I awake on the floor; my eyes won’t open. My nose is stuffy. I have to wake up. The room is dark; it must be late or very early. I’m trying to focus. I peek thru slits and find I am on the floor. I am on my bedroom floor in a pile of glass shards.
I look up to see that the bureau mirror is shattered. My arm hurts. I try to get up on my hands and knees. The glass cuts my knees and palms. I crawl thru the glass and over to my bed. I raise myself up onto the bed and fall back asleep.
I sleep well into the afternoon. I, again, wake up trying to open my eyes. This time they open but not without pain. I’m at a loss as to what has happened to me. Just then Guy walks in the door happy as a clam and announces, “Wakey, wakey time!” I roll over and look at him. The look of shock on his face takes me aback. “What’s wrong?”, I ask. He says, “Have you seen your face?” I say, “No” and ask what’s up. He answers nothing and urges me to sleep.
I wake up about 8 pm and feel great. I get up and go into the bathroom. I know I can use a drink. I make it into the living room and see Guy watching the World Series on TV. He is drinking vodka and I need some. I crawl up next to him and snatch the bottle. I take a long drink. He caresses my face and says he’s sorry. Sorry about what, I wonder. I go back into the bathroom and prepare for the night ahead. Looking into the mirror, I see cuts all over my right arm, both my eyes are black and my nose has crusted blood around it. I’m disheartened. Looks like I won’t be going out soon.
I manage a shower and begin putting on my makeup. I cover the bruises the best I can and proceed to the bedroom to get dressed. It seems weird getting dressed for the day at 9 pm. But I know if I can get myself looking half way decent, Guy will take me with him to Billy’s and I need to go. I look sharp when I go back into the living room. I’m wearing red stilettos and daisy dukes. I have purposely put on a sweatshirt and with my makeup I look flawless. Guy is pleased and off we go to the car. Within minutes we’re at the Shoreview club. Every one is there. Laura S. pulls me aside and asks what happened. She can always tell. I shake my long blond hair out and tell her nothing, nothing is wrong. I then go to join Billy at his table. Looking me over, he asks if I’d like to go outside. This is code for “do you want a line?” I do so I go. The night slips by.
Before I know it, it is time to go. Guy is mad about something. We drive home in silence. The minute we walk in the door I feel his wrath. A right cross grazes my cheek and I go down. He’s kicking me now, madder than ever. “You bitch, why can’t you behave?” “ Here I take you out, treat you nice and you act like a slut.” I close my eyes.