My Life in Reverse (13 page)

7 months ago (the following day)…

The trip home is hard. By the time I hit the train, the stress sets in.

“Let me know when you get to your car safely.” My favorite adult messages. He’s been in touch all day.

“I will.” I reply. “Hey?”

“What’s up?”

“Do me a favor? Don’t disappear on me? You matter. Usually when someone matters, they go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I smile through the tears. “Kk.”

My car’s right where I left it. I get in and prepare myself to go home. I can’t wait to see my kids and my dog. The thought of seeing
him
again kills me, though. I need to build up my emotional walls again and prepare for the hatred that spews off of
him
.

It’s hard.

My phone rings and it’s exactly what I need. My favorite adult talks me through the drive home. He reminds me that I’m worthy.

“Just look at those monkeys when he starts.” He tells me. “See no evil, hear no evil.”

“And speak no evil,” I add.

“Exactly.”

“I’ll message you later.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

The driveway brings such bittersweet emotions. My kids are in there—my heart…but so is the man who so obviously wants to destroy me. What other goal can
he
possibly have but to take until I am no more?

I steel myself for the impending encounter. I pull my shit together for my kids. Somewhere deep within me is a voice—and it’s pissed AF. It tells me I can do this. Somehow, some way, I’ll persevere…

Or fucking die trying.

The next morning…

How quickly everything falls back into place. The kids are off to school,
he
goes off to work.

And I spring into action.

He
says
he
tried to clean up while I was away. What
he
really meant was
he
went through all my shit. No matter. There’s nothing to find. I may have a secret or two now, but they’re the first in fourteen years. Can’t find what’s not hidden.

Despite my loathing of lies and liars (after living with one for so long, I can attest that there’s truly nothing worse) I have to play on
his
level if I’m going to survive. “Sometimes you have to play the role of a fool to fool the fool who’s trying to fool you.” I don’t know where I saw that, but I did—and that shit stuck.

The laws in my current state are very clear in regards to child custody. I can take them and go as long as there’s no ruling in place (there’s not.) It’s frowned upon—sure—but also legal. That works well enough for me.

Most of our things are already in boxes, being at my mom’s still. The rest is in storage. Only our personal belongings remain set up and useable.

I send a blank check out to my favorite adult in the mail. He’s covering the housing search on that end for me. Likely I should’ve just left him one, but I wasn’t thinking clearly as the time there grew shorter.

Everything moves in double-time. The boxes get re-packed and discreetly marked as either stay or go. I want to do more—it’s the most effective way to keep my sanity in check—but instead I begin to do all the chores I normally do. After all, everything has to appear normal, or else…

He
continues to act like we’re together, even though we’re not.
He
still lies next to me with his hand securing me to my spot at night.
He
still sexually harasses me through texts all day long. Finally I tell
him
I need to go to the doctor before I’m able to do anything, just to get some damn peace.

By the time everyone returns home, exhaustion is basically my permanent state. I’d love to crash, but instead I have to work. What I’d usually accomplish in the morning had its time spent on planning my escape. I stay up later than I should, but manage to get it all done.

Still, it’s hard to relax next to
him
. After an hour or tossing and turning (and being held down) I go to the bathroom and take a few healthy swigs of children’s Benadryl. After I lie back down, it only takes a short time for the world to go fuzzy and fade away.

A few days later…

It’s late in the day. All of my days since I got home have been a blur. Pack, plan, clean, cook, mom, work, drug myself to sleep. My only solace is in the messages from my favorite adult and inner circle. This tightrope walk I do begins to take its toll.

The dryer buzzes and I go to swap out the clothes. Once the clean clothes are in the basket, I move onto putting the wet clean clothes from the washer to the dryer. I hear an odd sound from the depths of the washer. Likely the kids left another toy in their pocket. I dig for the foreign object before it breaks the washer and I get yelled at for it. Only what I pull out scares me to my very core.

It’s a motherfucking shank. An honest-to-God Plexiglas and duct tape shank. Some prison-type shit. My hand trembles as I drop it into the clean clothes. I snap a pic—mostly because I can’t believe it.

Immediately I send it to three people: my favorite adult, Judy and Marissa. I need to know that I’m not over-reacting. While I finish the laundry, I try to rationalize it. We have a ton of pocket knives, even full-tang knives that size. What in the world is that needed for?

Then it hits me. There’s one huge difference between this shank and the knives. The knives are metal. The shank is plastic. Destroyable.

My fucking God.

This man really is going to fucking kill me.

That night…

I lay there. I lay there and wonder if I’ll wake up tomorrow morning. I wonder if this is it.

Everything
he’s
threatened me with plays over in my mind. “If I can’t have you, no one will.” “If you ever think of leaving me, you better be able to afford a new face.” “If you ever try to leave, I’ll find you.” “If you ever get with another man, I’ll kill you both.”

