[Solman]

Synopsis: Struggling for hope in an abusive situation.



God, I swear if he hits me one more time that’ll be it. I’ll leave him for good.

Yeah, like I haven’t said that before. Like I’ve never said that after all the other beatings. Molly had lost count of the number of bruises and black eyes her husband had given her over the past thirteen years. Did it really matter anymore?

The stench of cigarettes drifted towards her from the living room. The television blared the score from a football game. He was relaxing. That filthy, worthless pig was relaxing! She rolled her fingers into clenched fists, her body shaking. He’d been like this since day one, leaving her to do all the work. “Where’s dinner?” or “How ‘bout cleaning this room? It so damn trashy!” He uttered the same crap to her all the time. Where was the appreciation? Where was the respect and commitment? That’s what you get for marrying a man who never bothered to attend his AA meetings. Molly rolled her eyes and shook her head as her thoughts took her backwards.

* * *

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He buried his face in her waist as she lay there on the bed, his tears drenching her white hospital gown. Molly put her good hand on top of his hair and gently stroked it. Her other arm, bandaged in a sling, clung to her like a frightened child. He looked up at her, his face red and wet. “I’ll get help,” he told her, his voice stammering as he spoke. It took all her strength to smile at him, the muscles on her bruised face searing with pain. Molly inhaled, getting a whiff of the alcohol on his breath, the demon that had put her in this bed the night before. He put his head back down on her stomach and continued to sob. Her good hand touched his fingers and he wrapped his hand around hers, massaging her palm with his fingertips. He stayed there with her for hours, falling asleep in the chair next to her bed and despite her intuition, despite her experience, Molly allowed herself to fall for this charade.

He pledged every day for the next week that he would change. He’d gotten some information about a local AA group and swore he’d go. The day Molly came home again, he went out to go to his first meeting. She sat at home and waited. One hour passed, two, three until she gave up trying to stay awake. He woke her up as he blundered back into the house around 3AM, his eyes bloodshot, his legs barely able to carry him. He lay down in bed next to her, passing out as his head hit the pillow. She watched him. His stomach lurched and he let out a tremendous belch in her direction, filling her nose and it was at that moment she new he’d never gone to the meeting and never would.

* * *

Her lips curled into a frown as her mind came back to the present. That was the one constant throughout their marriage - the smell of booze on his breath. It was also the most painful part. Weeping, she stared down at the stove with its jumbled assortment of pots and pans – her domain, at least according to him. Are all men like him and all women like me? She doubted it. Somewhere out there were couples who loved each other, couples who shared responsibility and respect. She went to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. The small amount of mascara she had put on, not that he would have noticed, had streaked down her face. She wiped it away. No sense in putting on more.

Molly went into the bedroom and sat down on the bed, staring down at her hands, resting on her lap. After awhile, she glanced up and saw her bible sitting on the table next to the bed. She watched it for a while until her face twisted into a scowl. What do you want?! In a snap, she grabbed the book and tossed it across the room. It smacked hard against the wall, leaving a dark scuff mark on the white paint, and fell to the floor, landing in a heap - its pages crumbled this way and that. Her heart pounded while her lungs gasped for air, heaving in and out. She sat that way for some time, watching the bible lay in its awkward position, her eyes fixated upon it.

After awhile, her breathing slowed and her heartbeat became normal. Molly closed her eyes and took a deep breath, holding it in for some time until she exhaled, counting to ten as she released the air. What are you doing? How could you do that? She put her hand to her head and lowered it, closing her eyes. I’m sorry. She got up and walked over to the bible, her hands picking it up and cradling it like a child. I’m so sorry. She sat down on the bed again with the book bundled safely in her arms. How could I do that? It was her solace, her comfort, and her savior. She looked down at the book, lifted it up towards her face and kissed the cover. It’s not your fault. Molly then opened the front cover and smiled as she read the hand-written inscription on the first page. Her thoughts drifted off again, back to that day.

* * *

“Son of a bitch!” she screamed. Molly’s foot hit the accelerator as her hands wrapped around the steering wheel in an iron grip. The car sped along the road, weaving around traffic. She jerked the wheel and pulled passed another car, almost colliding with it. The driver laid down hard on his horn. She whipped her head around towards the rear window. “Screw you, asshole!” she yelled, taking one hand off the wheel and flipping up her middle finger. She turned back and spun the wheel again, the car’s tires screeching against the pavement as it made a sharp turn on to another street. Her lungs were working faster than a galloping horse and her bruised ribs ached with each breath. She kept rubbing her wrist against her face, trying to keep to tears from blurring her eyes. The pain from the darkened skin around her eye throbbed each time, causing more tears. She could still feel his fists, could still smell his breath.

