The Taste of Redemption

by I. A. Dice

  I sat there, sickened, disconnected from reality. The shit spewing from Ty’s mouth was like a gruesome movie scenario. None of it sounded real. There was no fucking way it happened to the girl I loved.

  Millions of women suffer domestic violence on daily basis, but it doesn’t register with us until it hits home.

  Nadia was my home. For a short while, she was my everything. Knowing what Adrian dragged her through, I considered it a miracle she was still getting out of bed in morning. The strength of her character was undeniable, but so was the extent of her naivety.

  “She told us it started in January,” I began, throwing more vodka at the back of my throat. “She said it all came down to his jealousy.”

  “Thomas, right?” Ty asked, but didn’t wait for confirmation. “She told me about you. Whatever you think you know about her, scratch that. You want to know why she stayed with Adrian for so long despite the abuse? She was scared to be without him. In all the madness, he kept her in check and took control of her life, mood and feelings. She gave up control because when your father died, Nick, she lost her way. Adrian became her guide.”

  Ty cleared his throat and a small, desperate chuckle left his lips. “I don’t know what you did, Thomas, or how you did it, but when she flew back to New York four months ago, she wasn’t the same girl I knew. She wasn’t lost anymore. She found herself and didn’t need Adrian to guide her. She was still the selfless, naïve Nadia, but she realised Adrian’s ways of keeping her sane weren’t doing her any good.”

  My vocal cords tied. I felt as if I stood in a giant, cosmic toilet, and God just flushed it. Ty’s words struck the most sensitive parts of me. There was no recovering after hearing that.

  How was I supposed to go about my life without her when I learnt I pieced her back together without even knowing? Without fucking trying! I wasn’t sure if I was proud or scared of the effect I had on her.

  Since day one, I knew she was helpless and fragile, but there was also so much strength in her petite body that it was baffling. I hadn’t once considered that the strength was only there when I was or that I taught her, by accident, how to live her life without anyone’s help.

  Nick clanked his glass to mine in a gesture of appreciation.

  “As soon as Adrian is out of rehab, you call me,” Nick ordered. “There’s no way I’m letting him anywhere near Nadia. And he better not come over here, or else there’ll be hell to pay. I doubt I’ll even get a chance to throw one punch.”

  He glanced at me, a small, exhausted smile on his lips. He wasn’t wrong. If Adrian showed his face in London, I would drag his sorry ass through that fucking hell there and back, twice, regardless of my status with Nadia. It didn’t matter whether she was mine or not. A guy who dared to hit a woman deserved nothing but pain.

  “Keep her safe, okay?” Ty said. “She’s stronger than any girl I know, but at the same time she’s fragile.”

  Nick bobbed his head, told Ty to take care and cut the call. His head hit the headrest on the couch. Silence filled the air while we both tried to make sense of what we learned. It was impossible though, because neither of us could rationalise Nadia’s willingness to let Adrian abuse the power he held as a man.

  “I’m going home.” I rose to my feet. “Call me if you need me.”

  He nodded, raising his glass higher. “I’ll call you if she does.”

  I hoped she wouldn’t, and I hoped she would.

  I went home, even though my body and mind wanted to stay. I entered the dark, silent house half an hour later after speeding up and down the motorway for a while to unwind. I made my way over to the living room, not bothering to turn on the lights. The liquor cabinet was calling my name. Alcohol induced coma became a tempting possibility, but instead of reaching for vodka, I lit a cigarette, sat on the brown couch and hung my head low, running my fingers through my hair.

  My pulse echoed in my ears; my heart rate raced like a train on the tracks. Each beat resonated inside my chest as if it were hollow. I refused to acknowledge that my heart was still beating just for Nadia. I pumped my fists and tried to banish the images of Adrian standing over her, his face angry, chest heaving, eyes full of madness.

