Denise cleared the dinner dishes and began running the water for the pots and pans. Mitch sat on the couch watching the news, smoking and drinking a beer. He flicked his ashes in the general direction of the ashtray, missing it completely, and exhaled absently. He started channel surfing over the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen, mixing with the irritating ‘swoosh’ of the dishwasher running.
“Goddammit, Denise,” he hollered, “Can’t you friggin’ wait to run the dishwasher? I can’t hear myself think!” Denise rolled her eyes in the kitchen, thinking to herself, ‘If I don’t start it right away, he gets pissed that it’s running when he’s trying to sleep… I can’t win.’ She heaved a heavy sigh.
“Sorry, Mitch,” she called back to him. “I know you have a busy day tomorrow and I didn’t want to keep you up with it running later.”
“Well, then, at least keep the noise down doing the pots, would you?” he snarled. “It’s really fucking annoying!”
“Okay,” Denise answered, wearily. “I’ll do them in the morning before I go to work, then.”
“Whatever,” he muttered. “Just make sure they get done.” Denise turned off the faucet and let the pots soak in the sudsy water. She dried her hands on the dishtowel and looked around the kitchen.
“Hmmmm…” she mused aloud. “I may as well set up the coffee for tomorrow. That way I’ll be ahead of the game in the morning.” She continued puttering around the kitchen for a few minutes, replaying in her mind the conversation she’d had with Andy that morning. She almost floated on air remembering the sound of his voice, and picturing his gorgeous blue eyes winking at her the night before. She was desperate to check her email and see if he’d answered her, but knew she couldn’t risk it while Mitch was home. She finished up in the kitchen and joined her husband in the living room. She eased her ample pregnant self into her favorite spot on the loveseat, propped up her feet, and glanced at the television.
“You’re not going to play pool tonight?” she asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. Mitch glanced at his watch in alarm.
“Shit!” he snapped, whipping the remote control at his wife in anger, catching her forehead dead center. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me it was after seven? Now I’m going to be late!” Mitch scrambled into the bedroom, still screaming at Denise. “Where the hell is my jersey? Did you even remember to wash it? And I don’t want to hear any lame-ass excuses about hormones or pregnancy related bullshit!” Rubbing the welt on her forehead tenderly, Denise hauled herself out of the loveseat and went to the laundry basket full of Mitch’s clean and neatly folded clothes. She carefully pulled out the jersey he wore for good luck to play billiards in, and brought it to him.
“It’s right here, Mitch,” she said softly, afraid to meet his gaze. “All washed and pressed, just the way you like it.” She stretched her arm out, offering the shirt to him almost as an apology. Mitch grasped her wrist harshly and twisted it, causing her to fall to her knees in both pain and terror. “Mitch!” she screamed, panic rising in her voice. “What did I do? What did I say??” She peered up at him, with the expression of a wounded puppy. Mitch leaned into her with his face only inches from hers. She could smell the sickening combination of smoke and beer on his breath as he hissed his reply at her.
“How many fucking times do I have to tell you to go easy on the starch on this shirt?” His eyes spit fire at her as he continued, “I can’t stand this shirt being so damned stiff I can’t move my elbows to swing the cue stick!”
“Mitch,” Denise pleaded, trying to snatch her arm out of his grasp. Mitch tightened his hold and twisted harder. “I didn’t even USE starch this time! Not a single drop!” Tears began welling up in her eyes as she tried to get him to release her.
“What? So now you’re calling me a LIAR?” he roared furiously, shoving her violently the rest of the way to the floor. Towering over her, he crossed his arm in front him, palm open, back of his hand facing her, threatening to hit her. “Stop your goddamned sniveling you ungrateful little bitch! I work hard all fucking week, and sometimes on weekends too, and you call me a fucking liar?” He brought his hand down, catching her on the chin, just above her jaw-line. She yelped in pain and shrank back in terror. “This is the LAST time I’ll wear this shirt like this. Do it again, and you’ll get worse than that!” An evil grin twisted at the corners of his mouth. “Test me if you think I’m kidding, sweetheart. Test me.”
“N-n-no-o-o, M-m-mi-itch,” she stuttered, tears streaking her face. “I-i-I kn-o-o-w you aren’t kidding.” Denise took a deep breath and steadied her voice, “It won’t happen again, I promise.” Mitch stood upright, stepped over his wife and strode back to the living room, pulling the jersey on over his head as he walked.
“Good,” he flung the word over his shoulder at her smugly. “As long as we understand each other then,” Mitch grabbed his cigarettes and his keys, and walked out the door. Not once did he look at his pregnant wife to see if she was hurt. Denise heard the roar of the truck as it came to life, and the crunch of the tires as her husband pulled out of the driveway. Only then did she dare to sob uncontrollably, clutching her wrist with her other hand. Gingerly, she squeezed at the injured wrist to try and determine if it was broken or just bruised. She moved it carefully, side to side, front and back, and then started wrangling herself to her feet. As she moved to the bathroom mirror to look at her jaw, which smarted something fierce, the doorbell rang and she jumped out of her skin.
“Oh, shit!” she muttered out loud, “who could that be?” Denise knew she didn’t have enough time to cover the bruises on her face before she answered the door, and she cringed. “Coming!” she hollered as she waddled into the living room. She peered out the peep-hole to see who was calling. Hanging her head, she pulled the door open for her neighbors. “Hi, Ralph. Hi, Melanie,” she whispered. “Come in, please.” Denise drew back into the house as her neighbors followed.
“Denise! Oh my God! Ralph, look at her!” Melanie sprang to Denise’s side and gently lifted her neighbor’s face for her husband to see. “I TOLD you I heard something!” she snapped at her spouse, annoyed. “We HAVE to call the police! Get the phone, Ralph and call 9-1-1!”
