Hindsight Read online

  “I’ve heard this all before. Why should I believe you now?” I wasn’t sure why I was even entertaining the idea to let him argue his point. I guess I just felt it easier to get it out of the way. I had been ignoring his calls for weeks.

  “I’m a changed man… or at least I want to be. I want to be better for you. I want to do right by you. I want us to be the way we used to be. You remember that, don’t you? When I picked you up at the grocery store?”

  I couldn’t help but smile at that. Then I scolded myself.

  “Don’t you remember, baby?”

  I hated it when he called me baby. He only ever did that when he was trying to win me over. Once he had me, it went right back to the derogatory and vicious name-calling. Just hearing him call me baby sounded like venom to my system and made me instantly nauseous.

  “Hmm? Charlotte? Do you remember?” He almost sounded like he was taunting me, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “Yes, Tony. I remember,” I answered, trying hard to keep the annoyance from being evident in my tone. I didn’t want to make him angry. If I provoked him, God only knew what he would do. I already knew what he was capable of and didn’t want to push him. I just wanted him to go away.

  “Then tell me. Tell me how we met.”

  “I don’t want to do this with you, Tony. I’m done.” I didn’t want to relive the few moments our relationship had meant something to me. I was ready to move on. Why was he insisting I do this?

  “Please!” His voice cracked. Was he crying? “Please tell me. I need to know that you remember it the same way I do.”

  I was pretty sure I didn’t, but I relented and told him the damn story.

  “I was in the bread aisle, looking at the difference between two loaves and you walked up.”

  “Whole wheat and whole grain,” he interjected.

  “What?” I was momentarily confused.

  “That’s the bread you were looking at.”

  How did he remember that? He had spent years hating me. Why would he remember what bread I was looking at the day we met? That had been six years ago. What the hell?

  “What, you didn’t think I remembered?” I could hear the smile on his face. “I remember everything, Charlotte. You were wearing a pair of stylishly ripped jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and those hideous boots with the fur on the inside. Your hair was long, all the way to your waist, and you were wearing those black-framed glasses. The ones you never wear anymore, but always looked sexy as hell on you.”

  Yeah, asshole, I never wear them anymore because you broke them, while they were on my face. I have the scars to prove it.

  “Go ahead, tell me the rest,” he pleaded with sincerity in his tone.

  I swallowed harshly, wondering what I had gotten myself into, but then I did as he asked. “You started talking about sandwiches. You had lunchmeat in your cart and offered to feed me lunch if I provided the bread. You let me pick which bread, and then you bought the one I had put back on the shelf.”

  I should have known then how controlling he was. After all, he allowed me to pick whichever loaf of bread I wanted, but then proceeded to buy the kind he liked. The only excuse I could come up with was that I was lonely and he showed me attention. And he was really sweet to begin with.

  “I only bought that one because I could tell you were having a hard time choosing, and I didn’t want you to have buyer’s remorse. I wanted you to enjoy your lunch because I didn’t want it to be the only one we shared.”

  A tear escaped my eye. Why was he telling me all of this? Why now? I couldn’t handle it. I was feeling so emotional at the moment. I had just experienced such a conversation with Sean that was embodied with love. Now this. Out of all the times I had tried to leave him, and all the times he had tried to win me back, he never went this far. He never touched my emotions the way he was at that moment. I couldn’t handle it… the turmoil I felt over everything ending, the loss I felt over that girl in the bread aisle in the grocery store not fulfilling the dreams she had visualized at that moment in time, or the havoc my emotions were wreaking on my nervous system. It was all too much to handle.

  “Why are you doing this, Tony?” I asked through the flood of tears that followed that one lonely tear. It was like once one escaped, they all followed until I was drowning in my own misery.

  “Because I miss you. I was once a good guy. You remember that man I used to be, and I need you to know he’s not gone. He’s still here. He still loves you, and still wants to be with you. I can’t live without you, Charlotte.”

