The linoleum is hard and cold against my cheek. I wake with the taste of blood. I do not know how long I have lain here, but it is dark. The pain through my body cuts like knives when I move. I crawl across the bathroom floor, unable to get up. When I reach the sink I try to pull myself up. The pain throbs unbearably. I lie on the floor and cry. The salt in my tears stings. I touch my face. My God, what has he done to me? This time the damage is bad. I lie there for a long time trying to remember. I fall asleep, or maybe I pass out.
When I wake, I wonder where he went. I feel no fear of him today. He will be sorry for doing this to me. He will never say the words, but I will know he is sorry. He loves me. He does not ever mean to hurt me. I pull myself up this time. The pain makes me nauseous and I vomit in the sink. It burns. I turn on the bathroom light, but I can barely see. My eyes have swollen shut. The little bit of my reflection I can see makes a scream well up in my throat. I vomit again. The room spins. My knees go weak and I stumble back to the floor in the corner. I pull down a towel from the rack and wrap it around me. I am so cold. I do not know what to do. How will I hide this? There is nothing I can say. I can tell no lie that can cover this up. Everyone will know he did this to me. I lie on the floor, mangled and bloody, wrapped in a fluffy peach bath towel. I close my eyes and fade back into the blackness.
Now I wake up in our bed. I hope that it has been a dream. I hope that I have had a nightmare, but the pain in my body tells me that I have not. I am here alone. I do not know what day it is. Have I missed work? Where has he gone? He must have carried me to our bed because I do not remember walking. I do not think I could have made it up here.
The memories come rushing to me. They slap me hard. I was asleep in our bed, this bed. I heard him come in downstairs. He was yelling. I do not know at who, but I know, for the first time, that I have done nothing wrong. I did not go with him. I could not have made him angry this time. I heard him stomp up the stairs. I knew he stood at the bottom of the bed. I felt the covers being ripped off the bed and his hands grab me tightly around my ankles. His hands felt cold. He pulled me down the length of the bed and my tailbone hit hard on the frame of the bed. I screamed, but no sound came out. I don’t think it would have mattered anyway. I did not understand what was happening. He yelled incoherently. I could smell the sickening, sweet scent of black licorice. He had been drinking Sambucca. I pulled away from him and scrambled for the stairs. I made it down the stairs and he came after me. He staggered badly, but still managed to keep up with me. I ran into the bathroom and tried to shut the door, but he pushed it open. He threw me across the bathroom and into the wall. I hit my head hard. He punched me in the face and I heard the bones in my nose break. I fell down into the corner and I tried to cover my head with my hands. He continued yelling loudly, but not making any sense. He kicked me hard. He wore boots. Again and again his boot came down on my head and face. I pleaded for him to stop, but he wouldn’t stop. I lost consciousness.
I get out of bed and go downstairs to the livingroom. My movements are slow and painful. I feel like a truck has run over me. I turn on the television. I need to know what day it is. The pictures on every channel are the same. Our country is at war. Desert Storm receives news coverage all day and all night. I guess I should care about what is going on over there, but I don’t. I finally hear a newscaster say that it is Saturday. I have been out for three days. I have missed work and I no longer have a job. My company has given me enough chances. I should have been fired long ago. I have had too many absences, too many days of showing up late or being tired or upset from a long night of fighting with him. Many days I could not cover up my black eyes and bruises enough to face my co-workers and clients.
I have no one to call. My family no longer cares. I have no friends. They all gave up on me long ago. I feel like my world has finally spun, not just out of control, but off it’s pedestal completely. My life has been pulled out from under me. I do not know what to do next. Why did I have to wake up at all? I wish he had killed me. It would be so much easier. I just want to die. I go to the bathroom medicine cabinet. I open it careful to avoid seeing my reflection. Nothing in there can help me. We have no razor blades, no sleeping pills.
I turn on the shower and let it run warm. I step into the spray or water. It hits my face and I scream out in pain. Chunks of brown blood fall at my feet. I shampoo my hair and my scalp burns. The soap, on what is left of my face, stings. White hot searing pain in each movement of my body.
I go back upstairs and climb into our bed. I lay in bed and cry. I cannot cover for him this time. I cannot protect him. I never once think about who will protect me.