"Wow, it's starting to look great in here," she exclaimed, looking at the new entertainment center and small TV in the corner and the small dresser they had put in her room. "I can't believe I've waited a year to change this space and really make it mine. Thank you again for your help, but mostly for your inspiration."
"It's my pleasure, sweet girl," he said. As he talked, he moved next to the bed and started to push it with his hip.
"DON'T!" Sarah shouted and put both hands on the bed. "You can't move the bed!"
Rick laughed at her dramatic shout, but looking over the bed at her, he realized she wasn't being funny. The fear in her eyes was unmistakable and, as before, it startled him to see her literally paralyzed by it. He'd seen this look in her eyes on two other occasions, once when he'd shouted in anger at getting his car stuck in the driveway and once when he'd raised his voice in frustration when he couldn't get her to understand something he was saying.
"Baby, what's the matter?" he asked as he went to her side and took her shoulders in his hands. "Look at me. Talk to me."
"You can't...," she shook her head and whispered, starting at the bed as if it was alive. "You can't move the bed."
"Why not?" he asked softly.
"There's stuff under there," she said. "Stuff that I don't want to...can't...look at."
"Okay baby," he said reassuringly. "Then we won't. We don't have to move it today. I was just going to sweep under it. But it's okay. We can do it another time. We've already done a lot today."
They went downstairs and he got her a drink of water. As before, her mind seemed far away and he knew she had to be alone with her thoughts for a little while. She'd come back to herself, he knew. It would just take a little time.
Sarah walked alone by the river, trying to get the images out of her mind. It had been over a year and a half since he'd left, but every once in a while the memories came back with alarming clarity. Despite her best efforts to shake them off, to distract herself with the children or a book, she knew that the only way to force the demons away was to remember them and deal with them head on.
"I hate you, you bastard!" she swore quietly as she picked up a rock and threw it into the river as hard as she could. And she truly did. She hated how he could still evoke fear in her from behind bars, separated by miles and even years from her. She let the tears flow, remembering his face, remembering his words, remembering what had happened in that room. She cried for a long time, until it felt like there wasn't anything left inside her. The tears cleansed her and, for now at least, she could return to her life.
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Two months later, Sarah stood next to the bed again, alone this time. She had done the weekly clean-up, putting away the new clothing she'd purchased, dusting the furniture and the few photos on the dresser, and sweeping the floor. The bed was made with the freshly laundered sheets she'd purchased a few months ago and the pillows were fluffed. She'd tied back her pretty new blue curtains to let the sun stream in the windows.
The memory of the old black curtains came back to her and gripped her. "I told you to never open these curtains," she heard him say in her head. "You know I need to sleep in the daytime. I can't sleep with the frigging sun blinding me. What's the matter with you?"
She was sick of it, sick of his voice in her head. Sick of the memories, the fear, the hatred.
"Enough!" she said out loud. "Enough of this stupid fear. I'm NOT afraid of you anymore!" As she spoke, she went to the bed and shoved it, as hard as she could. It moved on its wheeled legs, at least a foot towards the closet. She trembled and looked down, her heart starting to pound.
The first thing she saw was the brown shoe. It was a suede slip-on, no laces or buckles for him to have to bend over and deal with. She thought of the day she had brought them home from Payless, trying to appease his anger over the black ones from LL Bean ripping a month after buying them. He'd put them on, and the disdain had appeared immediately on his face.
"They're too narrow. You know I can't wear narrow shoes. What a waste of money. And I'd have you take them back, but you'd never remember, so it's a waste of breath to even say it. There's one more thing I'm going to have to do, in all of my free time. Thanks. Thanks a lot."
"I'm sorry," she'd stammered, angry at herself for being so weak around him. "I was just trying to help."
Now she picked up the size 11 shoe and threw it into the garbage bag. She found the mate and threw it too, harder this time. She picked up the black dress shoes next. She let herself remember how he'd looked when he'd dressed up to go to DJ gigs. He'd had a way of tightening his tie around his ruddy neck, licking his lips and starting at himself in the mirror like he was God's gift to women. He'd sickened her. How she'd hated those gigs, hated how he'd embarrassed her by forcing her to talk over the microphone to announce what was coming up next at the party or reception and then accused her of flirting with all the men after they'd gotten home.
She continued throwing his things into the garbage bag, trying not to dwell on the memories each item evoked. She felt numb by the time she put the last boot into the bag and realized that tears had been streaming down her face. She tied the bag up and placed it in the hallway before returning to sweep the floor under the bed.
When the broom moved toward the headboard wall, though, she stopped with a gasp. There, low on the wall, were the eyebolts he had put there. She froze as she remembered the nylon restraints that had been clipped into them. She thought again of the fear she had experienced being completed immobilized by the restraints he had forced her into, naked and blindfolded. She remembered he had taken pictures of her, had touched her in ways that had made her cry with fear, pain and shame.
Sarah's fear gave way to anger at that moment and she threw the broom down in disgust. "How could you?" she asked the invisible monster. "You were supposed to love me, to cherish me, and take care of me and my kids. Instead, you took everything that ever meant anything to me. You made me feel dirty. You tried to ruin my name, tried to turn my kids against me, and took all of my money. Well you know what? You deserve that cell you're going to rot in for the rest of your life."
She took the screwdriver from her bedside table and threaded it through the hole of the first eyebolt. Turning it, she saw her life without him stretching out before her, free from humiliation, free from pain, free from fear. She removed it from the wall and rubbed the hole it left behind. Turning to the second one, she removed it and placed them both on her nightstand. Looking at the scars on her wall, she thought of how nice it would be to patch them and paint over them. But just like the scars on her heart, she would always know they were there, would know that they could never truly be erased.
As she finished sweeping the floor and putting the bed back in place, Sarah knew that the monster had lost some of its power that day. She had faced it and was still standing. After everything, he hadn't won, but she wondered how long it was going to take to truly feel victorious. If she ever would.
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