Submission

“What do you do, when you know something’s bad for you, and you still can’t let go… ,” leaks out of the rusty radio as I plunge my hands into the cold soapy water. The old set struggles with Christina Aguilera’s confident vocals, letting static run through the loudest notes. Somewhere buried deep within this house’s thin birch walls, the resounding slam of a door echoes, followed by heavy, clumsy footsteps. Bad for you… bad for you… echoes in my mind. His inebriated voice soon fills my ears, just as I knew, just as I feared it would. There is no other possibility, really. Every day for a reason unbeknownst to me, events conspire to ruin him. And what else can he do but run to his one comfort? It’s natural really, just as a little boy refuses to sleep until his teddy bear is tucked firmly under his arm. The glass bottles filled with amber liquid are his teddy bear, his safety and security. So I can’t blame him, really.
“Iva!” comes the bellow. “For G/ds sake, where are you Iva!”
“In the kitchen darling,” I sing in the strongest voice I can muster. Because there’s no reason to be afraid right? I know I can trust him, right? Of course.
“Bring me another beer!”
“Just one minute honey, I’m finishing up the dishes.”
“Hurry up woman!” I can hear the exasperation in his voice.
“Please calm down love I’ll be there in a second,” I reply. Just one more to go.
“Don’t you sass me like that!”
I cringe in anticipation as he comes barreling into the room, face flushed from alcohol and eyes as bloodshot as a war field. But somewhere beneath that I can see the sparkling green eyes and pearly smile of the man I fell in love with. He’s there, I know. This is just a phase. Just a passing stage.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” He demands, words slurring.

“I am sorry, love.” I whisper lowering my eyes to the linoleum floor.

“You don’t mean it!” He screams! “Say it like you mean it!”

“I am so, so sorry Gabe,” I insist, catching his eyes for a moment. Here is my mistake.

“You’re a liar!” He shrieks. “Hit yourself!”

“But darling…”

“Don’t you but me! Do it! Now!”
My trembling hands reach for the ruler kept beside the sink. Gripping tightly, I squeeze my eyes shut and slap it against my forearm.

“Again! Harder! Like you mean it!” He screams, chest heaving.
With renewed strength, I grip the hard wood in my sweaty palm and relish the sting of pain as it meets my delicate skin. Anything for him. Anything to make him happy. When I married him, I promised to care for him for better, or for worse.

“That’s not how you do it!”
He thrusts his hand forward, and my shaking fingers place the ruler in it. I spot a smoldering cigarette clutched between his fingers.
“This is how you do it,” his voice suddenly dips to a low growl of determination. He raises his arm and I brace myself for the impending blow. But it never comes. Instead, I watch in horror as he stabs the cigarette into his own wrist, causing his skin to burn and swell.
“Stop! Please, stop!” I cry. How can he do this to himself. It’s all my fault. His pure godly skin is blistering because of my sins. I hate myself.
“Fine,” he spits. “It’s your turn now.”
Instead of a cigarette, he pulls out the lighter, flipping it on and pressing it against my neck. The flame licks my porcelain skin, causing it to erupt in red hot agony.
I cannot help an instinctive scream from escaping my barred teeth. Quickly slapping the fire out, I turn on my heel and sprint away as fast as my shaking legs will carry me. Better to leave this time. Better to run before he does something he regrets, because I could never bear being the source of his disappointment.
He doesn’t follow me, I didn’t expect him to. Surely he will be crawling back to his bottle by now, sucking in the sweet justification it offers. My feet pound the gravel of the road until they are rubbed raw, and I veer off into the softer dirt of the surrounding forest. Dragging my weary body to a fallen tree, I collapse and finally let free the chest-racking sobs trapped inside me. Why me? Why is it so hard? Why does he demand so much of me?
Why do I have to sacrifice myself to keep him going?
The questions are pointless, of course. I must submit to him as I swore in my wedding vows. And I love him, worship him even. I know he’s hurting now but he’s going to get better soon.

You keep telling yourself that, when will it happen? The voice inside my head chides me. But I quickly shut it out. I trust him, I love him, I fear him as a wife should. Anything and everything is worth him.

I pick my sorry self up and begin the long trek home. Dragging my feet forward as they push back fiercely, insisting that I want to get as far away from that place as possible. This is just another one of G/d’s tests, he’s pushing me, testing my faith and my loyalty. But I will not crack; I will repent for my sins. Christina Aguilera plays in my head, sending chills up my spine.

“Every time I try to grasp for air, I am smothered in despair it's never over, over
Seems I'll never wake from this nightmare, I let out a silent prayer…”

Finally, I round the corner and my dilapidated home comes into sight. There he is. Standing, waiting. For what? For me?

“Gabriel,” I murmur softly, shuffling towards him.

“You left, you left,” he stammers struggling over the words.

“I came back,” is all I can say as a wave of guilt washes over me, seeping into my veins and causing my heart to throb mercilessly with pain.

“I’m sorry Iva, so sorry,” he says his voice barely a whisper. His large weathered hands reach out to stroke my cheek. I shiver at his touch.

“I love you Gabriel,” I smile. Here is the man I know, the source of my happiness, my faith.
And then before I know it those strong hands are traveling down my hair, past my struggling smile, right down to my fragile neck where they grip and squeeze. Tight, so tight. I gasp for air as blue and black spots cartwheel through my vision. I can’t fight back, just let him do it, just one more time. Tears well up in the corner of my eyes. Christina’s lyrics become my fervent prayer.

“Let it be over, over…”
Miraculously, the hands slowly untwine themselves, and I collapse sobbing into Gabriel’s strong arms.
“Thank you,” I whisper over and over again my voice a cracked whisper. “Thank you.” Slowly, I trek back into the kitchen and begin to wash the dishes again, soap and rinse soap and rinse. The same comforting routine that puts my life back together each time it falls apart. In my head, I repeat my mantra following the beat of my work. Tomorrow will be a better day, I know it. Tomorrow will be happier. Tomorrow will always be better.