Escaping Parker - F.T. Zele Page 0,1

mopped the now blood-splattered floor.

Vacuuming has to be done in a certain pattern of going forward straight, and back in a diagonal line. This is too much, even for a clean freak like me. I would consider this one of his marvelous traits of OCD.

After everything is exactly the way it needs to be, I start making dinner. Steven requests dinner to be made every night at a specific time. I wait daily for his text to know the time he will be home so I can have it served and ready for him on the table.

I usually take this time as I do my chores and cook, to think back to where everything went wrong. What made him snap? What was it that I did to make him hate me so much? It’s a daily struggle to keep trying to find the triggers, learning his behavior, although it’s never predictable.

I shuffle my feet as fast as I can, back and forth to and from the kitchen to the dining area, setting everything, checking my watch several times to make sure everything is on schedule.

My nerves make me the clumsiest person around, so I watch every step carefully. Sometimes that doesn’t even matter.

The door knob rattles, signaling he is home, and I rush to get the last thing on the table just as he walks in.

My stomach drops and I instantly go into my robot wife mode, something I hate. Pretending I’m happy to be at his beck and call, standing by the table ready to do whatever he needs, not because I want to.

I’m in survival mode.

“Hi, how was your day?” I ask as he enters, closing the door behind him.

He walks around and checks the house, making sure things are in place. Once he approves, he wraps his arms around me like it’s his God damn given right to touch me after everything he has put me through. I internally cringe and bile climbs in my throat.

This is how it is. You would think I would’ve gotten used to this repulsive feeling by now, but I just can’t.

“Long. I’m starving. I have to head out in a little while to meet some clients, but I won’t be gone too long. So don’t get any crazy ideas,” he warns, and I nod.

We sit down at the table. I make sure to have a smaller portion on my plate, due to my diminishing appetite. I spread it around, making it look like it’s full. That’s not a conversation I ever wish to revisit.

Sadly, I have learned some tricks to avoid conflict, and make things as peaceful as I can while I am stuck here.

We eat in deafening silence, except for the clicking of my jaw as I chew, thanks to a previous blow to my head. Every bite reminds me of the importance of escaping this hell.

Once we finish, I quickly get up and remove his plate and start to clean the table off, making sure every crumb is removed. I reset the table the way it was before, then go to clean the dishes. I’m on autopilot as I like to check out of life while he is around.

“I’m going to head out. Make sure you are good and ready when I get home. Don’t fall asleep on me,” he whispers in my ear, dragging a finger down my cheek.

I try to keep it together, swallowing past the lump in my throat. Dread takes over, but I can’t let him see that.

“Of course. I’ll see you soon.” I scrub hard on a stubborn dish, crusted sauce smeared in a circle, hoping if I focus enough it will distract me from thinking about later.

I finish cleaning, then head to the bedroom and take a long, hot scalding shower. I get the water as hot as I can, the spray tingling my skin as it hits, showing me that I’m still alive no matter if I’m dead inside. Once I’m done, I stand in front of the mirror, trying to find the hidden thing that is wrong with me. I search every night, but never find it.

My reflection stares back, nearly unrecognizable. The features are there: my strawberry blonde hair, lifeless green eyes, and freckled pale skin that shows the dark circles under my eyes. No sign of life whatsoever.

I open the medicine cabinet and pop in a pill to make me numb. It’s the only way I can manage to get through this night. I pace the floor, waiting for