SOLITARY CONFINEMENT

IT ALL ENDS......NOW!

OCTOBER 12TH, 2016.

As I curled up in our gigantic, black silk covered bed, numb from crying myself to stupor, I forlornly stare at Lucas who was kneeling in front of me, a bouquet of red roses in one hand and a gold-plated Rolex wristwatch and bracelet set in the other hand.

“Baby, I’m sorry. You made me do it. You shouldn’t have touched my phone. I’m sorry. See what I got you”, he says, pushing the gifts forward as I burst into a fresh round of silent tears. I had just been pummelled again.

“Babe, I said I’m sorry. I promise I’ll resume my anger management class. I promise you baby, I’ll work on my temper”.

“Why do I have to keep putting up with his domestic a***e anyway?”, I thought to myself.

Sometimes, Lucas is the epitome of every woman’s dream man- sexy, suave and successful; and a very doting father.  At other times, he transforms into a completely different creature- controlling, abusive and violent. He keeps me in the house like a convicted criminal. He monitors my every move as if I’m a potential threat to the society. In the last few years, I’ve come to realise that he puts on the latter persona more than the former.

“Baby, do you forgive me?” I hear him ask me. He is with me on the bed now, cuddling me and whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

As he always does after every assault- physical, s****l or both- he is promising that he will not hurt me again. I’ve heard it a thousand times. My head says I should not believe him anymore, but my heart is forgiving. I stretch out my hands and accept the gifts, wondering why I’m still putting up with this beast of a man, and not taking my children and walking far away from it all.

OCTOBER 20TH 2016.

“Mummy, does it hurt?” “Mummy, did daddy make you cry again?” my twin daughters’ voices break into my thoughts as I sat at the garden table, tears streaming down my swollen eyes.

“No sweethearts. Daddy did not make me cry. I slipped and fell in the bathroom”, I cooed at my very inquisitive daughters, patting their neatly made pigtails and making lame excuses for their brute of a father.

“Are you sure mummy? Why didn’t you put on your shoes? You said we should always put on our shoes in the bathroom!” Celia, the older of the twins, chastised, her face twisted in an adorable frown. “I forgot my baby. I won’t forget again!” I soothed.

“Are you sure you won’t forget? Should I remind you every morning?, Cynthia, the younger twin asked, her face full of innocent concern.

“Don’t worry baby, I won’t forget”, I reassured them, patting Cynthia’s tiny hand.

“Okay mummy!” they echoed in unison.

“Now, go to your rooms. It’s time for your siesta”, I shooed them away as their nanny approached.

Staring at my twins’ retreating backs, I drift away again. It has become quite an awful cycle. For the past four years, my days followed the same agonizing routine. I wake up very early to get my children prepared for school, in time for their driver to drop them off. I get beaten by their junkie father, for the most trivial of all reasons, sometimes for no reason at all. When he leaves for work, I mope around our cavernous house, alone with my thoughts and nursing my various wounds until my children return from school.  Afterwards, I play with them until we prepare and eat dinner. Then I get them ready for bed. And then I wait up for my animal of a husband to return from his very successful, self-owned legal practice at 12a.m, get beaten again and then buttered up afterwards with expensive flowers, gifts and sweet words. Then I’m kept awake until 3 a.m by his insatiable and violent s****l hunger, get beaten some more if I complain or express hurt until I finally fall into a fitful slumber, my only moment of peace until the vicious cycle begins again the next day.

I laugh to myself as I sat under the shade of my children’s garden playhouse, thinking about my life.

“I miss my parents. I wish I had listened to my father. I could have cut off all ties with Lucas as my father advised. My parents would have let me keep my babies. They would have taken care of us. I miss my sister. Didn’t she try to warn me? Was Lucas violent towards her too? Was that why they broke up?” The unanswerable questions kept pouring into my thoughts.

“I think I’m ready to leave him”, I assure myself with renewed enthusiasm as I stood up slowly, an abrupt pain in my ribs reminding me of Lucas’ beating the previous night. “I don’t have to endure a lifetime of daily beatings and savage s*x anymore. I will just take my children and leave”.

But I will have to be patient. Just for a little more time. My kids are still very young. I will walk away when they are a little bit older. But before then, I have to make amends with my parents. It will be their 45th wedding anniversary in a few weeks’ time. “I will go there unannounced. They won’t reject me. My family is all I’ve got now”, I said to myself as I made my way back to the house.

NOVEMBER 5TH 2016.

Could Lucas have somehow guessed that the twins will be getting a kid sister, or brother, soon? He has not beaten me in a while now. I should be happy about that. And he brought me flowers today. Lots and lots of them. He even presented them to me, with tears spilling down his handsome face.

But I don’t care. This time, I won’t buy his ruse. I don’t want them. All I just want to do is to take a walk. I feel like walking away from it all. Lucas can go to hell with his riches and all the flowers in the world. I just want to get out of here. I’ve not even gone to see my parents. If only I can find a way out of this white, velvet-lined, gold-gilded oak confinement- a masterpiece really.