Abuse: The Complete Trilogy (64 page)

“Someone told me the
delightful story of the crusader who put a chastity belt on his wife and gave
the key to his best friend for safekeeping, in case of his death. He had ridden
only a few miles away when his friend, riding hard, caught up with him, saying
'You gave me the wrong key!”

― Anaïs Nin

~~~

Renata Koreman

Betty Jo jumps
to her feet and begins to pace back and forth in angry jerky motions. “We’ve
been living together for six months.
Six months!
That fucking whore got
her claws into him. I’d like to scratch that bitch’s eyes out. Gary’s mine.
Mine!
Some women are total sluts.”

Why does she
blame the woman in this picture? Particularly as it’s obvious her boyfriend was
unfaithful. Does it make her feel better to imagine that he’s innocent? She
seems to have convinced herself some evil woman purposely lured her innocent
man, twisting his arm, forcing him to put his dick inside her.

I frown,
thinking it over. They lived together for six months. Why did Gary have an
affair with another woman? If he wanted someone else he should have broken it
off with Betty Jo first.

It sounds to me
as though
he
was the unfaithful slut.

The way women
are quick to attack other women is a mystery to me. True, I missed high school
and all that teenage angst when girls are mean to each other. I’ve seen teen
movies, but I never had the experience. At the time, I was living on the
streets. Pleasing my parents, passing exams, chasing boys and backstabbing
weren’t on my radar. Finding food and staying warm and dry were more in my line
of interest.

“Do you know the
woman he was with?”

Her dark blue
eyes fill with hate. “No, but I’m going to make it my mission to find her. I’m
going to wipe the smug grin off her face,
that bitch!”

I frown. “How do
you know she’s a bitch?” I ask. “Maybe Gary told her he was single. Perhaps
he
pursued
her
over a period of time. It might not be her fault at all. If men
can be unfaithful, they can also tell lies.”

Betty Jo’s eyes
widen. I can see this is a completely new and unpleasant idea for her. “Gary
loves me,” she cries out. “He’d never have left me unless some slutty whore
seduced him away.”

“Oh,” I say
blandly, marveling at the power of denial.

Betty Jo is
seriously screwed up. She hates and distrusts women—she has mother issues for
sure. I can’t doubt her father issues either. Talk about toxic and pathological
family dynamics. This further betrayal must be one straw too much.

André believes women
cheat because of loneliness. They desire intimacy, communication and emotional
connection. He says what most people don’t realize is,
men
cheat for
exactly the same reasons.

Sure there are
those that are unfaithful to punish their partners, or for the thrill of the
chase and the ‘excitement’ of living on the edge. There are sex addicts who
can’t get enough and narcissists who put notches on their belts. However, by
and large, infidelity is less about sexual pleasure and more about meeting unfulfilled,
essential needs
on an emotional level.

I don’t like Betty
Jo, yet I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Unfaithfulness is the ultimate
betrayal. It causes a person to question
everything.
After such personal
disloyalty, it’s difficult to allow oneself to trust the next time.

I wouldn’t wish
that kind of introverting mind fuck on anyone.

Thankfully,
Betty Jo’s phone rings.

She answers it
and continues pacing. “Hello?” she says in honeyed tones to whoever’s on the
other end, expertly hiding how upset she is. “Mr. Fairbanks, it’s such a
pleasure,” she oozes.

I unbuckle
Briley from his highchair and carry him into the living room to play with his
toys. Betty Jo remains in the kitchen, talking on the phone,
thank God.
I try to tune her out for a bit, to forget she’s here. Instead, my thoughts
drift to Grant. I hope he’s OK.

To my surprise,
my own phone rings—it’s Grant. The police have released him! He’s coming home
and everything’s fine. If Betty Jo wasn’t here I’d be high as a kite with this
news. Even with her here, I still feel as if a heavy weight has been lifted.

“What’s going
on?” he asks me, sensing my tension.

“Your sister
decided to visit. She’s here now.”

“Shit
.
I’ll be home in twenty minutes or so,” he tells me. “Will you be OK until
then?”

I sigh. “I think
so. Betty Jo’s upset—long story. Just now she’s on the phone, I think a
