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*** TRIGGER WARNING ***
DOMESTIC ABUSE / DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
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He was on the way to my home. Ben had given him my address. Ben was upset with me. “Thank you, Ben. I have to go now.” I felt numb as I ended the call. Charlie was on the way here. Charlie was coming to check on me. He had been insistent with Ben. Was he angry?
I glance at the bulletin board above my desk. A picture of Charlie from a few years ago smiles back at me. It’s sadly taped together, missing a few pieces, and has a few stains along the tears, but it’s the reason I’m here and not still in the States. Charlie was the final straw that made me leave Robert. Well, perhaps not so directly.
I grab a maxi dress from the laundry hamper, along with my under things, and pull them on, remembering…
I was at a comic convention with a few friends from work. They had convinced me to come out with them. Robert was out of town and not expected back until Sunday night so I agreed. I had put together a quick cosplay of Electra from pieces in my closet from previous Halloweens and met the gals at the main entrance. There were instant appreciative glances and people asking for photos of the three of us. All the attention was a heady feeling.
We mostly wandered around the show floor checking out the venders, but on a whim, I bought a ticket for a photo op. No one knew about my secret celebrity crush. Oh, they knew I was into Loki. I mean, those eyes, that domineering attitude, the smirk, the leather. A girl can have dreams! I think we all were into Loki. We also fangirled over the possibilities of meeting other celebs, their characters, or even some animated characters. We weren’t married. What was wrong with a few fantasies?
Robert. Robert was wrong with them. Rather, Robert thought it was wrong of me to have fantasies. He was my boyfriend and thought he owned me because of it. He was always checking up on me, popping into my work, showing up when I was out with my friends. It got so that I couldn’t go out with them unless he came along too. I didn’t see anything wrong with it at the time. He was my boyfriend and it was how he expressed his love for me. The number of times I told my friends that.
Then came his displeasure. If I was even a moment late from work, didn’t tell him where I was going, or wasn’t where I was “supposed to be” he would get angry. More than once he left bruises on my wrists or around my neck from his anger getting the better of him. Of course, I would tell myself it was my fault. If only I were a better girlfriend. If only I had set an alarm or watched the time. If only, If only, If only. I lost count of the number of ER visits I made due to broken bones, concussions, or painful bruises. I lost count of the number of times he apologized, “give me another chance babe. You know I lose it when you…” and I would inevitably take him back.
Caught up in the hype of the convention, I forgot about how Robert would see the extravagance. I should have remembered. NO! I stop myself mid-memory. I was doing what any woman of my age would have done. I shouldn’t have to worry what a boyfriend would think. I did nothing wrong, I remind myself.
I run my fingers along the photo. It’s one of the few things that came with me to England. I had been so giddy standing in line to take a once-in-a-lifetime photo with The Charlie Cox. The line stretched on forever, but it was totally worth it. He had commented on my outfit, put his arm around me, and given me a dazzling smile before we turned to the camera crew. Less than 3 minutes in his presence, but I had my souvenir. My friends teased me unmercifully the rest of the day. It was the most fun I’d had in ages.
When I got home, I put my costume in the dry cleaning bin and went to shower. My phone and picture I left on the bar, along with my purse. I’m not sure how long I was in the shower, but suddenly my hair was snatched at the scalp and my head smashed into the shower wall. I must have blacked out for a moment because the next thing I knew, I was being dragged by my hair through the apartment. I struggled in the man’s grasp to see who it was. It wasn’t until he pulled me up and shoved the image of me with Charlie into my face that I realized it was Robert. He was furious. He was raging at me about cheating on him, going out with “those whores” from work behind his back, flirting with other men, and flaunting myself in front of them to make him jealous. He told me he knew he couldn’t trust me.
I wasn’t quite expecting the first blow to my head from his fist. By the fourth, I was on the floor desperately trying to protect myself from his strikes. I stopped counting and focused on the picture that Robert had dropped in his fury. When satisfied I’d been punished enough, he picked up the picture and ripped it into pieces. Flinging it away from him, the pieces rained down on my battered and bloodied body. Robert spat at me, called me slut, and walked out. I counted to 60 before I dared move.
I slowly dragged myself across the floor to my apartment door. It stood ajar and I was able to get myself partway through it into the complex hallway before I passed out. Neighbors found me and took me to the hospital. Three weeks later, I was discharged. It had given me time to think, time to realize Robert would have no problem with killing me during one of his rages. I knew I had to be cautious and I had to act fast. I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. Within 48 hours of being sent home, I had closed my accounts, changed my phone number, and booked a flight to England. I gathered what pieces of the photo I could find. Some were utterly destroyed but there were enough there for me to patch them together with tape. Packing had gone quickly and I was gone the next day, taking only what I could fit into my suitcases.
A knock on the door startles me from the past. This is a secured building; anyone wanting to enter has to call up to be buzzed in if they didn’t have a code. I look through the peephole and see Charlie pacing. He reaches to knock again. He looks agitated.
I take a deep breath and open the door. I immediately back away, reflexively putting up my hands and starting to apologize before he’s even a step into the apartment. Instead of anger though, he looks relieved. He reaches for me and pulls me into a tight hug, “Thank God you’re alright. Tom woke me up to ask who I’d had over. He told me he saw you leave.” He pauses pushing me back so he can see my face, “You are alright? No one tried to hurt you?”
“I’m, I’m okay Charlie. I didn’t think you would worry about me. I didn’t mean to cause you any…” He interrupts me with a gentle kiss then hugs me again.
“It’s alright. Everything is alright. You didn’t cause me anything. Waking up and finding you gone after what we shared scared me. Are you sure you’re alright?”
He releases me, bringing his hand up to stroke my cheek. I nod, tears coming to my eyes. “I didn’t think you would care. I was scared you wouldn’t want me there, that you hadn’t felt what I did. So I left.” I trail off seeing his hurt expression.
“Oh, darling, no. I thought we had something special. I was hoping we could talk about it after we caught our breaths. I’m truly sorry for drifting off on you.”
He kisses me, gentle at first, then more demanding. When we break apart, I smile at him. He holds me close, “I didn’t want last night to end, but I was afraid of scaring you with what I was already feeling for you.”
I laugh, “I was thinking the same thing. I should have stayed instead of running away.”
“Shall we try again?” he asks while waggling his brows comically.
His antics make me smile. I’m about to say yes to him, but my stomach chooses to rumble, professing its hunger. “Maybe after breakfast?” I suggest, biting my bottom lip.
Kissing me quickly, he hums. “Only if you let me help with the cooking.”
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