He Hits You? Suck It Up So I Locked Them in With My Abusive Husband novel · Chapter 22 of 24
Chapter 22: Slow
My mother walked to the front of the courtroom and stopped three feet from me.
She did not look at the judge.
"I'm not asking to be forgiven," Carol said. "I want it written down that I kept eleven letters from a boy who loved my daughter."
"I also signed a complaint against her, to keep a roof."
The judge leaned forward.
"I have Diane Slocumb's envelopes in my purse," my mother said. "Every one of them, with the dates. I gave copies to the prosecutor this morning."
She put the envelopes on the rail beside the pastor's stole.
"I'll testify against Diane. I'll testify against anyone."
Then she turned to me.
"I'm sorry, Jean," she said. "I should have been brave nine years ago. I'm sorry it took me this long."
I said nothing.
I did not forgive her in that room, and I did not look away.
The judge sentenced Conway to eleven years.
He did not speak.
When the deputy took his elbow, he finally turned his head.
I saw his face go empty.
I felt nothing but a plain, flat quiet.
That night Nate cooked pasta in the apartment where I now slept four nights out of seven.
I ate half of it standing at the counter.
He washed the pan.
I leaned in the doorway and watched his back.
Nothing hung over us.
No vault, no hearing, no clock, no car at the curb.
"Come here," I said.
He dried his hands and came.
I took his face in my palms.
"Is this pity?" he said, with a crooked smile. "I'd like it on record."
"No lies, not even kind ones," I said. "It's not pity. I want to take my time with you."
"How slow?"
"So slow it's rude."
He laughed against my mouth.
I kissed him in the kitchen, with the tap still dripping.
He backed me against the refrigerator and braced his hands on either side of my head.
Then I led him down the hall.
In the bedroom I turned on the lamp, and I did not hurry.
I undid his shirt one button at a time and put my mouth on each patch of skin as it opened.
He let his head fall back and breathed through his teeth.
"Jean."
"I'm not done."
I pushed the shirt off his shoulders and kissed the scar on his collarbone, and then the one beside his ribs.
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