customer has called. I’ll tell her you phoned and you’re on your way home. She
has no idea where you’ve been.”

“Thanks for
that. Hang in there. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

My stomach
flutters, my heart warms. He and I have come so far together. Despite numerous
obstacles, I only need to hear him say, ‘I love you’ and everything in the
whole world seems perfect.

I wonder, just
where is Mitten? Maria is also conspicuously absent. Grant’s housekeeper will
probably remain hiding upstairs until Betty Jo leaves. I can’t blame her. In
fact, I'd like to join her.

I change
Briley’s diaper and sit him upright in his walker—not that he can make it move
yet. He likes exploring the toys that dangle and surround him there. He's
really a great kid. There’s going to be a huge hole in my heart when we give
him back to his parents.

With Betty Jo
temporarily pushed out of my thoughts, for a while, I mentally drift off,
thinking of Grant. I imagine what our children might look like. Perhaps a little
boy like him and a little girl like me? Or maybe all of our kids will take
after him.

I want a big
family, a happy family. All of us growing and learning together, overflowing
with love and laughter—the way a family should be.

When I lived
with André, he asked me what I wanted to do with my life. At eighteen years
old, my instant response had been,
“I want to get married and have babies.”
Nothing
has changed. Home. Family. Love and children.

I never had
these things as a child. What I’ve found with Grant—this sense of intimacy, family
and belonging is what I’ve always craved. That and really hot sex with the most
wonderful, gorgeous guy in the whole world.

I snicker and
shake my head as visions of Grant’s sexy, built body, handsome face and
expressive eyes flash through my head.

Betty Jo
suddenly and unexpectedly blasts into the living room like a cannonball shot
from a cannon. Her powerful mint smell and her aura of angry, chaotic energy
makes every nerve in my body tense.

She’s finished
her phone call. I wish she’d go away!

“You didn’t
answer my question,” she snaps accusingly. “Where did my brother say he was
going?”

The jarring
sound of her voice sets my teeth on edge. The way she glowers makes me cringe. I’m
worried already. I don’t need this. Man, why doesn’t she go home?

My chin jerks
up. “Grant didn’t say,” I blurt out, unthinkingly using his first name. It’s an
outright lie, but dammit! The woman unnerves me.

Her glare is
malicious, her eyes stab into me like icepicks. “So, it’s
Grant
now is
it? Is he fucking you?”

Something in my
manner must give me away, or it’s a lucky guess on her part.

“I
knew
it!” she cackles like the evil witch she is. “I knew Golden Boy couldn’t keep
it in his pants when there’s a slut in heat around. Mr. Perfect is screwing
Briley’s penniless babysitter—a woman with no connections and no family.”

Pay
attention! Don’t fall to her level. Don’t be a bitch.
I mentally chastise
myself. Unfortunately, I find it difficult to listen to my own advice.

Thoughtlessly, I
jump to my feet. Images of our beautiful, imaginary children are at the
forefront of my mind.

“Grant and I are
engaged. W-w-we’re going to be m-m-married,” I hear myself snap back at her
without thinking.

What the
fuck? Why did I say that? I haven’t even asked him yet! We've never discussed
marriage. Shit! This is humiliating. What'll Grant think when he finds out? I
can't take it back, it's already out there.

Pictures of my
imaginary children instantly disappear, abruptly replaced with shock and shame.
My stomach churns. I think I might be sick.

Betty Jo gapes
at me. “What?” she gasps, a look of horror distorting her lovely features as
her eyes fall to my fingers. “I don’t see an engagement ring.”

“We… w-w-we have
an understanding,” I add belatedly.

I feel so
stupid, embarrassed and ashamed for telling this whopper. What was I thinking?
Now I have to ask him, but I didn’t want to do it like this! What if Grant
doesn’t want to marry me?

“You stupid slut,”
Betty Jo bites out, her face red, her features twisted with anger. The tears
she’s shed for her unfaithful boyfriend, quickly morph into rabid fury toward
me.

Eyes wide, I
stare at her in sudden alarm.

“Don't try to
win over the haters; you are not a jackass whisperer.”

― Scott
Stratten

