My Rise from The Ashes After Divorce

Chapter10-The Unimaginable Has Happened!

The house smelled stale, sickening my stomach. It was a scent I tried to overlook.

The interior was dark and gloomy, likely because all the lights were off and the curtains were drawn. I found a light switch and turned it on but there was no electricity.

I used my cell phone’s flashlight to illuminate my path. I can see very little and what I did see was repulsive.

"I'll examine everything more in the morning," I thought. I made my way back to the living room, where everything was covered in dusty white sheets. I pulled the dirty sheets off the couch and sat down, determined to make the best of this situation.

"It's okay," I reassured myself, although I knew it was a lie. I tried to be brave and strong, but I was physically weak. I recently had been in the hospital after a traumatic experience of losing my baby. I can’t tell you what that has done to my mind and body. But I was good at enduring pain. But apparently, I had my limits.

Where do I begin? How do I describe my life with Blake? Several months after our wedding, I had to adjust quickly to his cold heart. I lived through his insidious lovemaking that had gotten progressively more dangerous over the months and years as I endured and he became bored. He lives and feeds off fear. In the beginning, when he first brought a knife to bed, I squeezed my eyes shut and stopped breathing, my muscles tightened and waited for the pain. The pain didn’t come. He took a knife's edge and dragged it down my body, the blade ran along my bare skin. It was so sharp it took the peach fuzz or fine hair that he would call feathers from every inch of me. It wasn’t about whether it caused me pain, it was about the fear he saw in my eyes that excited him. He would tell me as the knife travels down my collarbone carefully, meticulously, leaving a chill in the air. “Don’t shiver because this knife is sharp, and it will be your fault if you get cut and bleed to death.”

The torture he wields came weeks apart. I never know when or how his craving is going to come. All I know is it’s enough time for my skin to produce renewed hair growth for him to pluck away. Showing fear only made him more daring. In the beginning fear

used to consume me in these moments, but they didn’t anymore. When his dark eyes realized I wasn’t afraid, he stopped using the knife. He lost interest and I no longer had to suffer that kink any longer. But that was only the tip of the iceberg of the things I had to put up with for seven years. But like I said I had my limits.

So now as I sit in this dark, horribly smelling house, I tell myself I can handle this because anything is better than what I have been through these past seven years. But don’t you make mistakes for a minute, I know my husband is a monster. And as I sit and think about some of the other things I have endured. This house is a luxury in comparison to the life I had with Blake. He had played with my life, screwed around with my head and heart and I had to swallow every ounce of my fear. So instead of having a meltdown over my situation. I have to endure.

"I'll examine everything in the morning,” I made my way back to the living room, where everything was covered in dusty white sheets. I pulled the dirty sheets off the couch and sat down, determined to make the best of this situation. The thought of what tomorrow would bring did frighten me. But I was determined to face it and to overcome the fear and sadness that threatened to overwhelm me.

I walked over to the windows and pulled the dusty curtains open to let the light from the moon and stars into the room. A fresh set of tears slid down my cheeks. "It's been a long night. I’ll be fine right here," I said flatly, feeling the weight of loneliness pressing down on me.

Reluctantly, I lay down on the couch, covering myself with the white blanket that had once draped over it.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to think any longer. But so many concerns flooded my mind. I was wet and cold, shivering.

Eventually, I realized I couldn’t fight to sleep any longer.

That's when my phone rang. "Hello." I said in a groggy tone.

"I'm going to ask you again. Do you still want to divorce me?"

His voice somehow still rolled against my skin gripping the back of my neck, forcing me into fear.

I had every reason to believe he’d do all the things he threatens me with. Blake was cruel and he viewed me wanting a divorce as some form of retaliation. But he was determined I was going to pay back my uncle’s debt. I forced myself to stay calm and respond to his question.

“Blake, my feelings for you were genuine. You said that you loved me, but you didn’t. I can't be with someone who tricked and deceived me. Our marriage is a fraud."

