Laura
Standing there with the knife clutched tightly in my hand, I felt my whole body tremble. The fear was so raw it blurred everything. I flung open the door, bracing myself for the worst, and almost stabbed him.
"Whoa!" Jake shouted, jerking backward, narrowly avoiding the blade as I nearly toppled over.
"Jake!" The shock nearly left me paralyzed. My hands shook, the knife slipping from my grip and clattering to the floor as I stumbled. I felt his arms reach out, steadying me as I tried to catch my breath.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice softer now, a blend of surprise and concern. "Laura, are you okay?"
The absurdity of his question hit me, and I let out a strangled laugh that quickly dissolved into a sob. I didn't even have the strength to answer him; I could only clutch at his arm, the tears beginning to blur my vision. He didn't say anything more, he just helped me back inside, one hand on my shoulder, the other guiding me gently.
Once inside, he led me over to the couch, and we sat down. I could feel his gaze on me, sharp but patient. "I came to finish our conversation from earlier," he finally said.
"I know you said it was nothing and we would talk about it later but I couldn't stop thinking about it. My mind has been there since then so I thought to come over and just talk it all out." He let out and then glanced at me more intently.
"But something's wrong, isn't it?" He quizzed, still staring deep in my eyes.
I nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. I hadn't meant to break down like this, especially not in front of him, but as soon as the first tear slipped, it was like a dam broke. I leaned into him, burying my face in his shoulder, and cried. I cried for the fear that had been eating at me all night, for the years of shame and guilt that I'd been carrying, for everything I'd never told anyone.
Jake's hand moved in slow circles over my back, his touch grounding me. He didn't press me for words, and I was grateful. He simply held me until my sobs began to subside, until my breathing slowed and I felt strong enough to speak.
After a long silence, I lifted my head, wiping my face with the back of my hand.
"Are you sure you're okay to talk now? You can still take your time, I'll wait, I'm not in a rush." His words were so reassuring and it made me more open to telling him. He deserved to know.
"I… I've never told anyone about this, only three people know. My aunt, Arlene, and therapist." I began, my voice barely above a whisper. He looked shocked when he heard the last part, he definitely never expected that I was or went through therapy.
"But you deserve to know. I need you to know."
He watched me, his face unreadable but his eyes soft with understanding. "I'm here," he said quietly. "Take your time."
Swallowing hard, I let out a shaky breath. "His name was Jackson," I began. "He… he was my husband." Saying it out loud felt like peeling back an old wound. I expected him to immediately pull away from me but he didn't. I looked at his face too but there was no reaction. Nothing at all and I read a lot of meaning into that but I didn't stop. It didn't matter anymore, if hates me afterward.
"At first, things were good. at least, I thought they were. He was charming, attentive, all the things I thought I wanted in a partner. I was so in love with him and I thought he was too. He said he did and I believed his words. I was young and desperate for love so I didn't get well enough. I took the first chance I got and thought I had hit the jackpot. But that was all a lie. I found out in the hard way that Jackson was only wearing a mask."
I saw Jake's jaw tighten, but he didn't interrupt.
"He changed after we got married. It started small, comments here and there, things that made me doubt myself. Then the complaints started coming in. Nothing I did was good enough for him. He found fault in any and everything that I did. It got so bad that I started to question my sanity."
"I tried so many times to talk to him, I begged him, asked for forgiveness even when I had done nothing wrong but he never changed. The abuse never stopped."
And then it got worse. He'd come home angry, most times drunk, and he'd take it out on me. He would force himself on me and if I tried to refuse him, he would hit me." I took a deep breath, my hands twisting in my lap.
"I learned to live with it, in a way. I thought it was my fault, you know? I kept telling myself if I just did better, if I was what he wanted…"
I trailed off, my voice cracking. Jake's hand covered mine, solid and steady, and I felt a spark of strength from that touch.
"It went on for a long time until that one night…" I took another shaky breath, willing myself to go on.
"He came home drunk, more wasted than I'd ever seen him. He looked at me like I was the enemy, like he hated me." I paused, my voice lowering.
"And he tried to force himself on me, like he'd done before. But something in me… snapped. I fought back. I'd never done that before."
I felt Jake's grip on my hand tighten, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
"When I resisted, he got even angrier. He hit me harder than ever before, and I… I didn't even think." I swallowed. "I grabbed one of his beer bottles, and I just… kept hitting him with it, stabbing him. I didn't stop until he stopped moving."
The memory was so vivid I could almost smell the stale beer, feel the cold glass against my hand. My voice dropped to a whisper. "I didn't mean to kill him. I was just… I just wanted him to stop hurting me."
A tear slid down my cheek, and I looked away, unable to meet Jake's gaze.
"When I saw the blood, when I realized he wasn't breathing, I… I panicked. I passed out, but when I came to, I knew I couldn't stay there. So I ran. I didn't know where to go, so I went to the only person I thought I could trust…"
My voice broke, but I forced myself to go on. "I ran to my aunt's house…"