Page 79 of Hard to Hold
“You stupid bitch. Why can’t you just do what I ask you to do? You’d think after nearly five years of this, you’d figure out how to get it right! I’m tired of having to beat some sense into you.”
I stared blankly at the space above his shoulder. I didn’t dare look at him. I didn’t want to provoke him more. He’d obviously had a bad day and he was taking it out on me. Which was par for the course. If history were to repeat itself, he would take his anger out on me next.
“Get up!”
My eyes shot to his face. “What?”
He glared at me, his face a mask of rage. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
Swallowing hard, I pushed to my feet. I was trembling; I couldn’t help it.
He was on his feet in an instant, his hand coming toward me.
I flinched, expecting the blow to land on my face just as it had so many times before. Instead, he grabbed my hair, jerking me toward him. I stumbled, falling, my knees slamming into the tiled floor. Pain, hot and fierce, bolted through me, making me gasp.
“I said get up!” His voice was getting louder as he yanked me to my feet. “Don’t make me pick you up, goddammit!”
I cried out, trying to move to ease the fire burning in my scalp.
“The only thing I ask is that you do what I tell you. How hard is that, Amy? You don’t have to work; you don’t have to take care of any fucking brats. You stay at home all goddamn day while I’m out there working my ass off. The least you can do is make sure my dinner is warm when I get home. How can you expect to be my wife? You’re too stupid to be my wife.”
The tears streaked down my face, but I didn’t say a word. I knew better. The one time I'd told him I didn’t want to be his wife, I'd ended up with a broken arm. Since then, the beatings had gotten worse, not better, no matter how much he apologized afterward. He still insisted it was my fault.
“This is for your own good, Amy. Remember that.”
I jerked awake, sitting up straight.
I was on the couch, the television on.
A knock sounded on the door, making my heart leap into my throat.
“Amy? You in there? It’s me. Reagan.”
Reagan.
Oh, God.
Jumping to my feet, I scrubbed my hands over my face, wiping the tears away. I hoped she didn’t notice. With the lights off, maybe she wouldn’t.
“I’m coming,” I called out, moving fast, the adrenaline from the nightmare still flooding my system.
I stumbled, tripping on the rug beneath the coffee table. Fortunately, I remained upright, my shoulder bumping the wall beside the door. I unlocked the deadbolt, then the knob, before pulling the door open.
“Hey.” Reagan studied me briefly, a mix of confusion and concern registering on her face. “You okay? I heard screaming.”
I quickly looked away, stepping back so she could come inside. “Sorry. I was … uh … watching a movie. I must’ve fallen asleep. You probably heard the television.”
Reagan glanced at the TV, then back at me. “Yeah. Okay.”
“I hope you weren’t out there long.” I closed the door when she dragged her suitcase inside.
“No, just a minute or two.” Reagan was studying me intensely. “You sure you’re all right? Looks like you were cryin’.”
I nodded. “I’m fine.”
The sympathy I saw in Reagan’s eyes made my stomach twist. I hadn’t had a friend in so long and now it seemed I had some everywhere I turned. That alone made me want to curl into a ball and sob.
“If you need to talk about anything,” she prompted, “I’m here.”
