I feel sick waiting for him to return. The house is spotless, the dinner in the oven, he is bound to find some fault with me. I try so hard to please him.
He once said to me, "Perhaps you try too hard!" He knows I try hard, so why does he delight in being cruel to me?
I hear the front door slam. He`s here. My stomach is churning. I turn from the kitchen sink.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" I ask, knowing the answer to my question.
He smiles, "I did, superb day." He fails to give me the details of his day . He has been out walking with members of the walking club. "Is dinner ready?" He asks.
"A few more moments," I reply.
I pick up the kettle and begin to fill it with water, preparing to make him a cup of tea.
"How many times have I told you, not to put more than the required amount of water in the kettle?" He spits.
"I am sorry, I forgot." I reply and I start to shake.
I measure the two mugs of water into the kettle while he stands by watching and smiling.
I make the tea like a dutiful wife, placing the mug carefully on the table. He sits in silence. There is no such thing as "small talk" in this house. I dish dinner out. I tell him it is ready.
He replies, "Okay." He doesn't thank me.
I sit chewing my food, with each mouthful I feel sick. Why am I living like this? I ask myself. I think about our sorry relationship and why he hates me so much. He is a bully, yet to others outside the home he strives hard to please them, especially women.
Oh yes! That's another story. I go to bed at 10:00 pm. Alone. I am always alone. He might come to bed about 1:30 am. Might! I came through to fetch a glass of water last month, I think. He was chatting to someone - a woman. I confronted him about her and he hit me and told me to leave. I looked into his smoldering eyes, filled with hate ; narrowing in their anger. I packed a few things, I picked up my laptop. He pushed me to one side and taking the laptop from my arms he put it on the floor and stamped on it! I shook, familiar with the feeling of terror. How can a "normal" person behave like this? He carried on stamping on my laptop until it cracked.
"There, that should do it! " He said; a cruel smirk written across his features.
I grabbed my car keys and left the house sobbing. I don't know how I drove. I drove through a mist of tears, I felt violently sick. This is what he thrives on, I thought.
Here I am eating, at the dinner table, chewing like a robot. We finish the meal. I rise from the table picking up the empty plates. It can't have been too bad, I thought. He`s eaten all of it. Ungrateful pig! I take the kettle to the sink, I remember to pick up the jug, and measure the water. He's watching me from the dining room. I wait for the kettle to boil, I stand by the sink. The "robot" washing up.
He leaves the table, picks up a book and begins to read. There's silence all around me , smothering me like a pillow. I am finding comfort in the warm soapy suds. Oh! How I wish there was someone out there, to hold me and love me. I finish my task. I re-fill the kettle being careful to measure the two mugs of water.
"Would you like a coffee?" I call.
"Okay!" He replies.
I make the coffee and place it on the table beside him. I am barely acknowledged - he is reading. My thoughts wander as I tidy the kitchen. I hear him go to the bathroom. He stays there a while. He returns but comes slowly into the kitchen and stands behind me. I am afraid to face him. What have I done now? My thoughts are racing. Earlier that morning I had taken a splinter out of his finger, I had left the safety-pin unclosed, upon the sink! He thrusts the pin in my face.
"What's this?" He spits with venom.
I look at him stupidly. "A safety pin?" I reply. I have a tremor in my voice. I hear it ; I berate myself for being weak.
He yells at me, "Close it!"
I take the pin and I close it. He takes it from me and returns to the bathroom. It's quiet , I am shaking wondering what he is going to find next... To be continued.
He once said to me, "Perhaps you try too hard!" He knows I try hard, so why does he delight in being cruel to me?
I hear the front door slam. He`s here. My stomach is churning. I turn from the kitchen sink.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" I ask, knowing the answer to my question.
He smiles, "I did, superb day." He fails to give me the details of his day . He has been out walking with members of the walking club. "Is dinner ready?" He asks.
"A few more moments," I reply.
I pick up the kettle and begin to fill it with water, preparing to make him a cup of tea.
"How many times have I told you, not to put more than the required amount of water in the kettle?" He spits.
"I am sorry, I forgot." I reply and I start to shake.
I measure the two mugs of water into the kettle while he stands by watching and smiling.
I make the tea like a dutiful wife, placing the mug carefully on the table. He sits in silence. There is no such thing as "small talk" in this house. I dish dinner out. I tell him it is ready.
He replies, "Okay." He doesn't thank me.
I sit chewing my food, with each mouthful I feel sick. Why am I living like this? I ask myself. I think about our sorry relationship and why he hates me so much. He is a bully, yet to others outside the home he strives hard to please them, especially women.
Oh yes! That's another story. I go to bed at 10:00 pm. Alone. I am always alone. He might come to bed about 1:30 am. Might! I came through to fetch a glass of water last month, I think. He was chatting to someone - a woman. I confronted him about her and he hit me and told me to leave. I looked into his smoldering eyes, filled with hate ; narrowing in their anger. I packed a few things, I picked up my laptop. He pushed me to one side and taking the laptop from my arms he put it on the floor and stamped on it! I shook, familiar with the feeling of terror. How can a "normal" person behave like this? He carried on stamping on my laptop until it cracked.
"There, that should do it! " He said; a cruel smirk written across his features.
I grabbed my car keys and left the house sobbing. I don't know how I drove. I drove through a mist of tears, I felt violently sick. This is what he thrives on, I thought.
Here I am eating, at the dinner table, chewing like a robot. We finish the meal. I rise from the table picking up the empty plates. It can't have been too bad, I thought. He`s eaten all of it. Ungrateful pig! I take the kettle to the sink, I remember to pick up the jug, and measure the water. He's watching me from the dining room. I wait for the kettle to boil, I stand by the sink. The "robot" washing up.
He leaves the table, picks up a book and begins to read. There's silence all around me , smothering me like a pillow. I am finding comfort in the warm soapy suds. Oh! How I wish there was someone out there, to hold me and love me. I finish my task. I re-fill the kettle being careful to measure the two mugs of water.
"Would you like a coffee?" I call.
"Okay!" He replies.
I make the coffee and place it on the table beside him. I am barely acknowledged - he is reading. My thoughts wander as I tidy the kitchen. I hear him go to the bathroom. He stays there a while. He returns but comes slowly into the kitchen and stands behind me. I am afraid to face him. What have I done now? My thoughts are racing. Earlier that morning I had taken a splinter out of his finger, I had left the safety-pin unclosed, upon the sink! He thrusts the pin in my face.
"What's this?" He spits with venom.
I look at him stupidly. "A safety pin?" I reply. I have a tremor in my voice. I hear it ; I berate myself for being weak.
He yells at me, "Close it!"
I take the pin and I close it. He takes it from me and returns to the bathroom. It's quiet , I am shaking wondering what he is going to find next... To be continued.
