These days I had a key to her house and we were welcome any time, day or night. The one night I had taken the kids and checked into a motel, Adele had been so furious at me she’d gone out that afternoon, purchased a set of bunk beds with matching pink quilt covers and had unicorns painted on the walls so that the girls always had a home. Even if it couldn’t be at our own place, we always had one at Adele’s.
Quietly I let myself in, trying not to disturb anyone. It was the middle of the night. Joel’d come home a little before midnight and now had music blaring from his room. Lucas had woken first, but it didn’t take long before we were all awake wondering what on earth was going on. But when the CD changed and I heard a female giggling, I knew things had gone too far. I didn’t care if he was cheating on me. It didn’t bother me in the slightest, but I refused to let the kids see some cheap bimbo emerge from their father’s bedroom while they were munching on their toast. I wasn’t doing it for Joel. I was protecting our kids from our reality, and so I had done what I needed to do—packed them in the car, complete with tomorrow’s school clothes, and taken them to a safe place.
“Bianca! Charli,” I whispered, trying not to wake Adele. “Go climb into bed, girls. It’s late.” They were so tired and still half asleep that together, hand in hand, they wandered down the hallway and when I checked on them five minutes later, they were sleeping soundly curled in the bottom bunk together.
Lucas was another problem altogether. Something had shaken him. He was wide awake and clingy. I’d tried putting him into his bed and reading him a story but nothing helped. Exhausted, I crawled into the bed beside him and snuggled down. I stroked his hair softly and after a while he drifted off to sleep on my chest, his steady breathing calming me.
“Everything okay?” Adele asked, poking her head in the door.
“Yeah,” I whispered back, pointing to Lucas, making sure she knew he was asleep.
“Good night.”
“’Night, Adele.”
I knew every time we snuck into her house, or arrived while she was still awake, she was agitated. Each time we slept in her spare rooms I could feel her eyes checking me over, looking for any signs of abuse, but I’d gotten better at hiding it. And so had Joel. He knew how to hurt me and hide the bruises. And we both knew that I was too pathetic and weak to tell anyone. That meant I’d have to admit that I kept going back. Like an idiot, I kept going home to my abusive alcoholic husband. It was definitely not something I was proud of, and not something I wanted to advertise.
But Adele never asked for any details the following day. I think she preferred to not know. In her heart, Adele knew what he’d done and she never pretended that it didn’t happen, but she didn’t raise it. I think it was easier to be nice to me and our kids to make up for Joel’s shortcomings than to confront the truth and admit that it was a real problem.
I slept fitfully. Lucas wasn’t a calm sleeper and the nights he was disrupted were his worst. He’d toss and turn and scream out in his sleep. When I woke the next morning, I was curled up at the end of the bed, where his tiny feet couldn’t reach, but he was gone. Initially I panicked. But then I remembered that we were at Adele’s and she wouldn’t mind if the kids got up in the morning and made a noise. It was only Joel who seemed to be triggered by it.
As I stretched out the loud cracking noise in my neck, back, and shoulders got my attention. I was aching from head to toe. I wanted to run the hottest bubble bath I could tolerate and lie there for a month. Even an hour would do. Just let some of the frustration seep out of me. Instead, I pulled myself together, ducked into the bathroom, and splashed some cold water on my face before facing Adele and the kids. Explaining what was going on to Charli was the worst. I’d hide the truth from her with lies. She knew everything and saw everything, but my biggest concern was what she was repeating. No one needed to know what happened behind the closed doors, but I understood that maybe Charli needed someone to talk to. Someone who’d understand. Someone who wasn’t me.
“Morning, Mummy.” Bianca smiled, bounding over and wrapping her skinny freckled arms around my waist. I couldn’t help but to smile back. She was one of the reasons I kept going.
“Hi darling,” I replied, kissing her lightly on her forehead. “What are we doing out here?”