I made the mistake of not believing
him
before. The man certainly lacks follow-through…or maybe it was just easier for me to carry on that way.

Only I can’t put faith in that anymore. Not when the signs point to eminent danger like they do.

Not when I find a weapon surely designed to take my life.

No murder weapon, no conviction—right? One fire and that shank will be gone.

Just like me.

I tell Marissa the scariest thing I’ve ever said earlier that day. I tell her if I disappear, who’s behind it.

My anxiety peaks. I self-medicate again to get some much-needed rest.

And I pray like hell that I see the light of tomorrow.

7 ½ months ago…

Fear.

Have you ever spent every day living in it—actual fear for your life? Not knowing what move might be your last?

I have.

Fuck, I
am
.

I’d hid
his
shank the night I found it, but that doesn’t give me much peace. Especially when
he
doesn’t know I have it. Since that night
he’s
spent a lot of time in the garage, undoubtedly trying to find the thing.

At some point
he’ll
give up and make another.

Of that I have no doubt.

I’ve organized and packed everything possible (that won’t be noticed) at my mom’s. She’s aware of my plan now. I’m a crappy liar. She’s not happy. She provides alternatives while I explain exactly how dangerous
he
is and why I need to go so far. Eventually she admits it’s more important that the kids and I are safe. She wants to help.

My favorite adult has found me a place. I send the application in and wait.

So much rides on their approval. I want to leave as soon as possible—for obvious reasons—but even more importantly before my mom leaves for vacation. The alternative is to be stuck here alone with
him
.

You know, with no witnesses.

In the interim I ask Marissa’s daughter for some help in the storage unit. It’s a mess and I need to be able to grab and go when the time comes.

My plan is hectic. It’s also dangerous. If
he
shows up while I’m leaving, it’s going to be very, very bad. I plan to grab everything from the storage unit the day before that I need and get it into the moving truck. I’ll stash the truck nearby overnight. When
he
leaves for work the next morning, I’ll pack everything that has to wait until the last minute. Get it onto the truck. Grab the kids from school and be out.

My mom’s taking the cat in the truck with her. The kids, dog, and parakeets will be in the car with me. The drive is over sixteen hours. I just hope that’s far enough.

Marissa’s daughter, Liza, is happy to help me. Together, us two small chicks manage to move boxes and furniture that way more than both of us combined. It’s about halfway through that she stops me.

“Have you seen this?”

It’s some of my oldest’s schoolwork from a few years ago. It’s a book and it’s seriously disturbing.

“No, I’ve never seen this before.” I tell her. “It must’ve come home when I was working full-time.”

The book very plainly shows a fearful child being yelled at by a tall dark man. I place it in my bag because I can’t look at it any more.

“We should finish, it’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Liza agrees. We’re both nervous
he
might show up.

It doesn’t take us too much longer. We even manage to make it look similar to how it did before we began—just in case
he
stops there before it’s time to go.

Now all that’s left to do is wait on that application.

Wait and hope.

The next week…

My phone rings. I don’t recognize the area code and answer quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m calling to let you know we’ve completed your application. Congratulations! It’s yours on the first of next month.”

I let out a whoop—thank goodness I’m home alone. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” I say and disconnect.

The first! That’s at the end of this week.

That means it’s time to act.

Deep breath.

I shoot a message to my favorite adult first. He’s as happy as I am.

“I guess I’ll see you Saturday night!” I tell him.

“I’ll have a team of people set to unpack Sunday. You just get here safely.”

“I’ll do my best.” I promise.

6 months ago, Thursday…

My girl Tammy gives me a ride to pick up the moving truck. From there we’ll go to storage (with the help of John and Marissa) and then stash it in the back of the apartment parking lot at Tammy’s across from my mom’s. It’s a ballsy move, but people move in and out of there all the time. Plus it gives us easier access to it tomorrow morning. That’s going to be the hard part. I have to pack up all the things the kids and I will need and want as quickly as possible. While I hope like hell that
he
doesn’t leave work for any reason.

The same danger lurks as we move stuff from the storage unit into the moving truck. Somehow we manage. I thank them all and follow Tammy to hide the truck.

I’m all nerves. Forget eating—that’s so not happening. My oldest knows what’s happening and is all for it. That was the first thing I did before I made my plan. If my kid wasn’t okay with it, I wouldn’t be doing it. Even at the ripe age of eleven the situation was unmistakable.

My youngest knows nothing. Six is too young to worry about this. All I said is we may go on an adventure soon.

Thank God I wasn’t lying.

There’s nothing left that I can accomplish today. Everything else has to be saved for the morning. As if I needed some form of confirmation from the universe about my decision, I watch my oldest get thrown across my bedroom. The knee is the victim this time, getting bashed onto the bedframe. I get ice.

And swear that this will never fucking happen again.

I do my best to get through my last day and night of hell, all the while praying that I make it through it with my life.