Page 2 of Micah
But instead, it seemed to have turned him against me. Every time he saw me, he would scowl, as if I’d personally offended him. It terrified me at first, then only scared me, and eventually it made me angry.
I loved everything about my new job. I loved how kind the guys in the garage were. I loved the customers. The only dark spot was Micah. A few times I felt like quitting, but that was the old me talking. The new me wasn’t going to let this scowling man chase me away.
Then Brent found me.
Walking into that office, seeing Brent holding a knife on Becca was one of the worst days of my life, and there had been a lot of bad ones.
As soon as I saw what was happening, I tried to go to him, hoping that he would just take me and go. That no one would be hurt because of me. But Micah pulled me behind him, seeming to not notice my efforts to get to Becca. Trapped behind his immense wall of muscle, I missed a lot of what happened, but I heard Brent screaming in a way that made the hairs on my arm stand up.
The pain in those screams made me so…happy.
Becca had completely overpowered my monster of a husband.
I was afraid that I would go back to that weak, cowering woman. The woman who couldn’t stand up for herself. And some days, the guilt of bringing my problems into my friend’s life was crippling.
But knowing that Brent was in jail, the easing of that worry was…transformational. And when he pled guilty, instead of fighting it like I was sure he would, it felt like a gift from God. A true chance to start my new life. So I promised myself I would work to be the new me. To stand up for myself.
Micah gave me more practice at that than I would like. His scowls and anger didn’t seem to abate, though he wouldn’t tolerate anyone else being mean to me. He scared more than one customer into apologizing to me for their bad temper. I don’t know how he always knew I was dealing with someone difficult, but he did.
The first few times he stood up for me, I stood back and let him handle it. But when he blazed in one day, ready to intimidate the man in front of me arguing about the labor charge on his bill, I lost my cool.
From the stool I stand on at the front desk, I turned on him, waving my finger in his face. “Did I ask for your help, Micah?” Not waiting for a reply, I barrelled on. “I am fully capable of running this office and handling customer complaints.” I pointed to the door into the garage bays. “Go back to your job, and let me do mine, thank you very much.”
I let myself savor his wide eyes, and watched him turn away, so I didn’t miss the glare he shot the customer. But I let it pass. Turning back to my now subdued customer, I asked him pleasantly. “Your bill is fair and final. How would you like to pay?”
It was honestly one of the best moments of my life. I felt in charge and ready to step into my new life.
Until the fire happened.
1
HOLLY
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?” Becca’s voice is so achingly kind, it brings tears to my eyes. I want her to come with me desperately. But it would only make things worse. The second Brent got a look at her, he would lose his mind. For a man like him, one who relishes his role as the breaker of bones, seeing the woman who broke his would send him over the edge. I reach over the console to grip her hand, holding tightly, drawing strength from her sure grip.
“Yes. I have to do this on my own. I have to face him, Becca.”
“You really don’t Holly. You don’t have to do a damn thing. Your piece of shit husband doesn’t deserve any more of your time.” She’s not even trying to disguise her disgust. If she ever knew how much that disgust hurts me, she would be horrified. That’s why I don’t let her see it. She’s too good to be exposed to that illness.
Intellectually I get it. Nothing my husband has done, to me or anyone else, is my fault. The doctors told me that. So did the trauma counselors and the women at the shelter.
Some days I believe it.
But they don’t know. They don’t understand. The shame of what he did to me is so big. So overwhelming that intellect doesn’t come into play. Sometimes it feels like every blow, every broken rib, every split lip spread his poison in me. It’s there, through the skin, past the muscle, all the way to my bones.
It’s melded to me. The sickness, so much a part of me I’ll never be free of it. Somehow, knowing he tried to hurt Becca is worse than all the times he actually hurt me. I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with that, but there it is.
I grip the envelope in my right hand tighter, so tightly my knuckles turn white, then squeeze Becca’s hand one more time before letting go. “Just wait here. Please.” She studies me, looking for me to fall apart, I imagine, before grudgingly nodding her head, her reddish brown waves moving lightly.
I can’t quite bring myself to actually get out of the car. My heart is racing, and I take a deep breath, consciously trying to control it. I focus on the tower in the corner of the yard, trying to figure how many feet from the ground to the guard at the top. He’s wearing dark aviators, his uniform snug and unwrinkled. His arms seem relaxed, holding that big gun, but I can tell that he’s aware of everything around him. His head constantly sweeping the yard below him. The gun looks like one Brent owned. My hands start to shake, remembering the way he would pull his guns out and clean them in front of me, telling me how big a hole each one could blow in me.
“Holly,” the soft voice sounds like it’s coming from the other end of a tunnel. “Holly. Breathe, honey. You’re ok. Everything is ok. You’re safe. Breathe with me.”
I don’t have enough air to feel embarrassed at how often she’s had to do this for me. Help me breathe. I’m too busy being grateful she’s here. I follow her instructions; she’s the only thing real right now. In. Out. In. Out. The pattern of it is soothing. Something to hold on to as I wait for the black spots dancing in front of my eyes to recede. Thank God for her. Thank God.
“You got it Hol.” Her hand is back on mine, stroking my knuckles. I focus on her kind touch, soaking it in the way parched, dry ground soaks up the rain. How is it that such a gentle caress is still painful? Still makes my nerves hum and twitch? It’s like I’ve been so conditioned to pain that all touch hurts.
I sit, soaking in her comfort, until I've pulled myself together. Becca’s ocean blue eyes are steady. That’s the only reason I can look at her. So many people have looked at me with pity or morbid curiosity. But not her. Never her. She somehow always makes me feel like she’s in the trenches with me. Ready and waiting to help me climb out. I’ve never had that before. From anyone. Someone who looked at me and saw me as capable, as whole.
