ve stopped ignoring me?’
‘Sorry, I lost track of time –’
‘And I’m finally worthy of your time now, is that it?’
‘No, no! It’s nothing like that, I just –’
‘You’d better think very carefully about what you’re going to say next.’
How it chills her to the bone. And how she has hated herself, sometimes, for the way she caves in and apologises, even when she knows she is not in the wrong. How she could never stand up for herself, for fear that the fight would escalate.
She has managed, she thinks, to avoid physical violence so far by ducking and weaving right beneath the impending rage: defusing it, as best she can, before it can irrevocably erupt. But the effort has exhausted her, and she cannot do it for much longer.
And so, with the last of her bags packed, she begins to drive – to a place that doesn’t now, but might, one day, feel like home.
**A response to 