“Nana made us pancakes for breakfast!” Bianca explained, sliding back in her chair at the bench and stuffing a huge forkful of pancake into her mouth, leaving a trail of sticky maple syrup across everything.
“Isn’t Nana wonderful?” I asked, silently mouthing ‘thank you’ to Adele. Only she noticed and still she offered me a silent nod.
“Lucas, have you had enough?” Adele asked, taking charge.
Being at Adele’s wasn’t only a safe haven from Joel’s abusive and hurtful attacks, but I was also able to take a break from being a single parent. Where Joel could have been helping, should’ve been helping, on those days we were at Adele’s she stepped up and gave me a breather.
“Come on, guys, eat up,” I encouraged, glancing at my watch. They had to be at school in less than an hour.
“Gillian, go jump in the shower. I’ll finish getting these guys organized for school,” she offered helpfully. I just nodded. Somehow, Adele always knew what I needed.
An hour later, the kids were at school and I was in the office, but I couldn’t concentrate. Something Charli had mumbled in the car on the way to school really upset me. She’d complained about her father, yet again, but it was the way she said it that shredded me to the core. She was only twelve years old, but in that moment, she seemed so much older. “Mum, why won’t Dad just leave? He doesn’t love us. So why do we have to be the ones that keep going to Nana’s?”
Although I’d had the same thought every day for the past six years, I never had an answer. Not once. But that too was my fault. I’d never asked. But now was as good a time as any to make that change. And when my boss floated past my cubicle two hours later and I was still off with the pixies, I asked if he’d mind if I took the afternoon off. When he had no objections, I was out of there as quickly as I could.
The drive home was painful. Ten minutes of extreme torture—practicing what I wanted to say and imagining Joel’s response. I didn’t want to get hit again, but that feeling wasn’t a new one for me. Sadly. I thought about telling someone what I was about to do, but I was afraid they’d try and stop me. This was something I had to do, not just for me, but for my three terrified, fatherless children.
I pulled into the driveway and there was a car I didn’t recognize already parked there. I didn’t remember it being there when we left, but then again it wasn’t important at the time. Summoning all the strength I possessed, I quickly sent a text to Heidi.
Gillian: At home. If u don’t hear from me in an hour. Call the police.
I knew she’d panic, that was what Heidi did, but I had to tell someone where I was. If the past had proven anything it was that Joel was capable and willing to do whatever it took to get his way. No matter who or what he hurt along the way.
When I reached the front door, I had to stop myself. I’d gone to knock on my own front door. How pathetic was I? Opening the door, I felt a surge of rage and I was no longer scared. “I’m home!” I called out as bravely as I could.
I knew I had caught Joel off guard by announcing my arrival, because behind the dead bolted door I heard crashing and swearing before a tirade echoed. Each day when the kids and I returned home we usually snuck in the house, careful not to aggravate him, but today I’d loudly declared I was home.
“Who gives a fuck, Gillian?” Joel greeted me, emerging from his room with only a towel tied loosely around his waist.
“Shut up, Joel. And sit down. We need to talk. Now!” I directed, pointing to the sofa.
“Fuck off,” he replied politely, turning his back on me and heading back to his bedroom and his skank.
“Joel!” I snapped, raising my voice. “Sit the fuck down and listen.”
Taken aback, he
did exactly as I said. Trying to compose myself, I sucked in a deep breath and glanced at him. He had scratches on his shoulders, more than likely from the woman in his bed. A few days’ stubble on his chin. Gone was the toned body and the flat stomach that had driven me wild from the first day I’d met him, and instead his beer belly hung over the towel gathered at his waist. For the first time I noticed his man boobs and saw what he’d become. He wasn’t even recognizable as the confident, cocky young man I had met and married all those years ago. Now he was nothing more than a bitter, unemployed arsehole with no direction and no dreams. In that moment, as I saw the hopelessness in his eyes, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d been the one to suck the life out of him, or if he’d imploded all on his own.
“Hurry up, Gillian. What do you want to say that you think is so goddamn important?”