  “Well, I can’t live with you, Tony.” No matter how hard he tried, I had already reached that point with him. The point that you can never come back from. He could have spent all day reminiscing about the few good times we had, but that would never erase all the bad memories that plagued my mind and could never seem to escape from. It would already take me a lifetime to get over them. I jutted out my chin defiantly, the only way I knew how to say silently that I was holding my ground.

  “Don’t say that. Please, don’t say that.” He was definitely crying.

  A funny thing happens when you hear an abusive man cry. You laugh. It wasn’t intentional, but it happened. I couldn’t hold it in, and it came out in a musical wave past the tears. It started small, but the more I imagined the big, bad Tony sitting all alone, crying to himself because his wife wouldn’t allow him to beat on her anymore, the louder the laughter became until it bellowed out.

  “Do you think something is funny?” His mournful voice suddenly turned angry. There he was. The Tony I knew. How stupid he was to think I would fall for his act.

  “Actually, I do,” I said through gut-splitting giggles. “Tony, you have spent six years beating the shit out of me—six miserable and fucked up years—and now you feel it necessary to take a walk down memory lane? Well, okay then. If we’re bringing things up, let’s talk about our one-year anniversary, shall we? Would you like to tell me how you remember that going down?”

  “Shit, Charlotte. Why would you even bring that up? We’ve rehashed it numerous times. We don’t need to do this.” He sounded panicky. He knew he was losing control of the conversation and didn’t know how to recoup the power while over the phone. He had always used his fists to control me but that was hard to do through a phone line.

  “Yes we do!” I shouted into the phone. “You brought up the past, so let’s keep it going. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. I spent all day preparing your favorite meal. I got all dressed up in a new dress that I had picked out especially for you. I bought you a watch and had it engraved with loving words. I love you more than sliced bread. I was so excited to give it to you and hoped you would get the innuendo of our first date that I had lovingly included in the engraving. But you came home smelling like sickly sweet perfume. Perfume I would never be caught dead wearing. You also had pink lipstick on your collar, and then busted my lip for questioning it. Do you remember that?” I asked in a raised voice, but he didn’t answer. “Do you?” That fucking asshole! I was done listening to him.

  “Yes,” Tony huffed out.

  Had I not been angry at reliving one of the worst nights of my life, I would have felt something in his response. But I was too bitter to hear the regret in his tone. I pressed on, no longer feeling the fear I normally did when confronting Tony.

  “And what happened after dinner? Do you remember that?” I pressed.

  “Please, baby… let’s not do this.”

  “You told me my dress looked like it belonged on a streetwalker. You said if I wanted to dress like a whore, then you would treat me like one. You forced me upstairs and took what you wanted.” I couldn’t hold back the tears. But they were no longer tears of pain or sadness, or even sympathy for the woman I had been back then. They were tears of anger, disgust, and hatred for the man that had put me through hell. “I had planned on a romantic evening with my husband to celebrate our one-year wedding anniversary. I had planned on making love to you that night. But instead,
I spent the night in the bathtub, consoling myself after my husband raped me.”

  The other end was silent and I had to check the phone to make sure he hadn’t hung up. Not that I would have cared if he did. Then I would’ve been done with this dreadful conversation.

  “What, don’t have anything to say to me, Tony? Are you not going to make the excuses you did that night? Are you going to try to tell me that it’s not rape if you’re my husband? Because that’s what you told me then, you fucking bastard. You told me that I was your wife and you could have me in any way you wanted. Anytime you wanted. Are you going to tell me that now?”

  “I can’t change the past, Charlotte. I can only move forward. And I want to move forward with you. I want to be a better man and give you nothing but good memories. Why won’t you believe me? I can’t live without you. I promise to be better. I’ll never touch you that way again. I swear it. Just please, please give me one more chance. I’ll prove it to you,” he begged.

  “No. You’ve lost your chance,” I said unwaveringly.

