Excerpt From PAYBACK
"To keep the peace, I did everything an abused woman does – I ensured our mansion was covered in eggshells, tiptoed around Tom, said the right things, did the right things, wore the right things – anything to keep him from exploding.
It took its toll on me. Day by day, I became really unsure of myself, had an opinion about nothing (because I was a nothing – Tom had repeatedly told me that), and existed under a cloak of shame. Shame that I was the kind of woman who allowed a man to abuse me, then keep his dirty secret from our friends and from the world. Shame that I wasn’t strong enough to tell on him, call the cops, lock him up.
My self-confidence … well, I was fat, unattractive, stupid, and worthless – Tom had repeatedly told me that too, drilled it into my ‘thick’ head, remember? I believed him.
Yet, at times, I would look in the mirror and ask, “Who are you? What happened to that bubbly girl named Arena? The once who loved to dance and laugh out loud?” I never got an answer from the stranger in the mirror.
As for sex – I hated it. If I never had sex again in my whole life, I would be the happiest woman alive, I concluded. Just about every woman I knew would hate it if their husband had an affair, a mistress. Not me. I prayed that he’d find someone, have a torrid sexual affair so that he could leave me alone.
Yet, even though it was easier to stay with Tom and keep up the charade, allow myself to get used to the abuse, suck it up, I often thought about leaving him. I just couldn’t get the thought out of my mind.
I realized that if he divorced me, he would have to give me half of everything. Then I remembered the prenup I had signed. My husband was a millionaire, but I would see not a penny of his money. He would make sure of that.
My future seemed grey, cloudy, and those feelings of hopelessness compounded and sapped away all my energy.
Then, one day, while I was cooking, Warren was nearby watching a television commercial for pasta. In the commercial, the father arrives home and says, “Imma home!” His three children rush to jump into the father’s arms. The wife follows. Group hug. A happy, sappy family, thanks to pasta.
“Mom,” Warren said, his eyes fixed on the television.
“Yes, honey?”
“Do daddies really hug their children like that?”
I stopped what I was doing and looked at my son. Tom had never hugged Warren. In fact, he barely acknowledged our son, and when he did talk to him, it was to scold him about something or berate him for being too soft, a sissy. It was as if he despised our son.
“Look…” Warren pointed at the television.
Tears filled my eyes as I watched my son rewind the commercial and watch the children dived into their father’s arms. “See that, mom? See that?”
It was the saddest moment of my life. I scooped up my son and held him tightly to my breast as fat tears rolled down my cheeks and spilled onto his little head. That was the moment that broke me. That was also the moment that I decided, come what may, I was going to leave Tom. He did not deserve me or Warren.
It may have been the saddest moment in my life, but once I made a decision to leave Tom, I felt so much relief, that it also became the most energizing moment in my life.
I was going to leave Tom and be free. Free! What a delightful word. With my son in my arms, I whirled around the room, laughing.
“Mom … ?”
“We’re free, Warren!” I said, speaking in the present tense. “We’re free, baby!”
He tilted his head at me, almost as if he understood what I was saying.
“Promise?”
I gave a giant nod. “Promise!”
He gave me such a beautiful smile, I stopped whirling around to deal with a fresh batch of scalding tears.
Money – I would need money to escape. Cash to be more specific. Cash would be vital for our survival, especially in the first few days of my leaving him, I knew that much. But, where do I get the money from? That was a problem. I wasn’t gainfully employed, Tom did not allow me to have cash, just credit cards, which he monitored. Yes, ‘allow’ is the word. Tom had engineered my life in such a way, that I was totally reliant on him. Totally – I couldn’t make a move without him finding out.
So, after many hours of racking my brain, desperate as it was, I came up with a plan. I would siphon money from housekeeping – my grocery bill. That was the only plan I could come up with. Luckily, Tom never questioned my spending when it came to purchasing stuff for our home, so it was an avenue. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that I could pull it off.
However, I would have to be careful though, because Tom lived in a state of paranoia when it came to me. I do believe that he expected me to leave him someday and that terrified him. Hence the monitoring. Also, he was smart, shrewd and could smell a rodent a mile away.
Through some creative moves, over the months, I managed to siphon quite a bit of money. I bought stuff I didn’t need, returned them to the store for a cash exchange, different stores to avoid suspicion, then put the money in my ‘Freedom Jar’. Each time I looked at it, excitement bubbled inside of me. My freedom was within reach. Our freedom was within reach. With each day, hope sparkled inside of me and my once trampled spirits began to climb like Jack’s beanstalk. Soon!
Of course, it was imperative that Tom not discover my stash – that would be an absolute disaster. So, I hid my Freedom jar in Warren’s bedroom, under a mountain of stuffed toys, because Tom had seldom entered Warren’s bedroom.
My calculations told me that my jar contained more than ten thousand dollars, which was enough to tide me over the first couple of months after leaving Tom, while I made more permanent plans, and sought financial assistance from the government. Remember, the government would only assist me and my son after I left Tom. Every time I looked at my Freedom jar, I felt like singing. I would smile, kiss the jar, and perform a little jig to my son’s delight.
