The only thing I have that doesn’t have his name on it is my SUV, and that’s only because it’s older, and it was the first adult thing I ever bought for myself after my Grams died with the little bit of money she left me. He let me know he wasn’t interested in my ‘old’ car when we moved in together. In fact, he tried relentlessly to replace it with something of his choice.
I feel like such an idiot.
The self-loathing is like a film of slime settling over me, it fills every nook and cranny of my self-esteem. I don’t want to feel this way anymore.
I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to do it, or where I’m going to go, but I’m done. Since Grams is gone, I don’t have to worry about where I go. I’m free to do whatever I want.
But am I really? He’s known at his law firm as a shark, and he has lots of friends in high places. If I leave him, will he be fair? Will his ego and his temper let him?
Because he has a temper. His friends and colleagues don’t see it, but I do all the time. It doesn’t take much to send him into a tirade when he’s at home, and it seems like he has them more and more lately. He’s never hit me, but sometimes I wish he would instead of some of the mean things he says to me.
Back at our condo, I look around at what I want to take with me, but there’s not anything that really belongs to me. What I brought with me isn’t much, and everything else is what he’s boughtforme.
Making the decision to only take those things I have bought for myself, I grab a duffel bag and start grabbing clothes from my dresser drawers.
I’m so fucking stupid.
This is not who I am. I knew better.
My Grams taught me better.
As I walk back and forth from the closet to the bed and fold my clothes, I try to remember when I turned into the type of woman I always said I would never become. But there isn’t a specific time, it was gradual. He knew which buttons to push, and he pushed them like a champ.
I do remember the first time he ever made me feel less than. It was such a subtle jab that I waved it off, and the fact that it was so close to the beginning of our relationship makes it even worse. But it’s vivid in my memory as if it happened yesterday.
‘Are you really that hungry? Or does it just taste good?’
I can still see him smiling affectionately, leaning on his elbows over his empty plate in the restaurant, as I put one of the last few bites of my Beef Ragu and Polenta in my mouth. His tone was teasing, and his brown eyes were sparkling.
It was only our third date, so the pinch of shame was quickly followed by confusion and anger, shoved down under disbelief. I told myself that I was obviously reading something negative into the comment. That had to be it. He wouldn’t betryingto insult me. Right?
The creamy polenta and shredded beef that was melting in my mouth before, turned to cardboard on my tongue. For a moment, I stared at him, looking for any hint of malice or hostility, but warmth reflected back at me. So, I blew it off. Told myself that I was being overly sensitive.
I didn’t eat those last few bites.
For the next year, the jabs became more frequent and more hurtful, chipping away at my self-esteem little by little. Every single one delivered with a smile. Sometimes even during a hug or a kiss.
‘How can you even have room for dessert after all you ate?’
‘Maybe you should have the salad. I noticed a little extra jiggle in your ass when I was behind you last night.’
‘Don’t you think your hips are a little wide for that dress?’
‘Is there anything you won’t eat?’
When I caught him with the first girl a year ago, well, first that I know of, he had squashed my self-respect so far under his sole of approval that I told myself he was looking for someone slimmer. Someone sexier.
I told myself it was my fault for not being what he wanted; my sweet tooth practically controls me, and I hate to exercise, which just makes me lazy in his eyes.
She was beautiful. Lithe, tall, and sexy. Everything I am not. At five foot five with wide hips and a soft stomach, there was no way I could compete with that. The only things I have going for me are my big boobs and narrow waist, but I will always be soft thanks to genetics.
He apologized and told me it was a mistake, and that he had been drinking with the guys. Swore that he loved me and that it would never happen again.
I wanted so bad to believe him.
God, I’m so fucking stupid!
On the drive back to the condo, I realized I shouldn’t have left the pastry on his receptionist’s desk. If he sees it, he will know I left it there, meaning there would only be one reason I left without saying anything - he would know I saw. That just limits the time I have to get my stuff and get out of here.