The phone went dead. He hung up in my face. I began to sob, knowing I lived with a psychopath. I learned the surest way to become prey was to act like it. Though afraid, I had to continue to take my stand. I didn’t have the luxury to be consumed with fear; I had to survive, after all I am a survivor. So, I closed my eyes and prayed and begged for a turning point in my life. “Please make tomorrow a better day than yesterday.”

Once the sunlight hit my face, I knew I had to wake up, no matter how few hours I had slept. I needed to accomplish whatever I could before nightfall, especially since there was no electricity. I couldn't live in this dirty house. I just can't do it. So, I began to clean as much of it as I could. The only issue with this routine was that each day I felt physically weaker. Still, I tried to push through my misery and broken heart. I was awakening, attempting to clarify my situation, which hadn’t fully registered mentally yet.

Every morning was a struggle. I turned from my back, onto my side, fighting off the grogginess when a jarring realization struck me.

The weight of my heartbreak and the physical toll of my circumstances were becoming unbearable, but I was determined to persevere.

I was sitting on the sofa in a large room with minimal furniture. The walls and hardwood floors were strong and sturdy, and I could see that the house has good potential. If this is going to be my prison, then I must make it home. However, I knew that was going to be easier said than done. It needed more than good cleaning. It needed a fresh coat of paint, new drapes, and some necessary updates.

As I sat there deep in thought, I found myself chewing on my nails, trying to figure out where to start. All I had now was a half-empty dirty house that would keep me off the dangerous streets of this forsaken town. But I had nothing else, no electricity, no food, no money, and no job. Shaking away the tears, I had to think harder than ever had before in my life.

That's when I remembered the little cash Blake had tossed at me last night. Eventually I did pick it up and put it somewhere, was it in my coat pocket? Lord, please let it be there. It was a one-hundred-dollar bill, I dug in my purse to see if I had small change. I didn't have enough change to pay for bus fare one way. The walk back would be 15 blocks, and the weather was about as unpredictable as my life. So, I dressed as warmly as I could.

I held my spine straight and my chin high, forcing myself to walk down the street as people stared at me like fresh meat. They knew I wasn’t from around here.

I made it to the store unharmed. After I purchased my small bags of groceries, there was no taxi insight. So I had to walk back home down the streets, it was getting dark and I walked as fast as my legs could take me. I wanted to make it home before it turned night. Clutching my bags I held on tight so afraid my food would get snatched from me. Unsavory looking men hung out on the corners making cat calls at me as I passed them by. I was shivering to the bone as the cold air cut through my thin coat, my hands numb.

When the sun completely disappeared, the temperature seemed to get much colder. I finally made it inside, out of habit I hit the light switch, and nothing happened, how quickly I had forgotten. I had no lights and that meant I had no heat either. I sat on the sofa in the dark and ate my bread and cold cuts, taking a few sips from my bottle of water.

Anyone who has ever struggled with poverty the way I have practically all my life living with a uncle who gambled 24/7, I know how extremely expensive it is to be poor. Honestly, I didn’t know just how expensive it was until Blake abandoned me and left me almost penniless and homeless.

I spent the next few days digging around for supplies in the stale damp basement. After spending a few days rummaging through all the dusty, moldy boxes. I finally gathered enough useful tools and supplies to clean. Moving things around down there I came across a dim light or opening, that drew me over to the cobweb corner. Under a pile of dust and a few lose floorboards. It held unimaginable find. Protruding against the boards was metal. It was a large chest hidden under the pile of dust and lose floorboards. It took all the strength I had to lift the chest from under the floor. Frantically, I searched high and low for a crowbar to pry it open. My strength was to meager; it took me all day trying to get the box open. When the lock finally broke, I could not believe my eyes.

I sprang to my feet stepping back. Panicked breaths tore at my lungs. My hands covered my mouth to keep it from falling open. The chest was loaded with stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Fear entered my body as I quickly closed the chest up, shoving it back to where it came from. Initially I was overjoyed to the point I couldn't help but cry. "I’m rich!"

Weeks after, the excitement of finding the money wore off. I kept asking myself all kinds of questions about the money and what would happen to me if I spent it because these were the kind of games Blake likes to play. But did he know this money was hidden here, and was he testing me? I had to use my head because this could be one of his sick traps.