I'm Sorry, I love you

Chapter 37

When I wake it is still dark outside. The usual hum of traffic replaced with the occasional slurred shout from a drunk passing by. The only thing I have ever disliked about living where Michael and I do is the nightclub jot too far from us. Friday and Saturday nights almost always consist of the intoxicated singing out of key, arguing or shouting as the pass by headed for home and the awaiting hangover. I reach for my phone checking the time. 3am. I've slept a whole day away, I'm shocked to discover as I spot the date. I've a single text from Michael telling me he'll be home later that evening.

The house is still. Michael is still gone. Where did he say he was again? Oh, that's right. A business trip. Knowing he's not due to return until much later gives me some comfort ahead of what I'm about to do. Leaving the home Michael and I made together isn't going to be easy, that much I know for certain, but if he were here it would be altogether impossible. There's no way he would let me pass through the door without a fight. Like a lion defending it's last scrap of meat.

Pack light. That's what I'll do. Just a few clothes, anything sentimental that I can easily carry. Nothing I don't absolutely need. Nothing that will slow me down. I don't have the time nor the means to take everything I had planned to. I grab my suitcase from the bottom of my wardrobe, heaving it onto the bed and flipping it open. I haven't time to fold so I toss in garment after garment. The teddy Michaelhad beheaded and thrown at me days earlier, head crudely sewn back on, and my copy of Lorna Doone make a nest atop everything else. The few photos stacked beside them, smiling faces looking up at me as though to encourage my movements. Swiftly followed by my toiletries and make up, hairbrush and hairdryer, jewellery and purse. I double check my I.D, Michael's cash and my bank card are inside my handbag, nestle Daisy's collar inside, do everything up and sigh. This is it. I'm really doing it. I'm really going to leave. Right now.

But I still have the dilemma of where  I will go? I can't go to Mum's. I already know it would be the first place Michael would look. I haven't any friends. Friendships long since dissolved as my marriage and the abuse, started. Id turned my back on them even when they'd needed me so I've no right to expect their support. I've only one option. Only one person I can trust and depend on. The question is, will he answer me after all this time?

I dial Andrew's number, I know it by heart now. It rings several times before an automated voice tells me to leave a message at the tone. I break down telling him everything. I tell him about the rape, the beatings, the death of my child and Daisy. I tell him about the black book and the safe combination. Everything flows freely from my lips as I sob, hoping he'll be able to understand what I'm saying if he chooses to listen to this message. Hoping he'll pick me up and take me somewhere safe as I ask him to. I hope he does. I need him to. I have no one else to turn to. With nothing left to say, no more begging I can do, I hang up and wait.

I pace around the bedroom, everything suddenly so ugly to me. Everything tainted with memories I wish I could forget. The vanity mirror I'd once spend time brushing my hair and applying make up in front of now a witness to the horrors. Forever etched into the glass. The bed I'd once found to be a safe haven now a constant reminder of a time I felt so utterly weak and defenceless, the wood chipped where handcuffs kept me captive. A once light room is heavy with darkness and pain.

My phone lights up, vibrating on the bed. I race forward hoping it's Andrew, praying it isn't Michael telling me he's coming home early. It's neither. A news article telling me a snow storm is due. I need to do something. Standing around waiting is driving me crazy. If Andrew isn't here within the next hour, if I've not heard from him, I'll call a taxi and improvise from there. I pace the room again, picking at my nails as the minutes tick by. The silence is deafening. My eyes never wander far from my mobile, each time hopeful that it will light up with Andrew's name displayed in bold letters. There's no point hiding his number now. I'd kept it deleted for the entirety of our time together but I need to be able to see the caller ID from a distance. I walk around to the side of the bed, debating calling him again, when everything begins to blur around me.

I crash into the bedside table as dizziness overwhelms me. The vintage lamp bounces off the wall smashing on impact. Oh fuck! I lean down to clean the mess, trying to scoop glass without cutting myself. What the-. A small black bead like object catches my eye. Holding it close to inspect it I let it fall from my grasp, hand covering my mouth. A fucking camera. He's been watching me! Shit. Fuck. Shit. He's been watching me. The realisation hits like Michael's kick to my stomach. He knows.

I recoil backwards, staggering along the floor until the bed hits my back. Pulling myself up I vomit onto the carpet. Oh my god. Has he watched the rape back? The beatings? Has he taken pleasure from my pain long after he finished the acts? I can't wait around for Andrew any more, I need to leave. Now. I grab my phone and dial the first taxi firm I can think of. They've no one available in the area they tell me in a matter of fact way. I Google search another, turning as a noise from the doorway captures my attention. I drop my phone with a soft thud on the floor. There, Leaning against the door frame, a rage I've never seen before in his face, is Michael. I left it too late.