Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 47419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 237(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 237(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Both women claimed after that he’s nuts; they don’t know the half of it. He’s always buying me something, always rushing around like a chicken without a head, even though he’d hired every damn nanny in a ten-mile radius, it looked like.
I don’t think he calmed down until my first checkup and I got the all-clear. That’s when the madness left, I guess. Or it could be the fact that we found a routine that worked for all of us.
He was still salty with the mothers, who had taken to ignoring him, which was funny as hell. He lectured them that they didn’t know how hard childbirth was on a woman’s body because they told him it was okay for me to get up and move around more.
His idea was to walk me around the room at intervals, usually right after the babies had been fed. When they both reminded him that they, too, had given birth, he scoffed and said things were different back then.
His dad and mine had to sit him down and explain that he had lost his damn mind; he wasn’t having it. It all came out later that he was afraid of me feeling the way I did when I had Kevin and Sara. That I wasn’t being taken care of enough.
He'd read these stupid books that his mom burned after the second time he told her that I wasn’t to step foot out of the house until the babies were three months old. I’m not sure what book he read that in, but she’d had enough of his shit.
He vetted people before they were allowed to enter the house or get near me and the babies. People he had known for years. For some reason, they all came to the same consensus: he was nuts. He didn’t care.
With all of that being said. I was able to heal, had time to myself, and my mind was able to relax because Jacob was like Cerberus at the gates of Hades. He’s not crazy; he knew exactly what I needed even when I didn’t.
HOMEWRECKING SKANK
Iput the last bottle in the bag and sighed with relief. I looked around the almost abandoned parking lot just to be sure that I was indeed alone before pulling out and heading back to the office. I was so sure of myself that I no longer had sweaty palms or a racing heart.
Just a few short weeks ago, maybe a month and a half at most, when I first started plotting this, I thought I would die from a heart attack because I was so damn scared of being caught. I’ve been running all around our town and a few others on my lunch break so as not to be found out.
Now, I had finished the last of it, and there was no more fear, just a staunch determination to do what I needed to do for me. Doug had grown progressively worse over this time, and I came to the realization that if I didn’t get out, he was going to kill me.
The beatings had grown in frequency, and every bit of his discontent was laid squarely at my door. He blamed me for everything that had gone wrong in his life. As if I, too hadn’t lost friends and family when I got with him.
I have no one to turn to now because he sold me a dream that I thought was going to be all worth it. I’ve lost my parents, who never agreed with the affair, and most of my friends, not that I had many to begin with. The people who were so much fun when he introduced me to them as a friend had all turned their backs on him and me as well.
So now I’m isolated from everyone and everything. My days are spent between home and work, with a few trips to the supermarket when needed, but that’s about it. At the time I came up with a plan, it was after another one of his rages.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, taking stock of the damage he’d done to my face and neck when he choked me and slapped me around, trying to navigate how I was going to cover them up the next day.
That’s when I realized he knew exactly what he was doing. I didn’t need to cover them up because it was Friday, and there was no work the next day. I thought back over the last few months and realized that the worst of the beatings always happened on a Friday.
Monday to Thursday, it’s punches to the gut or a belt across my back and ass before the forced sex that is somehow the worst of the abuse. But every Friday, he goes for the face. Saturday, we’re back to more unwanted sex and punches to the ribs.