“You need to get out.”
“Excuse me?”
“You need to leave. Move out.”
Bewilderment was written all over his face. I’d never spoken to him like this before. I wasn’t sure if it was what I was saying or if it was the fact that I was saying it that stunned him into silence, but for a long moment nothing was said. My words hung heavily in the air. Then before I knew what was happening, he was on me.
Joel’s hand was wrapped around my throat and I was gasping for breath. He pushed me backwards until I was squished between his body and the brick wall. His breath was in my face and I could smell last night’s booze. But this time I wasn’t afraid. I had to stand up to him. It might be stupid and dangerous, but it was probably my only chance. “What gives you the right to tell me to move out of my own house?” he snarled, squeezing tighter on my throat.
I couldn’t focus. My eyes had tiny black dots fading in and out as I struggled to breathe. A piercing scream loosened Joel’s grip. The woman emerged from his bedroom wearing only a g-string and when her eyes locked on mine, she let out a deafening squeal, causing Joel’s grip to falter.
If I thought she was going to help me any more than that, I was sadly mistaken. Instead, she grabbed her purse from the kitchen bench and ran out of the house as fast as she could. As she pulled open the front door, she took one last look at me, her wide frightened eyes filled with apologies.
Taking the opportunity to respond, I reached up and wrapped my hands around Joel’s, clawing at his fingers, trying to pry them loose. “Joel, your children don’t want to come home. You scare them,” I pleaded. But if Joel was enraged before, watching his afternoon plaything run away only pissed him off further.
“Well, then they can fuck off. I paid for the damn thing. What have they ever done to contribute?” he spat.
“They’re your kids, Joel. They don’t need to do anything for you.”
“We aren’t even sure they’re mine, are we?”
“What are you insinuating?”
“You’re a whore, Gillian. Who knows who the father is?”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” I was fuming now. After everything else, all the fights, the bitter words, the punches, and the neglect, now he was denying they were even his children.
“You tell me?” He squeezed my throat again savagely before pushing my head so it banged the wall hard, leaving me seeing stars.
“Joel, please,” I whimpered, knowing that this was going to get worse before it got better. He looked me straight in the eye, the first time he’d done that in years, and dropped me in disgust. My hands rubbed at my neck. It was going to leave a mark, but now wasn’t the time to wonder where my turtlenecks were stored. “Our kids can’t go on like this. They’re too scared to live in their own house in case they upset you. Please, just get out. Give them a chance to have a normal life. Get your shit together, then come back and be a father.” I found myself begging, something I had promised myself years ago that I’d never do.
“Fuck off, Gillian. This isn’t about your kids at all. You want my house. That’s what it all comes down to.”
“Get over yourself, Joel. It’s not about you and it’s not about me.”
“It’s always about you. You’re a selfish, manipulative whore, Gillian. And I’m not giving you another thing,” he stated matter-of-factly.
My heart was breaking. My neck was stinging and sore, but with each hateful word my heart broke a little more. The startling revelation was that I didn’t know there was anything left for Joel to break. I thought he’d destroyed it years ago.
As the pain subsided and pure white-hot rage took over, I gave up trying to be nice and trying to stay alive. Reasoning with Joel wasn’t working, so it was time to speak the only language he knew. As he began to walk away from me, I followed him. When I reached out my hand and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around so once again he was facing me.
“We are not fucking finished, Joel. You need to get the fuck out of this house NOW,” I boomed. “Your kids won’t come home while you’re here and I won’t have them not here at home. They are not going to some foster home ’cause their dad is too much of a low life prick to actually give two shits about them. So, get your stuff and get the fuck out!”
I was stupid. I should’ve seen it coming, but I wasn’t myself. His hand collided with my cheek with such a force that I was knocked off my feet and my eye felt like it was going to explode out of its socket.
“You think you’re tough talking to me like that?” he slurred, standing over me as I tried to scramble up off the floor. “Stay there.” He pushed me back down. “I’m not leaving. If this life is so terrible for your precious kids, then you leave. Take whatever shit you bought with you and get out.”