Wiping away more tears, Molly focused on the empty road in front of her and spotted the approaching bridge. It was a decrepit structure, the cracked concrete held up by rusted steel beams that looked like they could bend and snap at any moment. Below was a rocky abyss - hard and uninviting. Her eyes moved to focus on the guardrails along each side of the bridge. It wouldn’t take much to smash through them. Molly floored the gas pedal and the engine roared as the car sped towards the bridge. Almost there. Her lips curled into a maniacal grin as she waited for the moment of impact with the guardrail. The bridge was fifty feet, twenty feet, five feet. Molly’s eyes closed in anticipation of her doom. She thought she was ready, but at that moment, something shot through her and jolted her eyes back open. Her foot slammed against the brake and the car skidded across the bridge, spinning around until it slapped one of the guardrail, coming to an abrupt stop. She held her breath and leaned out her window. The spin had taken away the momentum to break the guardrail. Her eyes darted downwards into the abyss and she gasped, pulling her head back into the car. Molly balled her hands into a fist and began to pound the dashboard. What am I doing?! She opened her mouth to scream, but only a gurgled cry came out. What the hell am I doing?! She put her face in her hands and cried her heart out.

Although the tears had dried up, she still sniffled as she walked along the sidewalk, taking in the display windows from the surrounding stores. People passed by her, oblivious, caught up in their own little worlds: a man in a business suit chatting on his cell phone, a woman pulling two screaming children along with her as she walked, a boy buying a hot dog from a vendor. Molly smiled, thankful for her blessed anonymity as she walked through the streets of the city. She hadn’t been here for several years. Her husband had never wanted to come, always preferring to stay home and get drunk while ogling the television screen. Not him, not now. She brushed aside her thoughts just as her eyes came to rest upon a specific window. She smiled again and walked towards the entrance.

“I would like a table, please,” Molly said, her voice calm yet firm.

“For how many?” The hostess asked.

“One,” Molly answered. She could feel the eyes staring at her as she was led to her table, eyes belonging to women in fancy dresses and men in expensive suits, watching this wounded creature in a house dress, daring to enter their domain. “Thank you,” she said as she took a seat and the hostess flopped a menu down on the table. The stares had disappeared as the diners went back to their meals, leaving her to her solitary corner, far away from the rest of them.

“May I start you off with something,” Molly glanced up to see a waiter standing beside her table. Her eyes returned to the menu, scanning the different columns.

“Yes,” she responded. “I would like the salad, the breaded calamari, and…” her voice trailed off as she tried to decide what other appetizers order. When she had finished eating those, she moved on to the Entrée. “I would like the Filet Mignon and a bottle of this as well,” she pointed towards part of the wine list.

“Madame,” the waiter said, “that is a two hundred dollar bottle of wine.”

“Yes, it certainly is,” Molly said, smiling up towards him. “And I would like to try it.” Her hands trembled as she cut the Filet Mignon, her mouth watering as she savored the aroma. She closed her eyes as she cut off the first piece and put it in her mouth. There was an explosion somewhere deep inside here and she exhaled with a sigh. Perfect.

Molly put her hand against her chest and let out a small belch, looking around to make sure no one had heard. The sun was sinking behind the skyscrapers, and the lights of the city were coming on. She walked down the street, not really paying attention to wear she was going. The pleasure of her dinner began to fade and she felt her mind filling with dread at one thought: going home. Her smile disappeared and she cast her eyes back and forth, looking for anything that might distract her attention, but it was no use. She could see his face again, feel his fists, and smell his breath.

Thoughts swirled through her mind as she desperately sought some sort of escape. Her eyes continued to dart around until they came to rest on two beams of wood, crisscrossing each other: a cross, the symbol hanging like an advertisement in front of a pair of glass doors, the threshold leading to a small public chapel. It had a simple design with white walls, several rows of folding chairs and a small altar. Her heart was pounding and Molly felt herself drowning in her own anxiety. Without thinking, she pushed open the doors and walked into the chapel. Molly was breathing so fast she almost felt she was going to give birth. Not knowing what else to do, she plopped down into one of the chairs, clasped her hands together, and bowed her head forward until it rested upon her hands. Please help me! Please! She sat like this for some time with her eyes closed, begging.

