Page 22

Story: Whiskey Scars

“You plan a date at the most prestigious, most expensive restaurant in all of Alaska only to show up looking like a whore. What the fuck were you thinking wearing a dress so short? Your ass cheeks hung out. And so tight, you left nothing to the imagination. I could see your nipples. Dammit, Kennedy, you’re my wife.

You must have left the house to buy it—without my permission.

Who the fuck do you think you are? You put our free ride in jeopardy. If my dad finds out …”

Speechless, I could hardly believe what had just happened. From the floor, Cody seemed to double in size. His breathing scared me, his fists hadn’t unclenched, and I wondered how many more punches were in my future.

No more punches, just a kick. My stomach absorbed his boot and I gasped from the impact; the breath kicked clear out of me.

“Did you see who sat at the table beside us? The fucking mayor. One look at you and he about lost his mind. His mouth dropped and drool practically dripped from his lips. His wife covered her mouth; I bet she was so disgusted by the sight of you that she threw up.”

Calm came over Cody like a wave. His shoulders sank and his fists released. It seemed as if speaking his thoughts brought him out of his rage. He twisted the top off a bottle of whiskey and drank straight from it. Gulped.

Cody reached out his hand as if he wanted to help me to my feet.

When his fingers wrapped around mine, he squinted.

“And your fucking hair. How many times do I need to tell you? You know I don’t want to see you without straight hair.

You look like one of my prissy classmates.

Like you don’t appreciate what you have. ”

Halfway to my feet, he let me go; I landed sideways on my ankle and cried out in pain.

“Oh, did that hurt? Are you gonna cry now like a little baby?” Cody didn’t like it when I complained. “So pathetic. How ‘bout I give you something to cry about?” He squinted as he thought. “Maybe another ‘M’? This time on the inside of your thigh. I bet you’d enjoy the pain.”

“No, please.” Like he would listen to me. Once he got an idea in his head, he rolled with it.

He tapped his chin with his finger and tilted his head. The smirk mixed with his black eyes made me think of a horror movie I had seen years ago. Just like in American Psycho, Cody’s sick ideas made me cringe.

We kept the scissors in a junk drawer; chills ran up my spine at the sight of him holding them. He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me to my feet.

“Wait! Cody, no. Please don’t. Don’t do this. I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again. I promise. Please don’t cut my hair.” Tears streamed down my cheeks and mixed with the already dried blood.

“Oh, now you’re sorry. What, precisely, my dear, are you sorry about?”

“Whatever it is you’re mad about. I’m sorry.”

“That’s your problem, Kennedy,” he practically spit my name. “You don’t even know what you did wrong. You’re so fucking stupid that you have no idea what to apologize for. How can I be sure you’ll never do it again if you don’t even know what you did?”

He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t know what I had done to upset him so much. I just knew he was pissed. When I didn’t answer him, he made the first cut. I cried out, again, this time in shame.

Silenced by humiliation, I closed my eyes as he made the second cut. My long hair had always been my best attribute; my pride and joy. He took it upon himself to wreck the one thing that made me confident.

How could I be so stupid to think he would like the curls? He bought me a straight iron last year for Christmas and demanded I use it daily. I knew he didn’t prefer curls, but I didn’t think it was a big deal.

WARM SHEETS comforted my sore body. Cody laid behind me in a spoon position. His arm rested on my hip. “I’m sorry if I hurt you; you just get me so worked up. You know how to push every one of my buttons.” His words slurred and his breathing slowed. That was my cue that he was falling asleep.

Thank God. Tomorrow is a new day. He’ll be sorry and shower me with love.

“I promise, we will have the best life. It’s you and me against the world.” Snores rang in my ear in a whiskey lullaby.

After I was sure Cody was in a steady drunken sleep, I slid out from under his arm. The mirror in the bathroom reflected a familiar, yet strange image. A sad, broken young woman stared back at me .

Purple and red surrounded my left eye and encompassed my chin, my nose looked crooked, and dried blood covered the corner of my mouth. The worst of it, though, was the short uneven tufts of hair which framed my face.

“What the hell?” I snorted at the vision of fire and brimstone surrounding me, my husband stood in the center.

Pain in my stomach forced me to double in half. Before I had time to think about the repercussions, a squeal escaped my throat. When I woke Cody from a deep sleep, he usually had words to make me regret it.

Blood dripped to the floor from between my legs and I gasped at another sharp pain. Instincts told me what had happened, and I sobbed. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

I had wanted to tell Cody about the baby after we got home, but he obviously had other plans.