by Clara James
Laughing bitterly, Paul shook his head in disbelief. “You’re telling me this guy hasn’t screwed you?”
I was tempted to say ‘no’. It wouldn’t have been a lie. Preston hadn’t screwed, banged or fucked me. What we’d shared was something very different. However, I didn’t think Paul would appreciate the distinction. In the end, I chose to answer his question with one of my own. Keeping my voice low and carefully measured, I calmly asked, “What right do you have to lecture me? So, it’s okay for you to go around sleeping with every woman who crosses your path, but I place a foot wrong and there’s hell to pay?”
He blinked and rapidly gave a confused shake of his head. “What are you talking about?”
“I know, Paul,” I explained in the same soft, even manner. “I’ve known for months that you’ve been having affairs; one night stands with any woman who’ll look at you twice, right?” With a self-effacing smile, I forged on. “I was stupid not to have seen it much sooner, but even I’m not blind, Paul. I’ve seen the emails and that little video; do you masturbate to that often?”
He stared open-mouthed at me, his brain no doubt searching for excuses. However, when he came to the realization that there were none; at least none that any reasonably intelligent person would buy, he went on the offensive. “So, this was your little revenge?” he demanded. “You think I’ve been unfaithful, so you wanted to get even?” With an angry grunt, he threw the paper back down onto the desk. It skidded off taking a couple of pens and a pad of post-it notes with it.
“No,” I responded. “I wanted to get away from you.”
“And this guy’s your knight in shining armor?” he scornfully asked, as his thick index finger pointed at the newspaper on the floor.
“No,” I repeated. “He was a client; a way of making money, so I could support myself.”
His eyes seemed to spark with fiery rage and he quickly moved around the desk. I held my ground, refusing to slide back against the wall. In truth, I was terrified, but I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of knowing that he was intimidating me.
Both of his strong hands snatched forward and grasped my upper arms. “You mean he’s not the only one?” he spat, roughly jerking me. “What the fuck have you been doing?” he almost screamed, pushing me back until I struck the door. “You’ve been prostituting yourself to guys like him?” Spittle flew out of his mouth as he screeched and his face was contorted in ugly rage.
I could feel the unpleasantly hot pants of his breath, his face so close to mine. A globule of spit had landed on my cheek and was slowly dribbling down toward my chin. Taking a breath before opening my mouth, I tried to ensure that I wouldn’t respond with a knee-jerk statement that would just serve to make him madder. Eventually, I told him, “I’ve done whatever was necessary.”
With a brutal shake of his hands, he banged me against the door harder than before. “And you thought it was necessary to become a whore?” he shouted.
“It’s pointless discussing this,” I replied, lifting my right hand in an effort to push him away from me. “I’m leaving you, our marriage is over.”
“You’re fucking right our marriage is over,” he confirmed, refusing to slacken his grip on my arms. “And I will make sure my children never see their slut of a mother again.”
“Paul,” I said, my anxiety growing. I was unable to keep the calm, unaffected tone with which I’d argued with him until that point. “I’ve done nothing that’s harmed the kids; I just needed the money so I could start a life of my own.”
“You think the children aren’t harmed by having a hooker for a mother?” he bellowed.
“It was never like that,” I insisted, wriggling under his grip in attempt to free myself. Suddenly, I felt threatened and trapped, and was fighting to get away from him. Nevertheless, he continued to hold me tightly, refusing to budge. In fact, the more agitated I seemed to get, the more he appeared to enjoy pressing his face close to mine.
“How do I know you haven’t been doing this throughout our whole marriage?” he asked. “You blame me; insinuate that I forced you into this, but I don’t buy that bullshit. I think you loved it, I think you’ve always been a cheap, dirty slut.”
“Paul, please let go,” I mumbled.
At first, my plea caused his fingertips to dig deeper into my flesh. However, with a suddenness that shocked me, he released me. Pushing himself quickly away from me, but still holding out his hands as if they were clinging to something. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he whispered, seemingly talking to nobody but himself. “Your disgusting,” he added, peering at his hands. “All those men who’ve had you, all those hands that have been all over you.”
