There was no hope, she decided, feeling the tears dry to her face as more burned her eyes. He was never going to change. Never admit he was wrong. Never believe he had hurt her. He never made a mark on her body, not even a bruise. But then, she’d never bruised easily. Not all scars are visible. Some hide in the soul; burrowed deep within the mind. Just because her skin was unblemished didn’t mean she wasn’t damaged. Head aching she sat on a picnic table, staring at the moon, trying to ignore the lump in her throat and the pressure behind her eyes.
They fought again. What started out as something stupid turned into a deep, dark battle that got out of hand. She fought back and for once she wasn’t afraid. She didn’t worry about the consequences, didn’t flinch in the face of his anger. Spurred on by her new bravery, she told him the truth and once it started she couldn’t stop. He’d abused her mentally and spiritually for over half her life and she’d had enough. For years she stayed silent, not wanting him to know. It would only show how much power he had over her. And it would hurt him, to face the monster he really was. A clever monster with a nice public face, that wouldn’t lay a hand on you unless you hit him first. That way, after he finished beating, he could claim self-defense. It came as a shock to her when he said, disappointed, that he’d have to find a different way to put her in her place since he couldn’t use violence. He wasn’t a wife beater. To him they are the scum of the earth. But she wasn’t his wife. He’d still promised to protect her, but he’d promised a lot of things. Last time he promised to be a better man. She reminded him of that as her litany of heartache poured out.
The woman shudders in the dark, trying to hold back the growing storm.
Years of sorrow passed from her lips listing dates, events, and witnesses. He sat, tight lipped and glowering, as she showed him the wounds he’d scarred upon her heart. Finally, unable to bear his silence, she stopped and waited, desperate for him to finally see.
He called her a liar.
She argued it was the truth. Why would she make up such trauma? It was the truth! He disagreed. Said she’d fooled herself into believing it was the truth. It didn’t matter that there were witnesses, she had to be lying. Something inside of her broke. She ran from the house, into the night, blinded by her tears. He didn’t believe her. He never would. It didn’t matter how much logic, evidence, or reason she had; he would always be right.
She was hollow, except for the sorrow. But even that couldn’t compare to the gaping emptiness consuming her insides. Why wish when they never come true? Why dream when they only get crushed? Why hope when it only brings suffering? She believed…wanted so badly to believe…that he could change. That one day he would admit to the damage he had caused, even if he wasn’t sorry, just admit that he did it. But that was a delusion she dreamed up. He would never admit it. She would never forgive him.
Fishing in her pocket for a tissue her fingers find a piece of candy. Twisting it in the dim light she reads “Merry Berry.” With a broken smile she popped it into her mouth, the sweet taste turning bitter as the juices slid down her throat. There were no arms to hold her. No shoulders to cry on. Just the silent sentinels of darkness and moon. The sorrow was starting to ebb, and she was still empty. But there was a calm. She would go back, get her things, and leave. He loved her, and she wanted to believe him, but she didn’t have the strength to go through this again. Not again.
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