He never laid a finger on her, he said.
Technically, he was right. He was very careful with his words.
The forearm to her throat as he pushed her into the corner told a different story. She cringed from the pain, the fear, his whisky breath. She tried to turn her head away from him, but he had her locked there, his reddened eyes staring her down as if it were a contest she would never win.
Her throat burned when she swallowed, the spit forcing its way through the tiny airway he left.
His lips met hers and he forced himself closer to the wall, pushing her even further against it. If the fear hadn’t been so strong, her stomach might have taken over. She lurched a bit, and he pushed his other fist against her stomach.
No!
The violence emanated from his eyes. They were normally a strange shade of green, but all she saw now was black.
He twisted his fist and she sucked the air in loudly. “You leave,” he said, “and it’s done. It will be your fault.”
Her mouth trembled slightly before she bit her bottom lip to stop it. She closed her eyes to steady herself. It felt like minutes, but she had only counted to two in her head. She couldn’t let him catch her off guard in any way.
He eased his elbow, and her throat opened up just slightly. She breathed in as deeply as she could and exhaled louder than she meant to. His eyes were still fixed on hers, and she caught him wink at her as he let go, stepping back a bit.
“When’s dinner?” he grumbled. “Are you really going to keep me waiting?”
She fought to think after her lack of oxygen. Food, dinner, kitchen. “It should be ready soon,” she croaked, her voice scratchy, and she slowly made her way through the small kitchen over to the stove to check the beans. She was surprised they weren’t bursting by now. She barely felt any warmth from the pot. That was strange. The burner was turned off, but she knew she had turned it on. The pot wasn’t hot, but it was warm. She looked toward the rice cooker that she had started earlier, and it was still plugged in, but it was turned all the way down.
How had she missed that? He must have reached for the knobs when he came in to check on her. The fear had distracted her enough that she hadn’t even noticed.
She turned the temperature on the rice cooker up again, as well as the burner for the beans.
“Never mind!” he shouted, as he went toward the garage door. “I feel like a steak tonight anyway.”
He grabbed his keys from the bowl on the shelf and slammed the door behind him as he hit the button for the garage door.
She breathed out hard as the garage door opened. Her stomach growled at the thought of steak, but she just rubbed her hand over it in a circular motion as she went to stir the beans. It was all they could afford, or at least it was all he allowed her to afford. Steak was no problem for him, somehow. But she didn’t ask questions. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she heard the garage door going down again. She took a couple big breaths in, still listening.
The car choked and revved out of the driveway, and she finally set the spoon down and peeked under the kitchen sink. Two eyes reflected back at her and she ushered her daughter out, hugging her close. “You okay?” she asked, brushing the blonde hair from her daughter’s face.
The girl grabbed her leg and hugged it with every bit of strength she had before looking up, her eyes filled with tears, fear, and a four-year-old version of sympathy.
She bent down and hugged the girl with her right arm, not succeeding in holding back all the tears, her left hand automatically reaching toward her stomach again.
“Time for dinner,” she said, as her voice broke. Her lower lip threatened to start trembling again, so she bit it hard. Swallowing deeply, she scooted the girl toward the table and hugged her again as she sat down.
The girl’s eyes were wet, her cheeks slightly crusty with dried saltwater.
Scooping the beans onto the plate next to the rice, careful not to let the two touch, she reached over and set the plate next to the girl. She scooped up what was left, not worrying about the boundaries this time, and sat down at the table with her plate. It was barely more than the girl’s serving, but it would do. If he had been there, she probably wouldn’t have had any of it.
“Shall we pray?” she asked, reaching for the girl’s hand.
Her daughter pulled her hand back fiercely and looked up at her, tears streaming down her face again. “Does Jesus even care about us?” she asked, innocently, her face scrunched up in a contorted frown.
Not sure how to answer exactly, she reached out for the girl’s hand and stroked the top of it before firmly grabbing it in a cupped, solid hold. She gulped, then paused before attempting to answer. I hope so, she thought, as her voice broke again and she said aloud, “He knows what He’s doing, even if we don’t understand it.”
“I definitely don’t understand it,” the girl said, crossing her arms in front of her chest, as she dropped her head to pray to the only one who could help her out of this.
*Fiction