“He did.” Tears flowed freely.
“You know that the miscarriage was not your fault.”
I nodded. “He reminded me that I had considered an abortion and said that the baby knew I had never wanted it and that it had chosen to leave my body for those reasons. He went further than that and said that I didn’t deserve to be a mother and no baby deserved me because I would be an awful mother. He listed all of the things that made me a bad person. He told me I wouldn’t get pregnant anyway because I was too fat, that my body couldn’t even do the one thing it had been made for and that I was stupid, incompetent.”
“Danni—”
I cut him off. “I know. I do, really. I think he wanted me to get pregnant though so he would have more of a hold over me. All of the words Jess had said to me about him never letting me go and me never being rid of him would keep me awake for hours, but I was scared.”
“Of losing another baby?”
If only it had been that simple. “No, I was scared that if I left, Mike would kill himself like he’d threatened.”
“You know that you can’t be responsible for Mike and his actions, for anyone else’s actions and you can’t allow your own life to be painful and abused in order to remove the risk of someone making that choice.” His words were a statement more than they were a question.
“I do now, always did, I suppose, but I did feel guilty about the baby and genuinely sad, but because I believed Mike was sadder about the baby, I felt I needed to make it up to him by staying.”
“But you didn’t stay?”
“No. I didn’t. There was a wedding. Someone Mike knew and he said we needed to go. We had never been to functions like that. I had never met his family and he never spoke of them, so it was unexpected to be told that I needed to go with him. He chose what I wore, and it was wholly inappropriate. I looked like a prostitute in a bright red dress that was too short, too low, and I felt uncomfortable. The reception was in a hotel and every time I got up or went to the bathroom or the bar, people looked at me because I was so overdressed, or underdressed. It was getting late and people were drunk. Some bloke approached me and made a pass at me, going so far as to grab my bottom. I freaked out and we ended up causing a scene. Mike was furious and rather than defend me, he apologised to the guy and then took me to one side and told me if I dressed like a whore I should expect to be treated like one.”
“He said that, even though he chose the outfit for you?”
“He went so far as to make me apologise to the guy and anyone who had witnessed mecausing a scene.”
“I did it, I apologised, I didn’t point out that I was wearing what he had chosen with what I suspected was the sole intention of making me stand out and embarrass me, but then, he said to the man that he’d make sure I learnt my lesson once he got me home and that naughty girls needed space and time to think about their behaviour.”
“What did he mean?”
“The cupboard. He had started saying that to me before he put me in there so I knew what he meant and the last time I’d been in there he left me all night, so I had no clue how long I’d be in there for. I couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t. It was as though the ears of the world were listening because a song came on. It was a song that Jess and I used to belt out after a couple of drinks and we once did it at a karaoke bar in Spain when we were on holiday.”
“What was the song?”
“Stronger,but the best line iswhat doesn’t kill you.”
“Very apt.”
“Yeah. At that moment I realised that Mike was killing me, not physically but from the inside out, he was killing all I had been, all I was, and everything I ever could be.”
“What did you do?”
“I excused myself to go to the ladies and snuck off to the main hotel reception and asked them to help me. I don’t recall exactly what I said but there are codes you can use in clubs and bars so I think I said something about that and the receptionist took me into an office, called her manager and they helped me. They offered to call the police, but I just needed to get out of there so I gave them the only number I could remember.”
“Your parents?”
“Jess.”
“And did she answer?”
“She did but was out of the country so she called my parents who came to me and took me home. Mike was still there when they collected me and my dad told him if he ever came near me again he would kill him and make it look like an accident.” I laughed. “My dad really wouldn’t know how to kill anyone never mind make it look accidental but I appreciated the sentiment. What he actually did was to get a solicitor friend to obtain an injunction and made me report everything to the police even if I wouldn’t press charges. My mum came with me and that was the worst bit, how sad she was to know what had happened to me. For the next year I hid away and then for six months I talked about what I might do but did nothing.”
“What changed?”
“Kelly Clarkson.”
“What?”
I laughed at the counsellor’s confused expression. “She sang that song I told you about. Well, I was talking about all the things I could do for the umpteenth time and as I walked out of the room, that song came on and it was like the universe was talking to me. I contacted the university and the hospital and looked at getting on a foundation course. I had an interview and was offered a place. There was a doctor who interviewed me and at the end she suggested counselling. I hadn’t told her what had happened but eluded to a bad relationship and a miscarriage being the reason as to why I hadn’t already completed the course. She gave me a list of counsellors.”
