Journey

“Giving up abuse is like giving up drugs,” one of the women told her bluntly. “It's the hardest thing you'll ever do, because it's familiar to you. You're used to it. You don't even know it's happening anymore. It's the only way you know or think someone loves you.” Maddy had heard this before, but she still hated hearing it. She now realized it was true. She just didn't know what she was going to do about it, except come here.

“Don't expect too much of yourself at first,” one of the others said to her, “but don't hang around for ‘one last time,’ one last round, one last shot at it … it may be your last one. Even the guys who don't lay a hand on you get crazy sometimes. He's a bad person, Maddy, a lot worse than you think, and he could kill you. He probably wants to, but doesn't have the balls. Get your ass out of there before he finds them. He doesn't love you. He doesn't care about you, not in any way you want … his love for you is hurting you. That's what he wants, and that's what he's gonna do. He ain't never gonna change. He'll just get worse. And the better you get, the worse he'll be. You're in a lot of danger.”

She thanked them all when she left, and she drove home thoughtfully, mulling over everything they'd said. She didn't doubt any of it. She knew it was true. And she also knew that for some crazy reason, she wanted Jack to stop hurting her and to love her. She wanted to show him how, part of her even wanted to explain it all to him, so he could stop doing the things that hurt her. But she also knew now that he never would. He would just go on hurting her more and more. And even if she thought she loved him, she had to leave him. It was a matter of survival.

She called Bill from the car before she got home, and told him what it had been like. And he sounded relieved for her. He just prayed that they would give her the strength she needed, and she'd act on it.

And it was as though Jack sensed it when she got home. He looked at her strangely and asked her where she'd been, and she told him again it was a meeting relating to the commission. She even took a chance and told him it was a group for battered women they had wanted to check out, and it was very interesting, but just hearing about it made him angry.

“What a bunch of sick fucks that must have been. I can't believe they expect you to meet with people like that.” She opened her mouth and started to defend them, and then she closed it. She knew now that even doing that, and tipping her hand to that extent, could put her in danger with him. And she was no longer willing to risk it. She had learned that much. “What are you looking so smug about?” he accused her, and she looked as noncommittal and nonthreatening as she could, and refused to let him make her feel anxious. She was practicing what they had taught her that night at the meeting.

“It was actually pretty boring,” she said wisely, “but I promised Phyllis I'd do it.” He eyed her cautiously and nodded. He seemed satisfied with her answer. For once, it had been the right response.

And that night, for the first time in a while, he made love to her, and he was rough with her again, as though to remind her of his power. And no matter what she'd heard, he was still in control and always would be. But as she had before, she said nothing to him. She went to her bathroom and showered afterward, but no amount of water or soap seemed to wash the horror of him off her. She went back to bed without a sound, and was relieved when she heard him snoring.

She got up early the next day, and she was in the kitchen when he came downstairs, and everything seemed the same as always between them. But she felt like a prisoner now, chipping away at the walls, silently digging a tunnel to safety, no matter how long it took.

“What's with you?” he snapped at her as she handed him his coffee. “You've been acting strange.” She prayed he couldn't read her mind. She was almost sure he could, but she wouldn't let herself believe it. But just hearing him, she knew she was already becoming different, and that in itself put her at risk.

“I think I'm getting the flu or something.”

“Take vitamin C. I don't want to have to get a stand-in for you if you're sick. It's so goddamn much trouble.” He didn't even have to find the stand-in himself, but at least he had bought her story about not feeling well. But just listening to his tone, she was aware of how constantly rude to her he was these days.

“I'll be okay. I can go on anyway.” He nodded, and picked up the paper, and Maddy stared blindly at The Wall Street Journal. All she could do now was pray that he didn't figure out what she was thinking. But with any luck at all, he wouldn't. She had to make a plan, she knew, and escape before he destroyed her. Because one thing she knew now for sure was that the hatred she had suspected he felt for her was real, and far worse than she had feared.

Chapter 19