Myron and I were together for nine years when I fell pregnant with our daughter, Hazel. We were both very excited but made sure to take extra care and have regular checkups after what had happened with Liam. She was born in late October and she was a real blessing. She had thick black hair and big green eyes. Mother cried and said she was the spitting image of me when I was young. Our family was finally complete and we coudn't be happier.
I'm happy to say that the following years after the first incident of Myron hitting me, he kept to his word and never once harmed me. I was his lovely wife and he wouldn't ever let anything hurt me. When our daughter was born, Myron had taken us both in his arms and had promised over and over that he wouldn't ever let anyone harm us, we were his girls.
Unfourtunatly, by the time Hazel was six, that promise was nothing but a forgotten fourtune. By the time Hazel was seven, we were living prisoners in our own home. Everyday we were living in fear of what would happen next. I had resigned from my job at the newspaper office as soon as Hazel was born as Myron said it was my duty to stay home and look after her. I spent each day thoroughly cleaning the house from top to bottom, on my hands and knees. Everything had to be done a particular way, cleaned to perfection. I felt like I was stuck in a different time period. But I knew better then to talk back to my husband.
"A woman should not speak with such filth, you should speak with respect, I'll knock that out of you straight away." He had once threatened when I accidently had cursed after banging my foot on the edge of the dining room table.
The loving, caring man that I fell in love with became a controlling monster. The young, hardworking woman that I once was became an exhausted, desperate girl.
Hazel was a very small and timid child. She was very beautiful and was always the centre of attention, although she was extremly shy and wouldn't speak unless spoken to. Everybody adored her. Her liqourice coloured hair was shoulder lenghth and I often tied it into a french braid with a purple ribbon and Hazel would gasp delightidly, examiming herself in the mirror, twirling left and right to see her new hairstyle from all angles. Mother had always complimented how grown up she looked. She was very smart and enjoyed going to school. The staff spoke very highly of her and called her their "favourite little helper." She had many friends and was the girl all the children longed to be friends with. She was kind to all of her classmates and made sure nobody was left out. I felt very proud of her. Hazel and I were the best of friends, not just mother and daughter. As Hazel grew older, Myron became more persistent in his control over us, though at times it was very hard to acknowledge. Hazel had grown up in a household where bad manners led to severe punishment. When she was just two years old, Hazel had thrown a tantrum in the middle of a busy supermarket one afternoon and Myron had taken her straight home and hit her with the belt that he kept in his bed side table for such wrong doings. I had been making dinner in the kitchen when I had heard an ear piercing scream and I shot off running through the house to find Myron restraining our daughter as she kicked and screamed on the bedroom floor, red in the face.
"Help me hold her down!" He had demanded, reaching for his belt and looping it around his hands while Hazel fought under her Fathers weight. I had screamed at him to get off of her but he insisted he taught her a lesson to 'snap her' into shape.
"Hastings women don't act like wild bleedin animals in public! I will not be humliated like that again. Ever!"
I had lunged at him, clawing at his back, thumping him hard with my fists in fear of my child being badly harmed, but Myron had swung the belt aimlessly and caught the side of my jaw with an almighty crack. I had fallen to the floor, clutching the side of my face in antagonising agony. I lay on the ground, my eyes parted only slightly, my mouth throbbing.
"Myron please-"
His silhouette rose up and with a quick swipe he hit Hazel on the side of her ribs, making her shriek out in pain. I screamed at him and with desperation grabbed the nearest object and aimlessly made a swing for him, hitting him sharp across the face with an almighty blow. He fell to his side, roaring in pain. Hazel lay clutching her side, wailing, her face flushed crimson. I quickly crawled to her and lifted her into my arms before making an escape for the door, leaving Myron sprawled out on the floor face down, his legs twisted out in odd angles.
