“No, I’m not saying that. I’m asking you to do what Pastor Brent said and focus on your circle. You remember your circle, don’t you? If you keep pointing fingers at me, I have to do the same, and then nothing can get better.”
A wave of guilt and nausea rolls over me. We have the same conversation over and over again, day in and day out. And it always ends with him telling me that the real issue with our marriage is that I’m far too critical, and until I can work on myself, he’s not changing anything. And he loves to use the six-week marriage course we took at a local church to back himself up.
“I’m just saying that if you keep being mean to me, making threats, and just disappearing all the fucking time with no explanation, I will leave you. I will get a divorce. I will figure out how to make it on my own. I’m alone all the time anyway.”
“But you won’t have my check paying your bills, will you?”
I grab the antique white pitcher from the open shelving and start filling it with water. It was my grandmother’s, and she gave it to me when I married Matt. I start watering my pothos plant on the shelf near the window.
“I can’t do this anymore. If you really expect me to just accept you going off without your wedding ring and no explanation of where you are while I’m home with the boys, I’m done. That’s not a marriage, not one I want to be a part of anyway.”
He comes up behind me, grabs the pitcher, and slams it on the ground. Water and shards of pottery coat my feet. The boys quiet down from their playful chatter while they build train tracks.
I barely have time to react when Matt grabs me and slams my body up against the back door. He looms over me, his beer breath warming my face.
“Do you remember that time I put my hands around your neck?”
Cold fear coats my throat. I nod, words escaping me.
“Well, if you don’t shut the fuck up and stop being such a cunt, I’m going to do it again. And this time, I’m not going to stop until you’re not breathing anymore. Then I’ll take your body out to Route 56, and I’ll find an empty field and bury you where no one will ever think to look. How does that sound?”
I swallow, trying to form coherent thoughts as my body locks up and my mind blurs. I can’t think straight. It’s like his words aren’t registering in my brain.
He’s telling me his murder plans.
He doesn’t mean it though, right?
It’s just another threat, an empty one.
But there was that time he strangled me. I’d made him angry. I don’t remember how, but I was driving because he had been drinking. The boys were in the back seat. They were so little; they were still rear facing.
Matt latched on to my neck from the passenger seat and squeezed until I was gasping for oxygen.
I almost forgot it’d happened until now. My memory over the last few years has gaps in it. I’m starting to think my mind does it to protect me. Even with what’s happening now, it feels like I’m floating outside my own body, watching what’s happening from a different point of view.
I blink up at him. He glares down at me with his empty, dark eyes. I wait on him to make the next move. Finally, he steps back, shaking his head.
My body moves on its own. I go to the boys, checking to see if they’re okay. They’re playing with the trains, but they’re noticeably quieter. They don’t know exactly what’s happening, but they’re old enough to sense something is wrong.
Dutton clings to me, so I pick him up and grab Dawson’s hand. Matt disappears into our bedroom.
I take them out to my car and buckle them both in. It’s chilly, but not too cold out. I leave the engine off.
I go back inside, leaning my ear up against the door to the bedroom. The shower is running, so I risk twisting the knob gently and sneaking in to get the duffel bag I have hidden in the closet underneath my hanging jeans. He’s in the shower, so I quickly grab the bag and a pair of shoes.
He must hear the door because he calls my name out as I’m exiting.
I don’t answer. I hurry back out to the carport and open the trunk, throwing the bag in. I’m shutting it when he comes out the side door with a towel wrapped around his waist. His skin is still wet.
“Where do you think you’re going with my sons?”
“We’re just going to go visit my friend. We need a night apart.”
“You think you can just leave me? You actually think that’s about to happen right now?” He slams his hand against the hood of my car.
I jump, reaching for the driver’s door while pulling my phone out of my pocket with my other hand.
“I’m not leaving you. I feel like we would both benefit from having some time to think and reset before we talk this out.”