“You can’t possibly think this is okay?” I queried.
“You are trash, Gillian. And if those kids can’t see it, then they are bigger morons than I ever was.” My tears were back. That was the beginning of the end.
Joel was violent and mean and cruel, and if he saw even one trace of weakness, he exploited it to the fullest, and tears were the worst. Nothing could cause more trouble than a rogue tear on a soft cheek.
I didn’t see the kick coming. This time it was my knee that bore the brunt of it. An immediate shot of pain tore through my body. I wriggled in agony; a distressed wail escaped my lips. Joel spat on me, leaving a large wet spot on my shirt.
“Please, just get out,” I pleaded.
Joel began to walk away and I pulled myself to my feet. Using the bench to steady my balance, I grabbed the nearest thing, a ceramic fruit bowl, and hurled it with all my strength towards Joel’s head. It missed, just, and instead crashed into the wall only centimetres from him. That certainly got his attention.
“What the fuck?” He spun on his heel and came back at me.
For someone who was still drunk from the night before he was astonishingly quick on his feet. Grabbing my wrists, he twisted one backwards. I glanced down at my arms. I didn’t know how much longer I could hang on. The pain was burning; he was going to break my wrist. At best it was already badly sprained.
Pushing through the pain and the tears, I knew I would never have the courage and the tenacity—not to mention the stupidity—to put myself in this position again, so it was now or never. “For fuck’s sake, Joel. For once in your life be a man. I know your dad died and you never had the male role model you obviously needed, but what you’re doing to us, your family, is wrong. Surely you know that. You can push me around and slap me, you can throw me on the floor, take all the money and leave us with nothing. Or cut your own children out of your life but still stay in the same house. How can you possibly think that this is all okay? I know you, or at least I used to, and that man I once knew, he’d never have let things turn out like this. What the hell happened to him?”
Furious, Joel threw me across the room, watching as I fell backwards off the coffee table. My wrist was broken at best, shattered at worst. I tried to put some weight on it to help me up and yelped in agony.
“Gillian, stop threatening me. You know you don’t have the balls to actually go throug
h with it. This is my life. If you won’t leave, then deal with it. I’m not going to change for you. I’m not going to change for anyone.” He laughed a deep, tyrannical laugh.
He towered over me, leering as I clutched at my wrist. I wanted to kick him in the nuts and put him in real physical pain. He disgusted me. I wanted nothing more than to vomit on the carpet.
“Now, Gillian, why don’t you run over to my mother’s place and hide,” he sneered. I couldn’t conceal my terror. I had no idea that Joel knew where we went. “Oh, you didn’t think I knew about that, did you? Well, you might want to tell your big-mouthed children to keep your secrets a bit better. I know everything.”
He turned and walked away. The last thing I heard before his bedroom door slammed was, “We’re done. Get the fuck out and don’t come back. Go on, run to my Mummy and tell her that big bad mean Joel hurt you.” And he was gone.
The conversation was over. And I was a mess. My wrist hung limply in my lap. I was sure my neck was covered in deep, unexplainable red marks. Not to mention the cuts and scrapes on my back, legs, and hips. My face felt like it was on fire from the slap and my knee was barely able to hold my weight. Pitifully, I dragged my battered body up off the carpet and limped out the door. I hadn’t even made it to my car when Heidi’s red Mazda came to a screeching halt beside me. At the sight of her I collapsed on the gravel and burst into tears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JOEL
In my room, I collapsed on the bed, exhausted. Another outburst from Gillian drained me of what little energy I had left. My head was still pounding from the night before and then she’d come home carrying on like she was some kind of battered wife who knew what was best. Telling me to get out of my own house. The house I paid for. Stupid woman was delusional. With my hands on my hips, I just shook my head. “Who the fuck does she think she is?”
Broken Dreams Boxset Page 46