Unfortunately, this wasn't the first, nor was it the last, beating that my daughter had endured. As she got older, she became more wiser to her Father's expectations. But she was still a young girl, terrified in her own home. Hazel often wet the bed and had terrible nightmares. I would lie away most nights, waiting for a single sound, waiting for her to suddenly scream out in her sleep. I would dash out of bed, leaving Myron stirring beside me. I would find Hazel sat bolt up right in her bed, breathing heavily, her body trembling. I would sit beside of her on her bed and hold her until she resettled. Once back to sleep, I would kiss her goodnight and then head back to my own bedroom. Sometimes Myron would be awake and as I would climb back into bed beside of him he would groan, "That kid needs help, this isn't normal."
It wasn't just her home life that was being effected.
One morning when Myron had gone to work and Hazel to school, the telephone rang. I immediately put down my cleaning instruments and rushed to it. Myron telephoned every so often during the day to 'keep a eye' on me. I was always on alert for the ring, aware that I mustn't miss his call like that one time when I had been on the toilet and had unintentionally missed it. My heart had dropped when I had seen the red bleep on the telephones answer machine. I clicked the button and waited for the automatic voice to finish, alerting me that I had one new message. I waited, biting my thumbnail anxiously.
The beep had only just sounded when Myron began screaming through the speaker.
"Where the fuck are you? Is there someone there, cause I've got people watching out for me you know, so you better not have. I bet you're just ignoring me, typical ungrateful cow can't even be arsed to answer the phone to your husband while he's kindly taken time out from his work to check in on his wife. Pathetic."
By the time the message had finished I had already scrambled through the telephone book and picked out my husbands office number and waited to dial, my heart pounding. I punched in the number. The palms of my hands had felt horribly sweaty and I had wiped them on my trousers. Myron had answered on the third ring with Sarcasm in his voice, "Oh so you've finally taken the time out of your busy life to telephone your husband?"
I had apologised over and over again and reassured him that I was indeed alone and was just using the bathroom. When Myron came home that night, he had slapped me for being so useless.
Flustered, I quickly answered the phone and prepared myself for a grilling. I was met with an unfamiliar female voice.
"H-hello?" I stammered.
"Hello is this Mrs Hastings?" The voice spoke.
"Yes, who's calling please? My husband is not at home if you would prefer to call back later-" My throat felt scratchy and dry, my voice like it belonged to a young girl.
"No that's quite alright Mrs Hastings. This is Mrs Monroe, head of Oakland Primary school. I was wondering if it would be possible for you to come to the school as soon as possible?"
"What is this regarding please, as I said my husband is at work-" My voice trailed of. I was aware that Myron could telephone at any moment and he would not be thrilled if he found out that I was on the line to someone without his permission. I bit my lip as I stood with the phone pressed to ear, wondering what on earth I was to do.
"It's regarding your daughter Hazel, but I would prefer to discuss this face to face. I am teaching a class in five minutes but I am free this lunchtime, around one o'clock if that is a suitable time for you?"
"Yes that's fine, I'll be there then." I said quickly.
"Great. I'll meet you in the reception at one. Goodbye." She hung up.
Hazel? What could have possibly happened? Was she being bullied? Had she missed some homework? No, of course she hadn't. She knew that she must always complete her work the moment she came home.
I looked to the clock on the wall above the fireplace which showed that it was almost ten minutes past twelve.
I rapidly begun dialling my husbands work number and hoped that he would answer. He did.
"Arleen is that you? Why are you ringing me at work?"
"Myron, the school have just telephoned and the head has asked me to go to the school this afternoon-"
"Why what she done? Been disruptive has she? I knew it. I told you didn't I, she's nothing like I was as a kid, takes after you she does." He said miffed.
"I-I'm not sure-she- she didn't say."
"Oh right. Well then you better get up there and find out what that brat has been up to."
"Me?" I asked taken aback. Was he really going to allow me to leave the house?
"Yes you, you don't expect me to go up there do you? I have more important things to be doing you know, like making us a living."
"Well yes- I just meant that I don't know how I will get up there. I don't have any money."
"Give me strength, right I guess I'll have to give you some. There's some notes under my antique vase in the bedroom. Take ten pounds out. But I want the change. Make sure you catch the right bus. You go the school and then get straight back home, do you hear? And don't go speaking to anyone, because I'll know."
