Out of Love

!!! TRIGGER WARNING !!!

Contains descriptions of domestic abuse and physical / emotional violence

“I did it out of love.”

That’s what he’d always say, afterwards. Then he’d dab at her cuts and bruises, gently as a nursemaid.

“Shh,” he’d say. “Shh. I’ll always take care of you.” By then she was so worn down she was grateful for it.

It might have gone on like that forever, until he was too old to swing a punch any more, or until he swung one a little too hard and finished it for good. She’d stopped wondering what she’d done to deserve it. Walking on eggshells all the time was easier than second-guessing what was ok today, what wasn’t. It had been a long, long time since she stopped wondering if she deserved it at all.

Like a daisy, she opened up when the sun shone, closed herself up tightly through the dark. She told herself she could put up with the dark, like he said, out of love.

It was the doll that changed everything. She was helping sort jumble for the Valentine’s bring-and-buy at the church, with Carla Beddows. They rifled through the cast-off clothes, putting aside the ones that could be salvaged with a stitch here, a new button there. As they checked over the donated toys, Carla let out a little giggle and waved something at her.

“Look, Shirley! Remind you of anyone?”

A boy’s doll, an action figure, with moulded blue underwear and plastic limbs distorted by muscles. Carla pressed the doll on her, insisting. “Take it home! Show Jay! He’ll think it’s hilarious!”

Shirley winced, but she took it anyway, because what choice did she have? Funny how people were always telling her what a great guy Jay was, how he was always up for a laugh, such a good sport. Impossible to convince them of the hidden rages afterwards, behind closed doors. They’d never have believed her. Absentmindedly, she picked at the little scar on her lower lip, left over from the last time someone thought Jay would be able to take a joke.

So, Shirley took the doll, but she made sure to bury it in her sock drawer, right at the bottom, next to the little vanity bag with the concealed zip where she kept the account card for her “runaway savings.” The one Jay didn’t know about.

He came home late, with a box of chocolates and she forced herself not to ask where he’d been. It might have been perfume she could smell, but he was smiling, so she just gave him a little kiss for the chocolates, and went to bed, relieved.

He was still in a good mood next morning, and her hands trembled as she flipped his fried egg and poured his coffee, careful not to spoil it. When he kissed her cheek and closed the door behind him, her shoulders unclenched, and she could take a long, grateful sip of her own tea at last.

The door slammed open again.

“For F—’s sake!”

Shirley sprang to her feet, but she knew better than to utter the “what?” on her lips.

“Bloody battery’s flat!” He crossed to the kitchen counter to plug in the charger. She mentally kicked herself. He must have forgotten to turn the car lights off last night. She should have checked.

He turned sharply, with the extension cord in his hands, shoving into her as he passed, so that her tea slopped onto the floor.

It was only a tiny spill.

It was enough.

Stupid… Clumsy… The words were punctuated with slaps, a fist. She stopped listening, turned off all her senses as best she could until it was over. But she didn’t miss the look in his eyes. Pure, wild joy. Because she had given him his excuse.

Later, she lay on the bed, watching sunlight paint shadows on the ceiling, and imagined him blustering into work, all apologies.

So sorry I’m late. Shirley had a nasty fall. Ice on the driveway. 

She could see him, soaking up the solicitude of his colleagues, his boss.

I had to stay and calm her down a bit. Shook her up, I can tell you. I’ll work over, to make up the time. Go home at lunch and check on her? Well, if you’re sure…

From a deep, dark place inside that she had forgotten existed, rage welled up, pure and white hot. She knew it was childish, as she rifled through the drawer, but she had to do something, hurt something like she hurt. She found the doll, smiling its smug half smile, oversized muscles bulging, plastic fists clenched.

She thought of Jay hitting her as she held it over the burner in the kitchen and watched its stupid hand soften, char and melt.

He didn’t come home at lunchtime. Instead, her phone rang.

“Shirley? Not to worry, love, but it’s Jay. He’s fine, but he’s had a bit of an accident. He’s at the hospital. No, no, you stay put, he told us about your fall. Darren’s going to drive him home when they’re done. Nothing serious, no. A little mishap with the welder. Burnt his hand.”

She stared at the doll, its melted plastic stump still smouldering. Then she shook her head clear and opened all the windows. Stupid thoughts. But this time, she hid the doll in an old biscuit tin in the attic, where he’d never look.

Jay was off work for a few days, and she clucked over him, making his favourite meals, tucking him up on the sofa with the remote. He was docile, tender, even.

“What would I do without you?”

It lasted a few weeks, until the next thing went wrong.

“What are you looking at?” 

“Nothing! I wasn’t—”

“You were staring. At my scars!”

“No, I—”

“Why don’t you take a closer look?”

He was so sorry afterwards, of course. It was the pain, the embarrassment. If he thought she didn’t love him anymore, because of his ugly hand, he couldn’t bear it. He did it out of love, he told her, as he dabbed antiseptic liquid on her eyebrow. Out of love.

This time when he left, she went straight up to the attic, taking the steps carefully as her vision blurred and cleared. There was a faint smell of burn as she opened the tin. The doll stared up at her, accusing.

What are you looking at?

Methodically, she took a pair of nail scissors and drove the sharp point into the doll’s left eye. The satisfaction she felt as the cheap plastic gave way was childish, she knew. Stupid. But it felt good anyway.

When the phone rang, she was half expecting it, but that didn’t stop her shaking as she hit the icon to accept the call.

“Shirley? Don’t panic, but there’s been an accident….”

This time, while he sat on the sofa, one side of his head swathed in bandages, she paced the kitchen, trying to keep a grip on her mind. Crazy. Impossible. A coincidence. He’s a mechanic. Accidents happen.

But when he went back to work, she knew what she had to do. It was one thing when he was hurting her body. Bodies heal, more or less. But this—this was going to take her mind, if she let it.

Shirley took the vanity with the savings card, packed a small case, and wrote him a note.

Just before she left, she climbed to the attic, and recovered the tin.

She’d thought about it, hard. Of course she didn’t believe the doll made those things happen, but she couldn’t just leave it there. Couldn’t take it with her, either. Couldn’t throw it away—the thought of the bin lorry with its compressor… She shuddered.

So, she walked down the road to the bus station, and before she bought her ticket, she crossed the bridge over the river. She lifted her arm high, tossed the tin into the water, and watched it bob along in the current until it disappeared from sight. There. We’re both free, now, she thought, and went to catch her bus with a smile.

Jay read the note with his one good eye. He crashed out to the driveway, screaming her name and cursing blue murder, so that curtains twitched, and dozens of eyes saw him screech off down the road like a man possessed. 

By the time the storm picked up, Shirley had arrived at a bus station in a strange city, wheeling her case to a cheap little hotel she’d booked online on the way.

Jay slammed his fist on the counter, scaring the girl behind it so badly she could barely remember which bus the woman in the photo he showed her had taken. As he sped onto the bridge, a gust of wind took hold of the car and shoved it, like a child’s toy, into the wooden parapet. For a moment, the rotting planks felt like they might hold, then, with a groan, they collapsed into the river below, taking the car with them.

Bobbing along in the rushing water, the car looked like it might be able to stay afloat indefinitely, until the probing current found its weak spots, and plunged it into the icy dark.

When they came to inform her she was a widow, the police asked Shirley why she’d left Jay.

“Out of love,” she told them. “I was out of love.”