“NO!” Denise cried, recoiling from Melanie’s touch and Ralph’s prying gaze. “You CAN’T do that! PLEASE!” she pleaded, fear and pain dripping from every word. She looked wildly from one to the other as the panic continued to rise in her voice. “Please,” she begged again, more softly this time, “You don’t understand,” Denise sighed and her shoulders slumped. “He’ll come back in a few hours drunk, most likely, and it will be so much worse for me if you call the cops.” She looked imploringly at her neighbors, knowing they’d become valuable allies when the time was right – if she could ever muster enough courage to leave. “I promise, I’ll work on convincing him to get help, or,” she sucked her breath in sharply, “make plans to leave him soon if he refuses. Please, just give me a little more time.” Melanie and Ralph looked at each other and then back at Denise.
“All right,” they agreed reluctantly. “We’ll wait a little longer. Is there anything we can do for you tonight?”
“No,” Denise replied. “Thank you. I’m just going to balance the checkbook on the internet and go to bed. I promise I’ll call if I need you when he gets back.” She managed a weak smile. “Thank you so much for checking in on me. I’ll be okay. Honest.” The Roths left, closing the door gently behind them.
Denise pulled out the computer chair, and lowered herself gently into it. She logged in to her hotmail account. Her heart leaped into her throat and she could feel her cheeks flush when she saw Andrew had replied. She opened it, her hand shaking slightly, nervous.
‘Denise, I look forward to getting to know you better, as well. You are an incredible woman, and I’m honored that you feel comfortable with me. I hope you know you can turn to me for anything, and I will do whatever I can to help you. I don’t mean to pry or overstep my boundaries with you, but I can tell just from our brief meeting and stolen chats last night that you are suffering in some way. I do hope that you will trust me enough to open up to me about it. My heart goes out to you with whatever you’re keeping bottled up. Let me know if I can do anything to help. If I have a spare minute between rounds tonight, I’ll call. Warmest wishes, Andy.’
Denise’s eyes misted again, but this time they were the warm tears of joy. She couldn’t believe how observant Andy was, or how kind. She’d been with Mitch so long she simply wasn’t used to a man being kind or gentle – or caring. She replied to his email swiftly.
‘Andy, thank you so much! You really have such a big heart! I’m not used to that. Perhaps some weekend if Mitch gets called to work we can chat on the phone and I can try to talk a little about what’s going on… I don’t want to get you involved, but it might help me to at least talk to an outsider about this stuff. Tonight isn’t a good night for me talk, and I do apologize. I’m turning in early… my energy is zapped by this little critter growing inside me, lol. I do hope we can talk soon. Good night – until later. D.’
Denise signed out of her email and erased the evidence from the history bar. She knew enough to cover her tracks, otherwise Mitch would go off on her and demand her information to log in and read her personal emails. She simply couldn’t risk it, especially considering how his violence seemed to escalate daily. ‘It’ll never happen again,’ she thought to herself, shaking her head sadly. ‘How many times have I heard that before?’ She glanced at the clock and decided it was still early enough to call Anne and let her know what happened.
“Hello?” Anne answered promptly on the first ring, as though she sensed her friend was calling.
“Hi, Anne,” Denise said, exhaustion evident in her voice. “Mitch freaked out again…” her voice trailed off.
“Oh, no!” Anne cried, worried. “What happened this time?”
“He swore I used too much starch on his jersey and then freaked out because I told him I didn’t use any at all… Accused me of calling him a liar.”
“How bad was it?” Anne asked crisply. “Do I need to come over?”
“Well,” Denise sighed, “that depends… can I borrow your corrective green?”
“Oh my GOD! Did he hit you again??”
“I have a small bruise, it’s nothing to get excited over,” Denise lied. “Really, it’s fine.” Before Anne could respond, Denise heard the all-too-familiar rev of Mitch’s truck engine. “Oh, dammit! Mitch is pulling in the drive. I have to go! He’ll be pissed that I called you!” She hung up before her friend could protest, and leaped into bed.
Mitch let himself in the house quietly, and tip-toed into their bedroom. He sat lightly next to his wife on the bed, and pushed her hair out of her face tenderly. Denise opened her eyes and raised them to meet his gaze.
“I didn’t expect you home so soon,” she whispered.
“I know,” he answered softly. “I couldn’t stay out knowing that you were upset.” Mitch leaned down and kissed her bruise tenderly. “I brought you something,” he breathed in her ear. He lifted a brown paper bag off the floor, and pulled out her favorite flavor of ice cream. His eyes sparkled. “Peppermint-stick for my lady. Nothing but the best. I’ll get you a spoon.” He stopped in the doorway and looked back at Denise. “I’m so sorry, honey. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I really don’t mean it! You know that, right?” Denise could see tears filling his eyes as he spoke, and she couldn’t believe it.
“Yes, Mitch,” she replied softly. “I know.” She watched him leave the room. ‘Can he really change?’ she asked herself. ‘Is it possible?’ She decided to discuss couples therapy with him when he came back with the spoon… “No time like the present,” she muttered under her breath.
“What was that, sweetheart?” Mitch’s voice startled her, and she jumped involuntarily.
“Um, I, uh, said, what a thoughtful present!” she replied, regaining her senses quickly. “Thank you.”
“It’s really a very small gesture considering what I put you through earlier,” he whimpered. “I can’t believe I did that! Are you hurt badly?” He stroked her face lovingly.
“No, hun, it’s nothing. Really,” she answered. ‘I’m not going to press my luck right now,’ she considered silently. ‘I know the Mitch I fell in love with is in there somewhere.’ She quietly resolved to herself to wait a few days before mentioning therapy to him. She happily had some ice cream, and they went to bed.
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