“Don’t paint yourself out to be some saint in all this,” I said, my own anger beginning to creep to the surface. I knew that I shouldn’t be irritating him. I knew it would only turn nasty if I pushed his buttons, but still I couldn’t manage to keep my mouth shut. “You’re not so pure or clean yourself,” I insisted.
His eyes lifting from his empty hands, he once more met my face. “Get out of here,” he said, quietly but darkly. “Get your stuff and get the fuck out of my house.”
“I...I...” I stammered, unsure how to respond or reason with him. “I just need a few days,” I urged.
“No,” he snapped. “I want you out now.”
“Paul,” I mumbled, shaking my head incredulously.
Preempting my thoughts, he didn’t wait for me to voice them. “I don’t give a shit where you go. I don’t give a shit what you do. Go and stand on the street corner and offer blow jobs for a bed. Do whatever the fuck you want, but you will get the hell out of my house.”
As if my perception of the ‘perfect’ Paul I’d married had not undergone enough dents, this latest was incredible. He was a man who claimed to love me; at one time we were best friends as well as lovers. He was no more than a stranger to me now. He was a monster, someone who I quickly realized had hidden his true nature for years. Then again, maybe not. Maybe there had been clues I’d chosen to ignore.
“Wh-What about the kids?” I haltingly asked.
“If you think you’re taking them with you, think again,” he yelled. “I told you, you’re never going to see them again.”
I still wasn’t moving, partly out of shock and partly out of a complete inability to know what to do. Apparently, my lack of action was testing his patience. With a lunge forward, he whipped his right hand over his shoulder, before propelling it forward with a speed and violence that I hadn’t time to protect myself from. The back of his hand struck my cheek with a crack that echoed around the room.
My face instantly stung with a liquid fire that spread across my cheekbone. As I looked up at him with shocked wide eyes, my left hand instinctively lifted to cover the stabbing, as yet invisible, print his hand had left.
Unapologetic and unashamed, Paul was grabbing my shoulder with one hand and the door handle with the other. Pulling me away from the doorway, he yanked it open in fury before gracelessly shoving me across the threshold. “I mean it,” he spat. “Get the fuck out and do it now.” With that, he slammed the door closed with a bang that reverberated throughout the entire house.
Blinking I realized my eyes were watering; I think it was the sharp sting of my cheek rather than emotional an emotional response that caused the tears, but it would be a lie to say I wasn’t also haunted by feelings of grief, anxiety and fear. I was at a loss as to what to do. But I knew two things; if I stayed his violence would escalate and if I even made an attempt to take the kids with me, they would get caught in the brutal middle of it all. For now, at least, I would have to follow Paul’s instruction. When I was able to calm down and think clearly, then I could figure out a way to get my children away from him.
I’m not sure why I didn’t call the police and have him arrested for hitting me, but in that moment I made the decision not to. Maybe it was to protect the kids from seeing their father hauled away to jail, or maybe it was inner guilt of
what I had done.
When the concerned faces of Lizzie and Dylan appeared at the end of the hallway, I tried to force a reassuring smile.
“Is everything okay, Mom?” Lizzie asked.
“Yes, sweetie,” I nodded, walking away from Paul’s office door and toward the kids.
“We heard banging,” she countered.
“And shouting,” Dylan chimed in.
“Your dad and I were just having a disagreement,” I lied. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, okay?”
Both of them looked at me skeptically and I realized they knew I was lying to them. As I reached them, I put one hand around each of their shoulders and steered them back into the living room. “Listen,” I began, sighing heavily. “I’m going to have to leave for a while, but I promise I won’t be away from you for long.”
“What do you mean?” Lizzie asked.
“Why are you going?” Dylan said.