Quietly, I went on to make enquiries about places to rent. They were nothing like the mansion that I lived in, but I did not care – I was prepared to live in a stable if it meant freedom from my abuser. I shortlisted a couple of places, then applied for a few. Everything was falling into place and my freedom – I could smell it! It smelt like summer rain.
Soon!
Then, one day, I returned home from shopping to find tom seated at the dining table, the money from my Freedom jar spread out in front of him.
My knees started to buckle, beads of sweat formed on my forehead and I tasted my breakfast again.
How?
He would have had to have really searched to have found the jar. Why? Why did he feel the need to search? What tipped him off? Me? My actions? My behavior?
Maybe that sparkle wasn’t only inside of me, maybe it was also in my eyes? How could I have allowed that to happen?
“What is this?” His tone of voice was low, measured, the kind that usually preceded a balled fist.
Despite my horror, I was ready for him, having rehearsed my answer to that question time and time again in front of the mirror. How could I not anticipate such an encounter, such a question? I had my answer ready.
What I hadn’t counted on, was the terror I would feel when that loaded question was posed to me. Neither did my voice; it just gave me away. “I … j…j…just teach …ing Warren how to s…s…save mon …ey.” Trying to sound casual with a strangled voice was an epic fail.
Tom stared at me. Just stared without a word.
I began to move around the kitchen, putting groceries away – anything to avoid those eyes, now slits, following my every move.
He began to tap impatiently at the table with his fingernails, his taps growing louder and menacing, causing my shoulders to rise up to my ears.
“There’s over eleven thousand dollars here.”
I stopped what I was doing, forced myself to turn around and meet his eyes. “Huh?”
“I counted.”
He counted. Deep breaths! Deep breaths!
“W … wah … well …” I cleared my throat several times, feeling like I had swallowed chalk. “I told Warren that if we … we save over ten thousand dollars, and if he did … didn’t nag me for t …toys all the time, we would surprise Daddy and b…buy tickets to Disneyland.” There! I got it all out. What a dumb reason for hiding a jar from my husband. Still, it was a response.
I rewarded myself with a glass of thrice-filtered water.
Tom pushed back his chair, jerked to his feet, strode purposefully up to me, stood right in front of me and stared down at me.
Deep … breaths. Deep …
He eventually reached for the glass, took it out of my hand and placed it on the table. After which, he grabbed a handful of my hair, wound it slowly around his fingers, pulled me close, so close, his breath fanned my face. My heartbeat gonged in my ears, and I was certain he could hear it.
The corners of his lips curled ever so slightly. “Disneyland or … you … planning to run off?”
“W … wha …?”
Using his free hand, and with his eyes boring into mine, he walked two fingers in the air, taunting, toying.
I blinked rapidly, as I braced for that slap, that backhand, or to be slammed into something. You know, the usual.
For a few moments, his eyes roamed all over my crimson face, his lips still curled at the corners, as if he was enjoying the sound of my thundering heartbeat, having immense fun pulling off the wings of a butterfly.
Then suddenly, to my surprise, he released me and stepped back. I stood frozen, unable to move. What now?
He walked over to the table, scooped all the money into the jar, along with my hopes, my dreams of freedom. “I’ll put it in the bank,” he muttered, “It’s safer there. ‘Sides, it’s not enough for first-class tickets.”
What could I say? What could I do? All months of planning, all my hopes and dreams crushed. I had told my son that we were free. Spoke to him in the present tense, promised him in the present tense, remember?
I had misled him, promised him something I had no business promising. I was such a failure. Useless.
I wanted to cry. Sob, fall to the floor and howl like a disappointed, deranged woman.
I didn’t. Tears were a luxury for the free. I wasn’t free. I was a prisoner in a gilded cage.
You know that scene in The Lion King, where Scar rules Pride Rock, which is overrun by hyenas? That grim scene where the female lions sit whispering, depressed and without hope? No Mufasa, no one to rescue them?
My life began to feel like that – depressed, discouraged and without hope, with Scar watching my every move, waiting to pounce."
Excerpt from Payback by Eve Rabi, a FREE romantic crime read.
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Synopsis of PAYBACK
When Arena escapes Tom, her abusive and vengeful husband, he vows to make her pay.
Luckily, she finds love in the arms of a wonderful man called Bear Shaw, and undercover cop. Bear is loving, generous and adores both her kids. He keeps them safe and they become a family.
Then, while Bear is away on assignment, Arena’s SUV is stolen with her sleeping toddler in it.
Arena is sure it’s Tom behind the theft. The police disagree – Tom was abroad when the theft occurred. Arena doesn’t believe it – she insists it is Tom.
When the police look to question Bear, they cannot find him. According to them, Bear Shaw does not exist.
Arena’s whole world begins to tilt. Who does she believe? Who does she trust? Had Tom sent Bear to destroy her?
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