Captive

What I Had Become

I walked around him and cracked open the door. His body did not allow it to open completely, but it was enough for me to get out. I was going to the exit with the bat in hand when something caught my attention.

On the kitchen counter was a package. It was a package the size of a shoebox, lined with newspaper, with only a few scraps of Dennis's information. I turned to my room looking for some sign of life, but I continued with a stillness that was rarely felt in the house. Just when the bat hit the ground I picked it up again. I went to the pantry and took out a garbage bag. With a wince, I shoved the bat into the bag. My hands had swollen considerably, they hurt, and I lacked strength. That pain reminded me that I had an emergency plan. With little sanity, I tried to remember each of the steps that I had memorized in case of a crisis.

It all started the first time naivety hit my face and snapped me into place. As soon as I could, I ran to my parents' house for shelter. There the naivety died completely.

"How can you tell me that?!” I could not believe it. My mother had given me affection and support drop by drop. And only if I kept my gaze down and obeyed every command. I allowed her to convince me and did not go to college. I got married as she asked, I did everything I could to earn her affection. Something that I still did not achieve, something that I never achieved.

"Mom, let me in ... please,” I begged. I had no one to turn to; my dad was barely able to handle his life, I didn't want to get close to my in-laws, and the three dollars I had in my pants were not very helpful. And not even thinking about the Adams, I was dying of shame just thinking about being seen like this.

"No! Go back to your home! Why have you always been so difficult? Why don't you just do what you’re meant to? I've already told you a million times. You only serve to clean bathrooms and change dirty sheets. I don't know where you got the idea that you can do any different. That you are special. We all have grudges, I have your father, you have Dennis. You are already a married woman and you swore before God to stay by your husband's side. In good and bad. I'm not going to let you break that promise too! Go back to your house!” And with that warning, she slammed the door in my face.

I closed my eyes and let helplessness fill my body. The weight of desperation settled on my chest and for a moment it didn't allow me to breathe. I sat on the step hoping that by divine work my life would be different. Yet, my life had been like this; long, slow, and full of misery. The only light at that moment was my father, my adored and alcoholic father.

In the beginning, I was constantly talking to Chris. However, life gradually made the calls more sporadic. I knew they could help me, but my shame was too great to ask them for more than what they had already given me; good memories, respect, love, that's what they gave me. I didn't want to kill the only good memories I had with my complaints, so I never complained.

I calmly applied the trick I had learned long ago. I took a deep breath and allowed all the phases to go through me; frustration, helplessness, fear, and letting panic flow so that it would not settle in my body permanently. After a few minutes or hours, I got up and in denial went to the glass cage. A modernist-style house, full of windows that allowed us to see the well-kept gardens, the same ones that had silenced the screaming and mistreatment that I had suffered during the last two years. Dead but breathing.

It all started a month after we were married; Dennis came home in a bad mood from work. He ran a car dealership his dad had given him when he dropped out of college. His father was a very influential lawyer, his office was the largest in Kansas. And he had done his best to keep his troublesome son off the radar. I had served as a perfect facade for him; pretty, obedient, docile, without a hair of ambition. A trophy wife.

From then on things went from bad to worse. I never knew what the day was going to be like. If he was in a good mood he was affectionate, attentive, splendid, a charming prince, until something clicked in his brain and he turned into an evil dragon that did everything possible to humiliate me.

After accepting that my mother was not going to allow me to leave Dennis, seeing that Dennis's family turned their backs on me without any remorse and that my poor father was annulled by my mother, I had no choice but to seek external help. I had secretly approached a center for families in crisis, where they helped women in situations of abuse. Unfortunately for me, the closest shelter was an hour's drive from home. The only time I tried to leave, Peter, one of the Great City cops and a friend of Dennis's, had dragged me back to my cage. But in what I did succeed was learning each one of the steps that I had to follow in case of a crisis

Finally, I approached the box, doubtful I turned several times to my room. The stillness that came out of her gave me the strength to keep going.

Dennis continually complained about money, it didn't stop him and he never stopped gambling. Few were the occasions where packages of this type arrived, full of money. Dennis had won the night before. I smiled devilishly in my mind, if I did it physically, it would hurt.

I grabbed the gloves I used to clean, grabbed the garbage bag, and headed to the guest room, a room that was never used. I went to the closet and from the back, I took out my emergency backpack.

In my backpack, I kept two changes of underwear, a pair of jeans, two tops, a sweatshirt, and the only gift my dad had given me, a jacket for the winter. There I kept what little I had saved. I also had a copy of important documents. It had been a triumph to get a copy of the car registration and the marriage certificate. Dennis kept all the documents under lock and key, but I'd had days and days to figure out how to get them. My birth certificate and my transcript had been easier to get. My dad had taken it upon himself to get them out of his house without my mom noticing. I put everything together following the instructions given to me at the center for families in crisis. But without a doubt, the most important thing they offered me, and for which I will always be grateful; was support so that I will not continue to allow my spirit to be killed. On the few occasions that I had had the opportunity to go to one of the sessions, they had served me well enough so that I did not get lost in the labyrinth of suffering that was my marriage. It was what had kept me going.

With my backpack in hand, I went to my room, put the backpack on the floor, and went inside. Dennis remained in the same position. With my gloves still on, I started pulling out clothes, drawers, threw out lamps, and finished unpacking the bed. While I saw him lying on the ground full of blood, I mounted an assault. I stealthily pulled out clothes and headed for the door to change. The little clothes I had were soaked in blood, I folded them and put them in the bag along with the bat. Right outside my room, I sat on the floor and put on socks and tennis shoes. I got up and carried my bag and backpack. I went to the front door.

I was passing Dennis's room when my gaze caught his closet. I put my luggage on the bed and opened it. I searched the shoeboxes that he kept so methodically arranged until I found what he was so jealousy hiding. Inside a shoebox, he had a wooden box closed with a padlock. I took out the box and for the first time left her shoes untidy.

I went to the table where he left his keys, there was his wallet and his briefcase. I grabbed everything and put it in the bat bag.

On the way to the exit, I was throwing away what I found: paintings, vases, lamps. I got to the kitchen counter and organized myself. I did everything calmly and without guilt. In a trance I put the box in the bag of my clothes, I checked that there were no footprints or footprints with blood, I did not seem to see anything accusatory. Quietly, at peace, my battered spirit and I headed for the front door.

When I got to the hall, I grabbed my bag, looked up at the mirror on the table, and looked at myself. I saw a reflection with eyes empty of pity or remorse. I just contemplated what I had become.

I took a tissue and wiped my face, took off my gloves, and stuffed them in the bat bag. I turned to see what had been my prison for two years; everything was messy and masterfully full of anger. I filled my aching lungs and went out never to return. At the last second, I thought I heard a groan, that gave me the final push. With a shaky but firm step, I put the bags in the back of the car, got in, and went to see my dad.