“It’s complicated,” I muttered, shaking my head. “But I just need you to remember that I’m going to be doing everything I can, and we will work something out.” I knew that would mean nothing to them, but I hoped it would stick in their brains nonetheless. Hopefully, if the worst happened, it would make sense one day. At that thought though, I vehemently shook my head. The worst wouldn’t come to the worst, because I wasn’t going to let anyone take my children from me. If I had to kidnap them, I would.
“Mom?” Lizzie mumbled, peering up at me with concerned eyes.
“Just go back and sit with your little sister,” I urged quietly. “I’ll explain everything when I can.”
Reluctantly both of my older kids obeyed me, settling once more on the rug in front of the TV. I didn’t bother to go upstairs and get any clothes. Instead, I kissed each of the children on the top of their heads and told them I would see them soon. It was as though I was just running out to the grocery store except I (and I think they) knew differently.
Chapter Seven
Julia
Once I left the house and gotten in the car it hit me that I actually didn’t have a plan. Looking back, I realize I was in some strange trance-like state and, actually, wasn’t doing an awful lot of thinking at all. For instance, I don’t remember starting the car. I don’t remember backing out of the driveway. I don’t remember the road, what turns I took, what traffic lights I passed or even how long I drove for. It’s all a messy blur. I didn’t know where I was going, but I continued to drive nevertheless.
I suppose I naturally gravitated to the one place I felt safe and the only place I knew Paul wouldn’t find me. I vaguely remember sitting in my car in the parking lot opposite Preston’s apartment building. I barely recall wondering if I should head up there and if I did, what I would say. I definitely didn’t have memories of reaching a decision on that front. But something compelled me to get out of the car and walk across the street.
It was late afternoon when I entered the foyer and Hank was back on duty. I think he spoke to me and I guess I must have responded, because he didn’t seem alarmed by my presence. In fact, he didn’t even bother to call up to Preston’s apartment. Instead, he waved me through, with a comment about the weather.
The next thing I knew I was standing outside Preston’s door, sure I should just turn back and walk away. After the way I’d spoken to him, he’d be within his rights to tell me to take a hike. However, he seemed to be the only one I could go to. In retrospect, he wasn’t. The truth of the matter is that I went to him because I wanted to go to him. I knew I’d feel comforted simply by his presence. I knew that there were feelings I had when I was around him that I’d never experienced around anyone else; a sense of security that I so desperately needed in those moments.
So, with a nervous finger and a hopeful heart, I reached for the door bell and pushed. The milliseconds dragged on forever as I waited for him to answer. As I did, I ran through a selection of possible openers, ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I made a mistake’, ‘I shouldn’t have snapped at you’. Any and all of those would have been good, but I didn’t say any of them. Instead, as the door opened and his slightly confused face began to register mine, I blurted, “Julia.”
A mixture of confusion and concern marred his features, as he seemed to discern my haunted expression. “Excuse me?” he mumbled with a half laugh.
“My name,” I stated, my voice beginning to get shaky with emotion. Heat swelled in my lower eyelids and an uncomfortable lump in my throat refused to be swallowed. “My name’s Julia,” I tearfully explained.
He still looked just as confused, but my overflow of emotion caused his concern to rise and he quickly folded an arm around my waist and guided me into the apartment. “Come on,” he urged, leading me toward the couch and then suggesting with a slight nudge of his hands that I should sit.
As unbidden tears began to trickle soundlessly down my cheeks, I allowed him to direct my steps and I settled slowly onto the edge of the couch. Once sitting, I leaned my elbows on my knees and dropped my weeping head into my hands.
For a second, Preston stood still, apparently not quite knowing what to do with the emotional wreck that had turned up out of the blue on his doorstep. However, he quickly shook that off and placed himself on the couch by my side. His jean-clad knee pressed against mine, as he softly asked, “What happened?”
“I behaved awfully toward you,” I managed to utter in between sniffs.
