about her – the way she dressed, how she looked, the way she spoke and the things she said – until she felt she could do nothing right. Even sexually, he found her inadequate. Still desperately in love with him, Lisa had learned to cope with his violent mood swings, trusting that if she just waited and rode out the storm, the man she had fallen in love with would return. He always did, and she lived for those times. He made her feel so special and cherished. Filled with remorse, he would plead with her not to leave him, and she would forgive him, glad to have the real Mark back.
But soon the good days were outweighed by the bad, and she started to wonder if she’d ever known the real Mark at all. He had slowly chipped away at her confidence and eroded her self-esteem until she barely felt like a person anymore, and then he had taken control. Scared of losing him, she had been an easy target for his manipulation, and she turned herself inside out trying to be what he wanted. He thought she was too fat, so she went on a diet. He liked her in high heels, so that was what she wore. She always gave in, at first because she was desperate to please him; later because she was afraid of him. Gradually her whole life became circumscribed by his rules and demands. He would lay out the clothes he wanted her to wear when they went out. He ordered for her in restaurants, and if they were eating at home, he told her what to cook. She tied herself in knots trying to please him, but it was never enough. His rages became steadily more terrifying, and she was constantly on edge, second-guessing her every move, fearful of his reaction.
The first time he had hit her, he had been so wracked with remorse, she had actually felt sorry for him. Consumed by guilt and self-loathing, he had sobbed in her arms like a child, swearing it would never happen and begging for her forgiveness. Her stomach turned over now at the thought of how she had comforted him, assuring him that she trusted him and promising that she would never leave. She saw now with sickening clarity that she had been setting a precedent – giving him permission to do it again; reassuring him that she would tolerate anything.
If only she had walked out there and then. Maybe he would have let her go. But she had been naive and trusting – and desperate to be loved, if she was honest with herself. When he told her he would change, that things would be different, she was all too eager to believe him. She’d been so besotted, one word of praise or admiring look from him meant the world, while his touch lit up her whole being. It had made her so happy knowing he loved her and wanted her.
His sweet words and affectionate gestures meant nothing to her now. In fact, she dreaded them. She knew they were meaningless and she hated the pretence. Sex had become something she merely endured. Sometimes she couldn’t help her body responding to his touch, but she resented him for making her come, feeling only humiliation that he could still exert his will over her in that way.
She preferred to be numb. And mostly these days she was. She played dead, sleepwalking her way through her life on autopilot, hardly caring whether he hit her or kissed her – it was all the same in the end. She was simply surviving, breathing in and out, biding her time until she could get far, far away from him and start living again.
Sometimes she wondered if she could make it by herself. It had been a long time since she had been independent, and she had nothing of her own left – no money, no friends, no work. She hardly even knew who she was anymore. But last night she had felt a new sense of hope. She smiled as her thoughts strayed to Grayson and the time she had spent alone with him in the library. Despite all the embarrassment and humiliation she had suffered last night, ultimately it had buoyed her up and emboldened her. For the first time in a long time, she had felt like herself again. Playing chess with
But soon the good days were outweighed by the bad, and she started to wonder if she’d ever known the real Mark at all. He had slowly chipped away at her confidence and eroded her self-esteem until she barely felt like a person anymore, and then he had taken control. Scared of losing him, she had been an easy target for his manipulation, and she turned herself inside out trying to be what he wanted. He thought she was too fat, so she went on a diet. He liked her in high heels, so that was what she wore. She always gave in, at first because she was desperate to please him; later because she was afraid of him. Gradually her whole life became circumscribed by his rules and demands. He would lay out the clothes he wanted her to wear when they went out. He ordered for her in restaurants, and if they were eating at home, he told her what to cook. She tied herself in knots trying to please him, but it was never enough. His rages became steadily more terrifying, and she was constantly on edge, second-guessing her every move, fearful of his reaction.
The first time he had hit her, he had been so wracked with remorse, she had actually felt sorry for him. Consumed by guilt and self-loathing, he had sobbed in her arms like a child, swearing it would never happen and begging for her forgiveness. Her stomach turned over now at the thought of how she had comforted him, assuring him that she trusted him and promising that she would never leave. She saw now with sickening clarity that she had been setting a precedent – giving him permission to do it again; reassuring him that she would tolerate anything.
If only she had walked out there and then. Maybe he would have let her go. But she had been naive and trusting – and desperate to be loved, if she was honest with herself. When he told her he would change, that things would be different, she was all too eager to believe him. She’d been so besotted, one word of praise or admiring look from him meant the world, while his touch lit up her whole being. It had made her so happy knowing he loved her and wanted her.
His sweet words and affectionate gestures meant nothing to her now. In fact, she dreaded them. She knew they were meaningless and she hated the pretence. Sex had become something she merely endured. Sometimes she couldn’t help her body responding to his touch, but she resented him for making her come, feeling only humiliation that he could still exert his will over her in that way.
She preferred to be numb. And mostly these days she was. She played dead, sleepwalking her way through her life on autopilot, hardly caring whether he hit her or kissed her – it was all the same in the end. She was simply surviving, breathing in and out, biding her time until she could get far, far away from him and start living again.
Sometimes she wondered if she could make it by herself. It had been a long time since she had been independent, and she had nothing of her own left – no money, no friends, no work. She hardly even knew who she was anymore. But last night she had felt a new sense of hope. She smiled as her thoughts strayed to Grayson and the time she had spent alone with him in the library. Despite all the embarrassment and humiliation she had suffered last night, ultimately it had buoyed her up and emboldened her. For the first time in a long time, she had felt like herself again. Playing chess with
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