February 28, Free day.
Song: I Won't Give Up by Jason Mraz
His breath is so repulsive, I habitually tense the muscles in my neck and try to turn my face away. I feel his sharp, uneven nails grab my face and pull me back to look at him. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to.
I learned an hour ago that struggling is useless - I'm too tired to know anyway.
I'm sick to my stomach and it takes everything I have to keep from vomiting, again. His snaky eyes trail down my body.
He mutters nonsense under his breath and I feel the tears start to wet my cheeks again as he presses his nasty, whiskey-tasting lips to mine.
I don't want to. I don't want to.
I hear something in the distance and muster together the little energy I have left to pull away and scream.
He violently thrusts his hand to cover my mouth, busting my lip against my own teeth in the process, calling me names I wouldn't dare to repeat.
I scream against his salty, dirty skin.
I don't want this...
Arms wrap around me and I squeeze my eyes shut, curling into the familiar body of my husband. He pets my hair and kisses my head, reassuring me that I'm safe.
"I hate this." I cry. "I hate this so much."
He nods, wiping a tear off my face with his thumb, "I know, baby."
The sobs settle, but I am still uneasy. He holds me and pulls the pale, yellow quilt on top of us up to my chin. I curl my face towards his chest.
It’s almost sunrise by now and I know this means that Dex will take a shower, get dressed, and go to work. That means I’m home alone.
I hate being alone.
I’m right: at exactly 5:30 the alarm goes off and he kisses my forehead before crawling out of our warm bed and treks to the shower. I curl my toes before putting my feet on the ground and standing up.
I go downstairs slowly, reassuring myself that if I screamed, Dex would be there in an instant. I reassured myself nothing would be at the bottom of the stairs to hurt me.
Soon enough, I had bread toasting and eggs frying, coffee brewing and his lunch packed. Just as I filled his water bottle, he emerged downstairs, dressed in his daily uniform of a t-shirt and jeans. He was a contractor.
“What are you doing today?” he asked, picking a piece of toast up when the bread sprung up.
I slid the cooked eggs onto his plate with a shrug. “Alana wanted me to come over... I might go see Phoenix.”
He wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on my head, “Should I stay home?”
“No.” I shook my head too quickly, “Please don’t. It was just a dream.”
He cleared his throat quietly and put his plate on the breakfast table before turning me around so he could look at my face, “Babe, I know we’ve talked about this… but Callum even thinks it would be a good idea if you… uh,… saw someone.”
“You mean a therapist?” I shook my head and looked at the pan I was putting in the sink to be washed, “I’m not doing that… I don’t need that, Dex.”
He kissed my cheek, “Think about it… please?”
I nodded briefly, just to satisfy him. I didn’t need therapy. I didn’t need anyone to help me get over this. Nelson was dead. I saw him being killed. I was safe.
He was dead.