April of 1943
The sound of Wayne's snores filled the silent house. I watched him from the kitchen table with the daily newspaper in my hand, looking for any movement that would tell me he was going to wake up. I was a bit afraid for when he would wake up.
It had been about two weeks since Wayne found out both of his older brothers had died. I tried to comfort him, but he would only push me away. Not only emotionally, but physically as well. I understood the fact that he wanted to be left alone, but the way he's starting to put his hands on me aggressively is beginning to bother me.
He had first pushed me when he stormed out of the house the day his brothers' telegrams arrived. I tried not to think too deeply into it since the news was still fresh and his emotions were in control of him. It happened a few more times though. His tone of voice made being near him even scarier. He tended to yell at me more, so I've started to stay out of his way and not talk to him. I want to give him his space to slowly heal. I hope he's able to take control of himself again and not let his emotions control him so much.
I suddenly snapped out of my thoughts as I heard movement coming from the living room. I tensed up as Wayne came into the kitchen, but I continued to act like I was reading the daily newspaper.
"Why the hell isn't dinner ready yet?" he asked with his voice slightly raised. I looked up to see him standing right beside me. All of a sudden, the newspaper that was in my hands was yanked away, crumpled up, and thrown across the kitchen. I quickly got up from my seat at the kitchen table and headed towards the cupboards.
"I'm sorry, Wayne. I'll start on it right away," I quickly said and I could feel his eyes watching me. He grumbled and went to the alcohol cabinet and pulled out a bottle of bourbon whiskey before going into the living room.
I tried to calm myself down the best I could as I made dinner. Watching Wayne grab a bottle from the alcohol cabinet for the second time today left me feeling even more afraid. If Wayne continues to turn to alcohol as comfort, things are going to get a whole lot worse.
*2 months later*
It had finally happened. Wayne had gone beyond just pushing me. A few weeks ago, I was going into the kitchen while he was leaving it to go towards the bedroom which meant we had to walk past each other. We went from side to side a few times when we met at the center since we weren't sure which way the other was going. When we finally figured it out, I giggled a bit. All of a sudden, he spun me around aggressively and slapped my cheek really hard.
"Nothing's funny. Don't laugh," he whispered, his face very close to mine. His breath was made up of the strong scent of alcohol. He then pushed me onto the ground and went into our bedroom. I felt like bursting into tears because of the pain that was now beginning to set into my cheek. I didn't though because I knew it would only make things worse for me. Things eventually did get worse even if I felt I was on my best behavior.
Wayne picked up a habit of drinking and smoking very quickly. That's all he would do when he arrived home from work. He made me stop working because he felt I "couldn't be trusted." He probably suspected I was going to leave him if he didn't have a tight leash around me. He decided that I would stay home from now on and that I couldn't speak to my family.
I hadn't spoken to my family in about a month. Who knows if they are even worried about me. Either Wayne is hiding their letters if they are writing to me or they probably figure Wayne and I are just "too madly in love" to stop by.
As long as I did as I was told, things weren't so bad. The Wayne I had fallen in love with was somewhere inside of him, but I just have to give him more time to mourn and I'll be here to comfort him when he needs me eventually. I also know deep down that he loves me. If things get worse though, I don't know what I'll do. I guess I'll just save worrying about that for later.