  “That’s it? Just like that? You don’t even want to talk about it? You’re willing to end a marriage, just like that?”

  “No, not just like that. You told me that once the trial was over, you would let me go. Well, Tony, the trial is over. Now you must finally own up to your own promise and let me go.” I hoped the firmness in my voice would give him the finality he needed because I was more than done.

  “I can’t. I know what I said and what I promised, but I can’t,” he pleaded.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s over. I’ve hired a lawyer. I’m filing for divorce. I’m done, Tony. No more. No how. No way. I can’t do it anymore. You’ve had your last chance. You don’t get another one.”

  I should have hung up, but I didn’t. I waited through the silence until he spoke again. And when he did, it sent a cold chill up my spine. My entire body froze with a fear I had never felt before.

  “You’re going to regret this, Charlotte. I’ve told you before that the only way you’ll be free from me is when you’re six feet underground. And the moment just before your life ends, you’ll think of me. The only way you’ll ever leave that house is in a body bag. Mark my words, Charlotte!”

  Click. The line cut out and my screen flashed, indicating the call had ended.

  I ran to the bathroom and curled my body around the toilet seat, heaving up everything that had been in my stomach. It all came up, opening up more room for the cold fear to set in. Part of me battled between calling Sean and waiting for the next day.

  Once I was done, I went to the sink to wash my face and rinse out my mouth, but my body froze. I stared at the counter, forgetting all about what I was doing or what I had just done. The one thing I never thought possible was staring at me from the countertop.

  A bright blue plus sign.

  I would never be rid on Tony Paulette.

  And Sean had already admitted that he couldn’t handle one more thing.

  February 14th, 2015

  I opened my eyes and looked at the clock on the bedside table beside me. It was just after ten in the morning. My heart clenched tight in my chest and I instantly became more alert as terror filled me. It was a feeling I had grown accustomed to when first waking up in the morning, especially when I overslept, which I had most definitely managed to accomplish that morning. I would pay for that.

  I sat up ramrod straight, my ribs still paining me, and turned my head in fear to the space next to me.

  Empty.

  The sheet was pulled up and tucked neatly beneath the pillow. The pillow was fluffed, the indention in the middle of it absent. It was indicative of the fact that no one had slept there.

  That’s when I felt it. The air returning to my lungs. The fear evading my body.

  Relief.

  He wasn’t there. He had been gone for two weeks. They had been the best two weeks of my life. The easiest two weeks of my life. Even though I knew he was gone, I couldn’t keep myself from waking up and experiencing that all-too familiar panic. It had become ingrained in me over the years.

  I laid my head back on my pillow and stared up at the ceiling, enjoying the fact that I could breathe easily. I reminded myself that I didn’t have to rush downstairs to make breakfast or pour his damn cup of coffee. I didn’t have to press his shirts or tie his tie for him. It had been my morning routine for years, but not for the last two weeks. I didn’t have to do anything that I didn’t want to. Hell, I could even get Fluffy or some other animal from the shelter if I wanted, and I wouldn’t have to worry about how he would take it.

  I gave myself five minutes in bed before I got up. The need for structure was daunting, but something I was familiar with, so now it garnered strength. I grabbed the sheet to pull it back up when I realized I didn’t have to make the bed if I didn’t want to. I didn’t have to wash a load of clothes if I didn’t want to. I didn’t have to do anything if I didn’t want to. There was no one there to enforce it. He was still gone. I messed up the whole bed and then stood back and admired my work as I laughed. No one told me what to do anymore.

  I took a long shower, waiting until the water turned cold.

  That was another thing Tony had never allowed. I was given seven minutes in the shower. That’s it. Seven minutes to wash my hair, shave my legs, and clean myself off perfectly. And the water couldn’t be hot. I had to save the hot water for him. The only time I was allowed to take a hot shower was when he was at work and would never know. But that would mean I had to clean the water spots out of the shower, wash the rugs and towels, leaving the bathroom spotless so he wouldn’t find out. I had learned a few tricks of the trade to make my life easier, all of which was moot now. I could do whatever the hell I wanted. I felt free.

