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“I’ll make it anyway,” she said. “Just in case.”
He kissed her as she leaned into him. “I’ll call you,” he said, his
hands drifting downward. Caressing her.
“I know,” she answered.
In the bathroom, she took off her clothes and set them on the
toilet, then rolled up the rug. She’d placed a garbage bag in the
sink, and naked, she stared at herself in the mirror. She fingered
the bruises on her ribs and on her wrist. All of her ribs stood out,
and dark circles beneath her eyes gave her face a hollowed-out
look. She was engulfed by a wave of fury mixed with sadness as
she imagined the way he’d call for her when he walked through
the house upon his return. He’d call her name and walk to the
kitchen. He’d look for her in the bedroom. He’d check the garage
and the back porch and the cellar. Where are you? he’d call out.
What’s for dinner?
With the scissors, she began to chop savagely at her hair. Four
inches of blond hair fell onto the garbage bag. She seized another
chunk, using her fingers to pull it tight, telling herself to measure,
and snipped. Her chest felt constricted and tight.
“I hate you!” she hissed, her voice trembling. “Degraded me all
the time!” She lopped off more hair, her eyes flooding with ragefueled
tears. “Hit me because I had to go shopping!” More hair
gone. She tried to slow down, even out the ends. “Made me steal
money from your wallet and kicked me because you were drunk!”
She was shaking now, her hands unsteady. Uneven lengths of hair
collected at her feet. “Made me hide from you! Hit me so hard that
I vomit!”
She snapped the scissors. “I loved you!” She sobbed. “You
promised me you’d never hit me again and I believed you! I
wanted to believe you!” She cut and cried, and when her hair was
all the same length, she pulled out the hair dye from its hiding