After awhile, she began to calm down and sat up again. She looked around and saw an old lady sitting towards the front of the chapel by the altar. Her head was down, her hands folded together in prayer. Next to the old lady sat a large purse with stitched square patterns weaving in and around each other. It looked worn from years of use and reminded Molly of the same one her grandmother used to carry - always full of surprises like sweets and other little gifts for her when she was a young girl. As she watched, the old lady pulled her hands apart, crossed herself, stood up, and made her way down the aisle until she stood by the seat next to Molly. The old lady’s curly hair was gray and her hands and face were covered with wrinkles. Her eyes were filled with an expression of thoughtful serenity and her lips curled into a smile of compassion, like a grandparent who knows what you’re thinking before you yourself do.

“It’s all right, dear” the old lady said, her voice somewhat hoarse, but filled with an undercurrent of sweetness. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m not so sure,” Molly said.

“I am. Please forgive me. I don’t mean to pry,” the old lady said. She reached into her large purse, pulled out a book, and placed it in on the seat next to Molly.

“Don’t give up. Keep your hope, keep your faith.” The old lay put her hand on Molly’s shoulder for a moment then continued to walk down the aisle. Molly turned her head and watched as the old lady went out the doorway and disappeared into the night. Molly looked back down at the book in her hands. It was a bible with a dark red, leather-bound cover. She opened it and found a hand-written inscription on the first page.

Those with the faith of a mustard seed shall move mountains.

* * *

Molly smiled as she came tumbling back to the present. The football game continued to blare, echoing into the bedroom. She turned in annoyance, got up, and closed the door. The bedroom became her outlet, her sanctuary. She placed the bible back on the table and knelt down on the side of the bed. Molly put her hands together and closed her eyes. The sun shone through the bedroom window, casting warm light directly upon her. She lowered her head towards the sunlight and began to pray, her thoughts never dwelling too far from that hand-written inscription, those words that had kept her going.

Those with the faith of a mustard seed shall move mountains.

As Molly turned those words over and over again in her mind, she felt something deep inside her change. Something she hadn’t felt before. An idea she had never even dared to imagine herself capable of. Courage began to course through her veins as she opened her eyes, crossed herself, and stood up. For the first time, she felt aware of what she could do, what she had to do.

The door was silent as she quietly turned the handle and opened it. Molly peered out and the sound of the football game filled her ears. She pushed the door open all the way and left the bedroom with the bible in one hand and a large suitcase in the other. The cigarette her husband was smoking filled her lungs, but he was too far away, seated in his chair, for her to smell his breath. Good, Molly thought. Never again. She walked past him. He didn’t notice, his eyes still glued to the television screen, a beer resting on his lap. It wasn’t until she opened the front door and walked out that he caught site of what she was doing.

“What the hell?! Molly! Where are you going?” She didn’t answer as she walked down the driveway, towards the car. “Molly!” She could hear him screaming from inside the house as she put the keys in the lock and opened the car door. “You’re not going anywhere, you bitch!” As she got in the car, she glanced around to see him yanking open the front door. He charged down the driveway and tried to pull open the car door, but she had already locked it. He stuck his face against the window and screamed, his breath fogging up the window while his fists pounded against the glass. Molly could see the vein throbbing on his forehead. His face was twisted into an expression of rabid ferocity.

“Goodbye,” she said, her voice full of pity for him and what he’d become. Molly started up the engine, backed out of the driveway, and drove off down the street. He followed her for a little why in futile pursuit and Molly watched in the mirror as he disappeared off into the distance. She took a deep breath and let it back out. Her heart overflowed with an explosion of relief as if the weight of the entire world had just been lifted from her. She glanced down at the bible on the seat next to her and smiled. Thank you. Molly looked back up and stared out on to the road that lay before her. Her mountain had been moved.

[Venomous Vixen]

Ah, that is a tremendous change from the initial little teaser. There was point to this, and development and most important, resolution. I found your words seemed selected with care and yet still the story remained uncluttered and to the point. The inscription was a nice touch, really tying in your ending. Wonderful, powerful... sad but inspiring. I really enjoyed this and look forward to more!

[Solman]

Venemous Vixen,

Thanks so much for your help with editing the story. I really appreciate it!