  I put on my favorite soft robe and basked in the glory of my newfound independence until I stepped out of the bathroom. The steam in the room masked the mirror, which allowed me to live blindly in the freedom I had found myself in. But once I opened the door, the steam escaped, along with my security.

  That’s when I heard it.

  The crashing and breaking of glass from downstairs.

  The throwing and tossing of objects and what sounded like furniture.

  How had he gotten past the security system I had installed? I had even changed all the keys. There was no way he could get in, unless I had forgotten to alarm it last night before going to bed. But I knew that wasn’t the case. I was aware of the threats and knew I had to protect myself from him. I wouldn’t have been so careless as to leave myself vulnerable.

  He was back. I just knew it. It was Valentine’s Day and he had come back for me on this special day for lovers. It was exactly something his decrepit mind would think was warranted. I was determined that he wasn’t going to break me again. I was strong. I was learning quickly that I could handle myself on my own. If I was capable of kicking him out once and surviving it, then I could do it again. A broken rib wouldn’t hold me down.

  I grabbed the baseball bat I kept by my bed in case he returned, and headed down the stairs, determined to win the war that raged ahead. Only what I walked in on wasn’t what I had prepared myself for at all. No. It wasn’t even close to the war I was anticipating. Even though it still qualified as a war he had brought to my front door.

  I tried to retreat up the stairs when one of them noticed me.

  There was no escaping them; it was futile to try.

  One of the men lunged for me with a growl and I made it up three steps before he successfully grabbed my ankle and yanked it.

  I yelled and then landed on the stairs on my hip with a thump, causing my ribcage to protest in pain. The bat landed, too, and that’s when I remembered the weapon I still held in my hand. I brought the wooden bat up over my head and brought it down as hard as I could onto the burly man’s head. He still held my ankle within his grasp and immediately relented when I struck him.

  I turned around and tried to race back up the stairs, but tripped on t
he bottom of my robe, which gave him the latitude he needed to gain the upper hand once again.

  I screamed as he grabbed me and landed on top of me, pushing my body brutally into the carpeted staircase. Pain radiated throughout my body, stemming from the broken bones left behind by Tony. He put his hand over my mouth and started screaming at me. He had dark, intimidating brown eyes and a shaved head. He let me see his face; that only meant one thing. He wouldn’t let me out of this alive. I was so scared it took me a minute before I could comprehend what he was saying.

  “Stop it; we’re not here for you. If you don’t cooperate, you’re going to leave me no choice but to take care of you. Understand?”

  I could feel his warm breath against my face, he was that close. I finally nodded and he removed his tatted-up hand from my mouth. Now what? I knew he was lying. These men would undoubtedly kill me. Leave no trace was their motto, like the fucking Boy Scouts. I tried not to shake or show my fear, but knew he could smell it. The air was thick with my fear.

  “Tell us where the money is!” he demanded. I couldn’t imagine his demeanor being any more threatening. He was tall and his body seemed as wide as the staircase. He was like a wall of muscle wrapped in a leather jacket and I couldn’t see a way to escape him.

  I shook my head, unsure of what to say. I had no idea what he was talking about, What money? I had no money. He would never leave me with money.

  “Don’t play games with me, bitch. I want the money.”

  I glimpsed over his shoulder and saw two more men in the same type of leather jackets ready to back up the one on top of me. They were both scary looking with menacing frowns plastered on their faces. One had dark brown hair that was pulled back in a ponytail, and the other had blond hair that was tucked behind his ears. That one scared me the most. It was just the way he was looking at me, as if he enjoyed watching the fear on my face, like I was a side of beef for the taking. “I – I – I don’t know about any money,” I finally stumbled out.