So why didn't I leave him? Why didn't I take that incident as a threat of the future that would lay awaiting if we stayed?
I wish I could say that after that day things got better, but I would be lying of course. Over the years that followed, Myron became someone I didn't recognise. I was living with a stranger. Each hour of the day I was walking on egg shells, scared of doing or saying the wrong thing. He craved confrontation and fed off of vulnerability. My daughter and I were like emotionless robots. We both knew all too well not to show any form of weakness, that would for sure be asking for a beating. I quickly, yet somehow unknowingly, became Myron's string puppet and he was the puppeteer. I obeyed by his rules as though I was walking a tightrope and never knew when I would fall to my death, which step would determine my fate. Myron was very testing and instructed that I stand up for myself and argue back.
"Why aren't you arguing back, if you really cared you would. See, you don't give a damn about me!" He would blast. That wasn't the truth obviously. I cared about him more then I did with anyone. I however was frightened of talking back to him, he had the upper hand. It would be like adding fuel to an already blaring flame. I often said nothing at all and sat paralysed with fear as he screamed insults, projecting his own issues onto me, in complete denial that he had done anything at all wrong. It made Myron become even more agitated when I didn't fight back and would accuse me of using him and made a point of stating that if I really did love him I wouldn't neglect him.I felt like I was stuck on a hamster wheel, repeating the same thing everyday. . During this time, I began self harming. It was a way of letting out all the anger and pain that had been bottling up. Although I had Hazel, we would keep our distance. Myron said he hadn't liked how we had been plotting against him and cruelly isolating him when he had arrived home one evening to find Hazel and I reading one of her fairy-tale books on the sofa, snuggled up beneath a blanket. We had both apologised persistently and had ensured that it would never happen again, though I never regretted it. Hazel and I rarely spent any time together, doing things normal families would. We weren't allowed to watch television or play board games together, they were a distraction from what we should be doing. The television set belonged to Myron and sometimes we were allowed to accompany him in watching although it would always be his choice of programme. Hazel and I never requested a certain show, we were just happy to be able to watch television. Whilst Myron was out,he would take the remote with him to ensure we didn't touch his possessions.
"-Because I'll know if someone has been messing with my things, Arleen. Don't tempt yourself. You know the consequences."
Our home became a museum of Myron's worldly belongings. Hazel was forbidden to play with toys, her Father had scoffed and said she was far too old to play with silly dolls. Instead he purchased a large encyclopedia with no pictures and a rather vast amount of text that no child would ever be able to understand and said education was more important. He had locked all of her toys that friends and family had bought for her over the years in the shed at the bottom of the garden. He had taken us both with him to make sure we knew what our priorities were and as he smugly heaved the load into the shed without a seconds thought, Hazel stared hard at the ground, trying her hardest to keep face and not show her Father how much she was hurting. It hurt my heart and I discreetly held her hand behind her back, my blood running cold.
Hazel was a sweet girl and it hurt incredibly knowing that she was missing out on the childhood that for most of her classmates at school was normal. She was deprived of having the experiences all children should have. Myron had commanded from the start that Hazel was not to bring friends home, neither could she attend their homes if invited. I had intervened at this, telling him that Hazel would be perfectly fine and that he could always telephone the parents. He had stopped short and frowned as his face settled to confusion as though I had just suggested that we send our young daughter to the zoo to play with the lions unattended.
"Oh but of course! How stupid of me! How foolish of me to want to protect my daughter. I don't need her mixing with them snot nosed kids and their benefit stealing families, telling them all our business. How could you be so stupid Arleen. You'd forget your head if it wasn't screwed on."
"I'm not being stupid if you would just listen-" I tried, standing in front of him with my hands pressed against his chest, in hope he would see my plea ethical but he had flung his head back and roared with laughter. I took a sharp step back, realising my unintended error and waited for my penance. I instinctively tilted my head to the side and screwed my eyes shut waiting for the strike, but it never came. Slowly opening my eyes, I felt a warm, clammy hand press against my cheek. Myron stepped closer so we were almost chest to chest. He looked down at me and said softly "Oh Arl, when are you going learn."