  My mind became my prison: a tormentor who derived sick pleasure in creating endless images of my girl on her knees, crying in pain and begging him to stop. The sound of a fist connecting with her face resonated in my head, followed by her whimpers; head smashing against the wall; ribs cracking.

  Swish. Thump. Crack.

  Sob. Slap. Whimper.

  It was maddening.

  Anger mixed with anxiety. If I tried to suppress the negative emotions any longer, I would have exploded.

  I put the cigarette out and cracked my knuckles. My composure was fake. A passive observer couldn’t have guessed the destruction happening inside. The truth was, I crossed a line between anger and pure, hot, white frenzy. I breathed out, and just like that, the Devil’s Gate stood open.

  The coffee table flew halfway across the room, landing upside down on the floor. More whimpers and choked back sobs filled my mind, interrupted by the sound of Adrian’s hands landing on Nadia’s face.

  The screen on the TV cracked under my fist. Bottles smashed against the walls. Glass cabinets shattered. Knuckles bled. I punched anything I reached, imaging it was Adrian’s face. My fists flew in all directions, connecting with walls, furniture and thin air. My finger dislocated when my right hook landed on the stereo.

  Trashing the house did nothing to calm me down. It was useless. Even if I had Adrian right in front of me, even if I could kill him with bare hands, it wouldn’t change a thing. It wouldn’t turn back time.

  He hurt the one girl I loved more than anything in the world. No punishment was high enough. No amount of pain inflicted on the son-of-a-bitch could lift an ounce of fear off Nadia’s shoulders. Nothing could help her. Not even time.

  It doesn’t heal wounds. It just gets us used to the pain.

  CHAPTER 10

  NADIA

  Light that bitch

  Escaping an abusive relationship is one of the hardest things a woman could do. I escaped once, but the story of Adrian and me wasn’t finished. We had no closure. Thinking I could stay away was gullible.

  This time was different. Adrian understood we couldn’t go back in time as if the violence never happened. He let me go. We put the last dot at the end of the last chapter. Everything that happened later was a sad epilogue. Now, I was back home. It was time to write a new book.

  Amelia fell asleep sometime around midnight. She cried, cursing more than the oldest of sailors while I told her about Adrian’s abuse. Every sentence spoken out loud brought me a little closer to recovery.

  The words pouring form my mouth had a devastating effect on Mel, but sharing the secret was the key to move on. It was liberating to know I was no longer alone.

  One of the things I feared most about telling Nick and Amelia the truth was that they would turn their backs on me because I chose to save him instead of saving myself. It was foolish, but the notion kept me up at night as much as the pain my issues could inflict on them.

  And then there was Thomas. The look on his face once he learned the truth was disturbing—a mixture of hurt, anger and helplessness. I underestimated how much it would hurt him. My immediate reaction was to wrap my arms around him, apologise and beg for forgiveness, but I shook that thought away.

  He deserved better than that and better than me.

  Nick raised an eyebrow when I descended the steps close to seven in the morning, showered and dressed, with a sketchpad in hand.

  “Hey. Up so early? How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine.”

  What else could I have said? Nick and Mel were worried sick, and it was physically and mentally draining. And I was exhausted, anyway, having slept about five hours total in the last four days. I would have come downstairs earlier, but I spent forty minutes in front of a mirror, covering the bruises. Two layers of conceale
r and foundation worked well, but the bruises were still visible, although not as obvious.

  “You don’t have to pretend for my sake. Do you want to talk about it? I’ll listen, sis. I want to help.”

  I reached to take his hand. “As bad as it sounds, I’m okay with what Adrian did. I had more time to get used to it than you.”

  He cringed. “You shouldn’t treat it as something normal. It isn’t.”

  “No, it isn’t, but I could either let it define me, destroy me or strengthen me. It destroyed me at first; I almost let it define me; but Thomas helped me understand that I’m not a victim. I’m a survivor.”