~~~

Renata
Koreman

“My brother will
never put a ring on your finger,” she spits. “He’s better than that. You’re a
nobody. A nothing! Alex was an idiot to secretly marry Sky—don’t think Grant
hasn’t learned a thing or two from that stupid mistake. Look what happened to
them. Now they’re forced to have a pathetic, gold-digging little tramp babysitting
their child!”

This shrill,
venomous speech obliterates every warm, fuzzy thought I have.

If a man had
raised his voice to me, I’d probably be cowering. To my surprise, it seems I
can deal with an irate woman. I’ve never been so angry, but it’s a cold, icy
anger that bolsters my courage. Years of being bullied and harassed—a lifetime
of being victimized has built up in me.

I’m so done
with taking this kind of shit.

For the first
time in my life, I understand with heart-stopping clarity. I was always waiting
to be rescued, always hoping for someone to save me.

As a child I
longed for a knight in shining armor. I wished and prayed for someone to stop
my father from beating us, or stop the kids at school from bullying me. I
wanted a hero to ride in on a white horse and save the day. Maybe
they
could make me stronger, or tougher, and to teach me how to stand up for myself.

As a child I
felt worthless. I burned to belong, to feel valued and important. I yearned for
a savior to change my life—to change
me.
At this moment it’s all so
obvious. I’m not a child anymore.

It’s up to me to
save myself.

Don’t fall to
her level. Don’t be a bitch.

“I… I f-f-feel
sorry for you,” I say calmly, curbing my anger and trying to ignore my stutter.
Having a stutter is an insignificant imperfection in the greater scheme of
things. I can get my point across, that’s all that matters.

I shake my head.
“I d-d-don’t know what happened to make you this way, B-B-Betty Jo, but you’re
not a happy person. You look for l-l-love, but never find it. You don’t know
how to be l-l-lovable, do you? It’s so sad,” I tell her. “For all your beauty,
wealth, c-c-connections and education, you’re so very, very empty inside.”

A long moment of
silence presses in on me.

Grant’s sister
draws in a sharp, audible breath—more like a gasp, really. I’ve shocked and
surprised her. The sure knowledge that I’ve done so, fills me with surprisingly
wicked and malicious glee…

…for about two
seconds.

The inhuman
screech that leaves Betty Jo’s throat cuts off any pleasure I might’ve been feeling,
transforming it into a headlong rush of terror. It’s the scream of a wounded
animal in extreme pain—or maybe even dying.

They say, ‘The
truth hurts,’ but who would’ve thought that it would hurt
this
much?

My observations
regarding the emptiness inside of her must’ve been a direct hit. I clearly pushed
her over the edge, but hells bells! She must have been close to cracking already.

The woman
completely loses it.

In two running
strides, she comes for me, her hands out in front of her, they soar for my
throat. She’s so fast I don’t even think to protect myself. Her fingers wrap
around my neck and squeeze,
hard.

Face to face, the
dark light of madness shines in her eyes.

I’m unable to
inhale a single breath. Even the overpowering smell of mint has gone away. My
heartbeat pounds in my ears. Desperate, I claw at her fingers. I think she’s
cutting off my air supply, and stopping blood from getting to my brain.

André encouraged
me to take a self-defense course.
Why didn’t I listen to him?

I struggle with
all of my strength and energy, but I can’t stop her. This crazy woman is going
to kill me! Thank God I put Briley in his walker. She may have killed him too.

What will my
beloved Grant do if he comes home to find me lifeless? As sure as I know
anything, he’ll be enraged by my death. Then he’ll end up going to jail for
actually
killing a member of his family.

