51±¾É«

By Bianka Kruschat

“if you’re raised with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house. you will find him even when he is not there. and if one day you find that there is no angry man in your house— well, you will go find one and invite him in!”

-From the book Cut by Catherine Lacey, April 15, 2019

I had never been so scared. What I saw before me was not the man I fell in love with, but rather a stranger I couldn’t recognize. This stranger had anger seeped so deep into his eyes that I couldn’t find the love that used to fill them. I stood in the middle of the room as this angry man continued to tear apart our bedroom.

He knocks the TV off its stand, and I’m reminded of all the nights we’ve spent after work intertwined between each other, watching trashy reality TV until one of us inevitably falls asleep. Our favourite one to binge was, Love is Blind. Not because we thought it was good quality television but because watching it gave us a superiority complex over these couples, how much better our relationship was, how much more we loved each other.

I’m brought back out of my thoughts at the sound of bowls and vases smashing onto the floor leaving clear glass spread across the room. The vase he smashed held the pink tulips he’d bought for me after our last argument, that one only ended with him punching our bathroom wall. The apology flowers lay scattered on the floor. He doesn’t seem so sorry anymore. The fist-shaped hole in the wall still leaves its imprint to the left of the bathroom mirror. A daily reminder of the punch that could’ve been aimed at me. As I look at it, to my face in the reflection of the mirror and back at the hole.

If I had left him right after he put that hole there and before he’d bought me the pink tulips, I would have come home each day to an empty house. What motivation would I have to come home if I knew the person I loved wasn’t going to be there to open the door for me, ask me about my day, kiss my forehead and tell me stories to brighten my mood?

This was the person I loved; it gets hard to say that when the lines of love and hate get crossed. How can you love someone so much that hurts you this bad? How can you hate someone that loves you so much?

Whenever he gets this angry, I wish I could just separate the one I love from the one I hate. Sometimes I see this man throwing all our stuff and I want to tell him to stop, I want to tell him you’ll be here soon and you’re gonna hurt him for scaring me. Then the angry man will leave, and you can wrap me in your protecting arms, rubbing my back to soothe me and tell me you’ll never let him come back. But it never works. The angry man always comes back, and you never stop him from scaring me.

With nothing left to smash he directs his anger to me, his cursing becomes louder when he steps on the mess of glass on the floor, to get to me. His fist meets my cheek and I fall to the floor, wishing I'd smash into shards of glass he’d have to step on. Wishing I'd hurt him as much as he’s hurt me. He’s still lost in his anger and the first hit wasn’t enough to satisfy his rage. Like a bad dog to its owner with a belt, I cower in the corner.

In a snap of a second, I see the anger wash away from his face and drain from his eyes. Suddenly he’s my boyfriend again, picking me up and placing me on the edge of our bed where he sits beside me. Only now his eyes are hollow. His lips meet my cheek in an attempt to heal them, or maybe to cover up what needs healing. The kiss stings and I back away, it’s painful to look at him.

I look at him anyway though, because if my face looks the same way it feels right now, then I want him to see what he’s done to me. His eyes are unwilling to scan my face. They plead to mine. Please forgive me, it’s me again the angry man's gone. His eyes whisper to mine. But how long will he be gone for this time? Mine whisper back.

When he sees the fear still stuck on my face, he almost seems shocked I haven’t accepted his efforts to apologize and I come to the realization he didn’t really speak to me with his eyes, it was only what my mind hoped to hear. His shock turns into annoyance, and I watch as he walks to our bedroom door. He looks at me once more, waiting to see if I'll chase after him, his eyes don’t meet mine, if they did maybe they’d say sorry. I stay stuck to the bed and he leaves. I sit with my hands in my lap thinking about how easy it is to blame someone for not leaving a relationship like this. It seems so simple, someone hurts you so you leave. But we all crave to be loved, what happens when the person that’s given you that love for years changes? How do you change with them?

I bring myself over to my vanity and place myself in my chair. The pain of sitting on a hard chair hits me immediately and I readjust myself until the pain is bearable. My barely sipped water glass sits on my vanity. I reach for it, spotting the purple blotches trailed up my arm. I take a sip of water suddenly noticing how dry my mouth is. As I place my drink back onto the vanity the remaining water splashes and mixes with red blood. I touch my lip, feeling a split. I look in the mirror seeing bruises forming on my face and body and blood dripping down my chin. I look down to grab my concealer from the bottom drawer. I always end up cleaning up the messes I don’t make. I search my drawers finally finding the beige tube I'm looking for. I push some out onto my fingers.

I'm startled when I look back into the mirror and see my mother looking back at me.