Ugly(76)

“Love me?” I question. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have beaten me.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do this to you,” he says. His face is indifferent and cold, but his eyes beastly and knowing.

“You beat me, Trent because I bought shoes with money I took out of the bank. The bank where my money goes,” I challenge.

“They must’ve done a number on you, because you’re being delusional, babe. I’ve never hit you, ever. And if I did, which I didn’t, I’m sure that smart mouth is what made you deserving of a slap or two.” He pulls the blanket around me and tucks it into the side.

I watch him, I notice just how he’s treating me. Without even flinching he’s lying through his teeth. “I can’t do this anymore, Trent,” I whisper as I continue to watch him.

“Do what?”

“I can’t live like this anymore. It’s not right.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He disregards me again. “I’ll get them to discharge you and when we get home, it’ll all be different, and much better.”

“Have you had a change of heart? You said you’d stop cheating on me.”

He looks at me, and takes a step back sinking into the uncomfortable looking plastic chair. “I don’t cheat on you,” he says as he watches my response. “God, Lily, why do you say things like that? Do you want me to get mad?”

I feel myself draw my eyebrows together and I think back to what I heard. “How long have I been here?” I ask changing conversation, in case I really did just dream everything.

“You were beaten fairly badly. You were unconscious for just over seventy-six hours. I came home and found you slumped on the floor.” He shakes his head and runs his hand over his face, then through his hair. “I thought you were dead,” he whispers. “It’s damn lucky I’m a doctor and I checked you out, but damn, you scared the shit out of me.”

He’s so convincing, maybe I just dreamt it all happened. Maybe my mind has pushed something like Trent beating me and choking me to an extreme where it’s created that memory and blocked out the truth. “You didn’t do this?” I ask.

“You think I could do this to you? Babe, I love you, no way could I ever go to this extreme.”

“Mrs. Hackly, you’re awake,” says a young pretty nurse as she comes in the door and her eyes widen when she sees me awake. “Hi, Trent.” She smiles at Trent and her cheeks pink in color. Quickly she averts her eyes and looks back to me. “How do you feel?”

“I’m thirsty,” I say as I feel the dry parchment in my throat. “I think I’m okay.”

She smiles at me, but it’s just a plastic smile. Something she shows everyone because she has to. She checks my vital signs, and says she’ll call in the doctor on duty.

“What actually happened, Trent?” I ask when the perky nurse leaves.

“Jesus, Lily. Do I have to repeat myself? Just listen will you? I came home, the door was kicked in and you were lying in the kitchen. I checked you out and called an ambulance. That’s what happened.” He links his hands together and cracks his knuckles. “That’s it. Nothing else.”

I completely relax, and just let his words wash over me. “I’m tired, Trent. I’m going to close my eyes for a minute.”

“All you’ve been doing is sleeping. If the doctor okays it, I’m taking you home tonight.”

I look over to him and he’s back on his phone, typing away. “Did you call work, tell them what happened?”

“Yeah, babe. Of course. Dale said to get better.”

“Thank you,” I say and close my eyes.

What the hell happened? Why does the beating I thought he gave me feel so real? Did I really just imagine him placing his hands around my throat and choking me? Have I manifested the entire thing and made my husband out to be a predator, an abuser? The serene black gives me an escape, and I grab onto it with both hands and let the darkness claim me.



“Y-you said she w-woke?”

“She did, Max, earlier today.”

I open my eyes and see a different nurse standing beside my bed and Max, who’s just come through the door. I look at her, then him and smile.

“Y-you’re a-awake,” he says as he takes a step toward my bed.

“I am.” Something courses through my body. I can’t describe it, or even identify it because I don’t know what it is. It feels like excitement mixed with anxiety. “What are you doing here?” I ask him.

“I-I sh-should go,” he responds as he turns around and is just about to open the door.