He chuckled, before smoothing a hand across my shoulder and rubbing circles between my shoulder blades. “That’s not what I meant,” he corrected calmly. “I meant what happened since you left here?”
“I didn’t know where else to go,” I mumbled nonsensically.
Preston must have been confused by the seeming non sequitur, but he didn’t fire any further questions at me. Instead, he silently continued to rub the palm of his hand along my back while he waited for me to make sense of what I’d said.
“I...umm....I’ve made such a mess of everything,” I babbled self-pityingly. “I was just trying to get away, that’s all I wanted and now I’ve ruined everything.”
“Okay,” he said soothingly. “Well, I’m sure we can figure it out. Whatever it is, we can fix it.”
I shook my head determinedly. “No, we can’t,” I told him. “I-”
“Hey,” he interrupted, suddenly lifting some of the hair that had fallen across my face. With the backs of his fingers, he gently stroked the spot that Paul had slapped. “What happened to you?” he whispered.
For a moment, I looked at him with alarm, feeling shame, as though what had happened was my fault. To a certain extent, it was my fault, I’d set in motion the chain of events that led to me receiving a backhander to the face. But, of course, I didn’t believe there was ever any excuse for violence. That part was solely at the feet of my husband. “I suppose,” I breathed, trying to calm my racing heart and brain. “I suppose, I’d better start at the beginning.”
Preston didn’t look happy with that suggestion; he continued to look with concern at my cheek and wanted an answer to that question first. However, he swallowed that sensation. “Okay,” he agreed, nodding. “Start wherever you feel most comfortable.”
“I’m married,” I stated, a single tear zigzagging down my face and dropping from my trembling chin. “I’ve been married since I was nineteen. He was my high school sweetheart, and I thought he was the perfect man.”
The past tense and the tome I used seemed to leave Preston in no doubt that the man wasn’t perfect. He might even have put two and two together and made an assumption about my reddened cheek.
I quickly detailed his background, the wealthy family who thought I wasn’t good enough and the prenuptial agreement that I was made to sign. Then, I forged ahead with the next big revelation. “We were happy; at least I thought we were happy. We have three children.”
If Preston was shocked or disturbed by that news, he did an excellent job of hiding it. His features remained the same as he intently listened and waited for me to reach the crux
of my point.
“Nearly six months ago,” I sighed. “I found out Paul was having an affair. Well, that’s not quite true; he was having lots of affairs.”
His fingers curling over my shoulder, he gave me a squeeze of reassurance while his jaw twitched slightly with the movement of a clenching muscle.
“I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t. I had no money, nowhere to go except to a friend who lived halfway across the country, and I knew Paul wouldn’t let me leave the state with the kids, so...” I hesitated, suddenly very ashamed to speak the next part of my life history aloud. It was ridiculous really, Preston knew what I was; that’s how we’d met. Still, that was before he knew the real me, this was raw and I felt completely exposed. “I had to find a way of making money, preferably a lot of money, and fast.”
He nodded his understanding, “So, that’s how you got into escorting?” he asked rhetorically.
“Yeah,” I replied, in an embarrassed whisper. “I didn’t really want to at first, I was scared, but the first couple of times it wasn’t too bad, you know?” As I spoke, I kept my eyes on the floor. “And I started to believe that I’d come up with the perfect solution. I was getting my own little revenge and I was making the money I needed to finally leave.” Swallowing I shook my head. “And then, one night, I met this guy who was really violent and I realized what I was doing wasn’t glamorous or freeing, it was dangerous. So I decided I was going to get out.”
“That’s what happened to your face?” he asked.
“No, no,” I replied. “That was weeks ago now.”
“So...?”
“This was my husband,” I quickly explained. “The short version is he saw a picture of you and me in the newspaper and he lost his temper.”
“Oh, God,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, I should have thought when that guy came up to us-”
“It’s not your fault,” I quickly interjected. “I should have thought about it, I just didn’t stop to consider the consequences.”
“Where’s your house?” he said sternly, jumping to his feet.