  He considered my words. Silence rang in my ears, but it looked like I hit the right chord. I kissed his forehead and put the kettle on, taking a cup out of the cupboard.

  “It’ll take time before I stop being afraid, but the fact that you know is a big step for me.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I won’t let him near you.”

  Nick still didn’t understand. It wasn’t his fault, though. My mind was like an onion—formed out of many layers of difficult situations, actions and reactions. I started to peel those layers, opened my eyes, blinked the blur away, and searched the maze of lies for the truth lurking in the deepest recesses of my mind.

  “I’m not afraid that Adrian will come back to hurt me, Nick. I’m afraid I’ll let him. But that’s something I need to work past on my own, hence why I’m seeing James at nine.”

  He nodded, straightening his back. “I can take you. We could grab lunch later. We should also get you checked out by a doctor.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll be gone most of the day. I want to see Dad later, and I don’t need a doctor.”

  He winced. There was no denying the disappointment on his handsome face.

  “There is something you could help me with, though.” I poured hot water over two spoons of coffee. “I want to buy a car.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He cheered up. “What time do you think you’ll be back? I should drop by the office today, but I can dump the work on Thomas whenever you’re ready.”

  “I’m not sure, two o’clock, maybe? How about I’ll stop by your office when I’m done, and we’ll go from there?”

  The sound of someone grabbing the door handle in the hallway reached our ears. It was five past seven in the morning, but his arrival didn’t surprise me. A knock followed, when the door didn’t give way.

  “I wonder who this might be,” Nick smirked, raising to his feet to get the door. “You thought we don’t lock ourselves in at night?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Thomas said. “Is she up?”

  His voice silenced my screaming mind.

  “Yeah, I don’t think she slept.”

  “I think she can hear you,” I muttered, taking a seat.

  They entered the room, Nick leading the way. My first reaction, or rather my body’s first reaction to Thomas was relief, but it morphed to worry when I noticed his bruised knuckles. He too looked as if he hadn’t slept much last night.

  “What have you done?” I asked, pointing to his hands.

  Silence was his answer. He took his long, black coat off and hung it on the back of the chair, revealing a white shirt, black tie and an immaculate charcoal, chequered suit. He ran his hand through his hair, combing it back.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Silence was my answer, too. In the corner of my eye, I caught Nick’s ineffective attempts at suppressing a smile. Thomas took my coffee, resting his arms on the table.

  “I smashed a few things around the house last night.” He gestured to his knuckles. “Your turn.”

  The images that sentence summoned weren’t something I wanted to think about first thing in the morning. It reminded me of the things Adrian smashed around the apartment… with my head, back or face.

  “I’m okay.” I glanced at my hands. “You didn’t have to come all the way here to ask. I have a phone.”

  “I can’t always tell from the tone of your voice when you’re lying.”

  Nick’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to tell Thomas off, but changed his mind, and left us alone, muttering something about a coat.

  “Don’t take this so personally, Thomas. It’s not your problem.”

  His jaw tightened. For a brief second, his gaze fell to my lips as if that explained his protectiveness well enough.

  “Are you seeing James today? Ask him for sleeping pills, okay? You look exhausted.”

  He was half-way through my coffee already. If I wanted to get my caffeine fix, I had to make another one. Being in the same room with Thomas was a bitter-sweet experience. I missed him and wanted to have him around, but at the same time I wished he would leave, because not being able to touch him was unnatural.

  “Yeah, I’ll ask him,” I said, boiling the kettle.

  There wasn’t anything James could give me without checking my bloodwork, and there was nothing stronger than the pills I had. Still, not even a double dose helped me nod off for longer than an hour at a time. Worry and regret burned through the pills at ridiculous rates.

  Thomas rested against the back of his chair, his shoulders tense.

  “That’s two, baby doll. Don’t lie to me.”

