I can’t speak, so instead I squeeze her hand. Because I know and I love her, and I love my friends, and I love my family. I’m so blessed with them.
“Are you going to tell him?”
“I…” A sob escapes. “I left him for a reason.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want him to be the father of my child.” That’s when I lose it. Because Josh was a monster. He was verbally and emotionally abusive with the threat of physical abuse. For overa year, practically from the moment I moved in with him, he was like that. And I lived with it for far longer than I should have.
I was the girl no guy had ever wanted to date. Who had been teased and ridiculed because I wasn’t pretty. I had big, thick glasses and bad teeth that needed two rounds of braces, and I was short and chubby and awkward with hair so blonde it’s practically white that never sat right on me and a face with features that never quite fit together.
I was the ugly duckling. A very late bloomer.
By the end of college, I felt better about myself, and then when I started as a nurse at Children’s and caught the eye of Dr. Josh Wesley, I was over the moon. Incredulous, too. I thought he was after my money or family, but he assured me it was me he wanted. And for six months, it was incredible.
He was everything. And the things he wasn’t, I overlooked or ignored or explained away. He tried to make me have an orgasm. I couldn’t. I was still that duckling with a lot of self-esteem issues that I was working on, but they weren’t all gone either. Anytime we’d have sex and I wouldn’t finish, he became angry and resentful and mean. I started faking orgasms so he’d feel better about himself. I started wearing more makeup, even to bed, so I’d wake up with some on because he told me I wasn’t pretty without it.
He’d be stressed from work and come home and take it out on me, complaining and belittling everything I was doing. Everything I was. My music was awful. My cooking sucked. My clothes were hideous and made me look fat. He’d rage if another guy talked to me. He’d call me any bad name he could think of whenever he drank a little too much or even when he didn’t. Stupid. Ugly. Fat. Frigid. Useless. Embarrassing. And any synonym for those he could conjure up.
Then it progressed. He’d take my neck in his hand, sometimes he’d squeeze, sometimes he’d just threaten to. But thethreat was real, and it was there. He had all the power over my life, and I had none. I couldn’t sleep. I hardly ate. I was scared all the fucking time. Terrified one wrong move or word would throw him over the edge. I distanced myself from the people in my life because I was afraid they’d see what I’d become.
When I’d build up enough courage to call him out on his behavior, he’d tell me I was being crazy or overly emotional or find another way to brush it off and gaslight me.
Naturally all of this was interspersed with loving moments. With tender moments. With good days. Enough so that I’d rationalize his behaviors. I’d tell myself it’s just a bad day at work or he’s just a little stressed, and if I loved him, I’d take the good with the bad. That’s what people in relationships do. He loved me, right?
And I wasn’t perfect. Maybe he was right about some of those things. A lot of those things. After all, I’d heard them most of my life from other people who didn’t claim to love me. So maybe he was right. Maybe I was lucky he loved me, and I should accept the bad for the good.
Those were the horrible, toxic, destructive thoughts I’d have.
I never told anyone. Not until after I left him. I felt so much shame and humiliation, I couldn’t bear for anyone to know. He was the first guy to ever want me, and maybe this was just how it went for girls like me. I didn’t really get what was happening or what he was doing. Not fully. Not to the extent I should have.
Not till we had an in-service on spotting signs of abuse in our patients, and then I saw it all, clear as day.
I called Micha in Africa and sobbed to him for an hour. I don’t know why I called him. Maybe because he was so far away and couldn’t do much other than listen. He told me if I didn’t leave him immediately and start demanding better for myself, he was going to fly home and make me. I packed my things and moved them into his place before I went home andtold Josh that I was leaving him. I was afraid that if my things were still there, he would be able to convince me to stay.
I left him, and for the last seven weeks, I’ve made myself believe that I am beautiful. That I am special. That I am deserving of every incredible thing this world has to offer me. I’ve become more of the woman I want to be. The one with confidence. The one living her life for herself and no one else, while not taking the shit men like to hand out. It’s a work in progress, but I’ve been working it, and fighting for it, and really starting to own it.
Now I’m pregnant with his baby. And I have no idea what I’m going to do about it.
13
ASTON
“Ah! It’s snowing!” Zoey shrieks, jumping up and down like a wild child in front of the window. “Daddy, look. It’s snowing!”
“I see, sweetie.” I laugh despite my foul mood. I don’t know why it’s eating at me as much as it is. It’s exactly as Skylar asked. What do I care if she dates? It’s good if she does. Preferable even. All I know is I’m stupidly fixated on it. Wondering where she is with him. What they’re doing. If he’s making her smile and laugh. If she’s letting him touch her, kiss her, do more…
I blow out a frustrated breath.
I’m just lonely, and it’s been way, way too long since I’ve been with a woman.
“Do you want to go out—” My words get cut off as my phone rings. I pull it from my pocket and see it’s my mother. “Hi Mom,” I answer.
“Hi! How would you feel about Zoey having a sleepover here tonight? I have a new princess baking kit that Rina bought me for her, and I thought it would be fun to have a princess tea party with it. It’d also give you a chance to go out and have some adult time for yourself.”
I snicker. “Adult time?”
“I’m not going to ask how you spend it. I just know you need it.”
