I bury my head in the mattress, refusing to look at him. I’m so eager to please him, so desperate to make him see the error of his ways, that I am willing. Worse, he’s not just good in bed…he’s amazing and attentive. He’s tender and loving, and if that’s all we did, then our marriage would be perfect. I don’t know if he’s this way to screw with my head or if it’s because he doesn’t drink or get high when he wants to have sex. I suspect that he can’t get it up then.
And before today, it had been a week since we’d last slept together. A week of walking on eggshells and praying to God that he would keep coming home late.
Those perfect days of sobriety are the ones I cling to, the ones that I treasure and make me hope for a better future with him. When he’s happy and healthy, I love Penn more than anything. When his blue eyes aren’t so cold, I bask in the warmth. I’m not a quitter and I won’t give up on him because he has problems. He just needs help. What kind of wife would I be if I left him now?
“I can do this,” I whisper. “I’m strong enough.”
But just as I turn my head, I see him grab a bottle of pills from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. “What the fuck did you wash the towels in?”
“The detergent I always use—the one you like best.”
He shakes his head, his eyes growing frosty. “Oh, baby, I don’t think so. Guess I’ll have to spend some time teaching you about what I like best.”
Turning away from him, I shove my fist into my mouth to keep from screaming.
I’m not strong at all.
“Evangeline?” Saylor snaps her fingers in front of my face and I’m shocked to discover that she’s standing right in front of me. A concerned frown pulls the corners of her lips down. “Are you feeling okay? You got really pale.”
Taking a deep breath, I force a smile and push my raw emotions down. “I’m fine. Really—so about the job?”
Saylor doesn’t look completely convinced, but bless her heart a million times, she brings our conversation back to work. “Yes. Look, you’re perfect, and since no one else has bothered to apply since we first posted it six months ago, I say you get the job by default.”
“Uh, thanks?”
“You’re welcome. Besides, we really need a new guy to clean up poop.” There’s a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I think I’m going to like working with Saylor.
“Wonderful,” I say wryly. “Can’t wait.”
Saylor beams at me. “When can you start?”
“Tomorrow?” I stand and move toward the office door.
“See you at nine!”
As I drive home, my mind is all over the place. I sit at a green light for a full minute before I realize I can go. Luckily, no one is behind me, but by the time I pull into my spot in the parking lot, I’m a sweaty mess.
Why did I let Penn get to me at a job interview? Why do I let him continue to get to me at all?
My knuckles begin to hurt and I glance at them. They’re bloodless.
“Calm down,” I order myself. Peeling one hand and then the other off the steering wheel, I flex them, wincing as they tingle with blood flow.
When I was healthy enough to leave the battered women’s shelter, I refused to see another counselor. I didn’t want to relive my nightmarish existence. I didn’t want to talk about letting go or forgiving. I thought I could just shove everything away. I thought I could go about my life and he couldn’t touch me anymore.
I was wrong.
Yet, it’s not my fault. The only thing that changed for me, besides moving to Rose Haven, is talking to Hunter Sloan. Sure, he’s the man who helped me at the hospital. Sure, he’s the man I clung to when I was brought, by him, to the women’s shelter, but now I know that I was high on pain meds and he reminded me of my brothers. Men who would never, ever lay a hand on a woman. So, of course, I trusted him.
Grabbing my phone, I text the only person I trust to help me—Piper Simmons, the woman who helped me at the women’s shelter after Penn beat me so badly that I finally found the courage to leave him. Even though I have only spoken to her twice since I left the shelter, I know she won’t ignore me.
Me: Hey there. Can we meet to talk?
Piper: Yes. Where, when, and what time?
Me: Tomorrow at 6, at The Tea House.
Six should be late enough, I think.
Piper: Perfect. See you then.
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and begin to pray for peace, for calm…and to be left alone. It’s not exactly easy for me to do this anymore. When I was younger, I loved going to church, loved singing in the choir and volunteering. So every time we moved, I found a new church home.
But Penn hated anything that had to do with God and Jesus freaks, as he liked to call me, so I eventually stopped going at all.
Of course, my dumb ass didn’t find out about how he felt until after we were married. My only excuse is that I was in love. Penn had healed my broken heart and, when he would drive all the way from Fayetteville just to see me, I couldn’t help but run away with him after only a month of dating.
Stupid girl.
In any case, the bruises on my face and arms drew attention, too, and I hated lying to everyone, so it wasn’t that hard to stop going.
Or so I liked to tell myself.
Thing is, I know if I had told the truth to anyone there, I would have been helped because I worked for the committee that helped abused women and children.
Ironic, huh?
Chapter 5
Hunter