  A small smile curved my lips but disappeared just as fast. “Sleeping pills don’t help.” I sat back down, holding onto my coffee in case he decided to take that one, too. “I faced some of my mistakes, but there is more to overcome before I can breathe again. I’m better than I was, but worse than I thought I’d be. And you’re right, I’m exhausted. I slept just a few hours since Sunday.”

  Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Worse than you thought? You mean you expected Adrian to beat you again?”

  I winced at his bluntness. Ty, Adrian and I settled for using less obvious terms, tiptoeing around the problem; lessening the severity of Adrian’s actions by saying that he hurt me. It was easier and less embarrassing.

  Nick and Thomas weren’t ones to mince their words for the sake of making the situation less disturbing.

  “An addict forever remains an addict. I didn’t expect him to relapse, but I knew it was a possibility. I prepared for the consequences of his choices but not mine.”

  The consequences of walking away from you.

  “I’ve got something for you,” I told him, when he didn’t answer.

  I didn’t blame him for avoiding the topic. Maybe he thought it wasn’t a good time to talk. Or maybe he had nothing to say.

  “Remember the canvas you gave me at the housewarming party?”

  “Took you long enough.” His shoulders relaxed, and he scanned the room. “Where is it?”

  “It’s at my apartment. I’ll bring it over later.”

  Nick entered the room, stealth as a hunting lion. His eyes scanned Thomas and me like he expected to catch us kissing.

  “At least show me what you have there.” Thomas pointed to the sketchpad lying beside me on the table.

  “That’s top secret.”

  I loved when his mouth twitch upwards against his will. It was those rare moments when it was clear I held some positive power over him just like he did over me. I hadn’t seen him struggle to contain a smile with anyone else, and every time it was his first answer to my question or statement, wings grew out of my back.

  We stared each other down for the longest time, glancing over the contours of our faces as if rediscovering them all over again.

  “Secrets are made to be found out,” he said, not breaking eye contact.

  “With time.”

  Nick raised his hands in defeat when we looked at him, turning to the sink to wash his cup. He hadn’t used the dish soap once in his life, but now decided to give the dishwasher a day off.

  I gathered my things when Nick finished pretending; he knew what he was doing. I kissed his cheek, hugging the sketchpad to my chest.

  “Are you taking Mel’s car?”

  “Yes. I don’t think she’ll be up anytime
soon; so she won’t need it.”

  I hesitated, unsure what to do about Thomas: whether to kiss his cheek, or just say goodbye, so like a three-year-old, I settled for an awkward wave. I slipped on my ankle boots, grabbed a faux fur coat from the hanger, and walked out into the cool, December air.

  London had nothing on New York when it came to traffic. Rows of cars queued at every corner; the pace of moving vehicles was comparable to a snail. It took forty minutes to get through the morning rush hour.

  I should’ve made a pit-stop at the coffee place, but I left too late, and I arrived at James’s office five to nine, unarmed.

  Daphne spoke on the phone when I entered the building. She greeted me with a wave and a sad smile, pointing to James’s office and shooing me away with a pencil. Her long, manicured nails gave me a wild idea. I shot Amelia a text message.

  I need your help. Cure the hangover, and I’ll pick you up after twelve.

  “Well, well, well,” James said, acting surprised to see me even though I rang him yesterday to schedule an appointment. “If it isn’t the runner. I see the trip to New York was great. You look glowing.”

  He held out a cup of take-away coffee for me to take. At least one of us came prepared. The pleasant smell of vanilla and whipped cream made me feel right at home.

  “It that a new therapy tactic?” I rose an eyebrow. “It’ll be a hit.”

  “Oh,” he gasped theatrically. “So, you’re not my friend, anymore? Just a patient now, is that it?”

  I sipped the hot coffee, then placed it on the table to take off my coat. The annoyance on James’s face subsided while he watched me struggle with the sleeves. Bruised ribs were a bitch. Every turn, every move and every breath caused pain, but it was nothing in comparison to broken ribs, so I didn’t complain, not even to myself.