My vision
tunnels.

Poor Grant.

My concern for
him is my last conscious thought, until I suddenly hear an enraged yowl from
Mitten. My vision is going, but I can still see. Seemingly, from out of
nowhere, Mitten jumps right on top of Betty Jo’s head!

My adorable, fearless
Mitten saves the day.

Scratching,
biting and clawing, my tame, domestic house cat, attacks her, more furious than
an enraged tiger!

Betty Jo
immediately lets go of my throat, desperately and madly flailing her arms to
free herself from Mitten. She can’t get him off of her, which sends her into
full-blown panic.

Light-headed and
dizzy, I stand there stupidly, trying to recover. I gasp, sputter and cough as
the air flows back into my burning lungs and the blood flows back into my
brain. My hand goes to my throat as I watch the incredible scene that unfolds
before me.

With an
earsplitting scream, Betty Jo spins around and around, weirdly reminding me of
the scary girl in
The Exorcist
.

As if
demon-possessed herself, Betty Jo spins and flees from the room, bolting like a
rocket toward the front door.

The last glimpse
I get of Grant’s sister is of her racing out of the house. Mitten is firmly
clamped on top of her head and over her ears. He looks as if he’s some sort of
black and white, Russian fur hat.

My knees are so
weak I slide down the wall and end up sitting on the floor. I’m panting, but to
my utter surprise, I don’t panic.

Despite a rather
extreme and terrifying physical attack, I’m fine. Actually, I feel strangely
euphoric.

I triumphed!

I stood up to
the wicked witch!

While not
completely
victorious through my own efforts, I’m still rather proud for standing up for
myself. I didn’t back down, nor did I accept any of the shit she tried to pile
on my head.

On my head… on
her
head!

I giggle
breathlessly, remembering the ‘cat hat’ Betty Jo was wearing. Mitten’s black
and white fur actually matched her outfit. Ah well, color coordination is
important. Always impeccably dressed, André would approve.

I giggle even
louder, breaking into a full-blown laugh. What a fashion statement.

I glance over at
the baby. Much to my astonishment, Briley's also gurgling with laughter. Why
not? ‘
The Cat in the Hat
,’ children’s books amused me. ‘
The Cat AS the
Hat,’
is pretty funny.

My precious
Mitten is
the best.
He probably saved my life… and indirectly even Betty
Jo's. Grant would've strangled her if I’d died.

Rubbing my sore
throat and neck, I smile. Where would I be without Mitten?

I faced Betty Jo
independently. For that—even though she may have killed me, I feel justifiably proud.
But I had a wonderful ally on my side.

Oh, what was I
thinking? I was so wrong.

I don’t have to
save myself on my own.

We all meet many
unsung heroes throughout our lives. My warm, lovely librarian, Mr. Brand, was
my first hero. He was the first person I genuinely trusted. Kind and
encouraging, he gave me unconditional support and a belief good people do exist.

Then Jamie
rescued me from our foster father. He showed me that no matter what a person’s
gender, anyone can give and receive love.

André soared
above them all, validating me. He taught me to interact with the world and to love
and accept myself. With him, I found my voice and grew wings to fly.

Grant is also my
hero. He needs me and I need to be needed. Until I met him, I never fully understood
what I sought. The joy and love we’ve found together seems like a fairy tale. Sure
it’s an off-script, twisted kind of tale, but our happily ever after is right
on track.

Lastly, but no
less importantly, I have my fiercely protective, wonderful Mitten.

Now I can join
the ranks of my own heroes. In a strange way, I have Betty Jo's over-the-top
behavior to thank for my epiphany. Because of her, I stood up for myself. I didn’t
recoil or shrink away in fear.

When all is said
and done, no one does it on their own. People
need
others. And at some
point in our lives, we can all use the help of a hero.

My Hero is my
very best friend.

He is also furry
and has four paws.