Chapter 1

I looked at my face in the mirror, no amount of make up would be able to cover the black eye and split lip Richard had given me last night. I did my best to cover the blue-black skin around my eye but it couldn’t disguise the swelling. I tried to put on some lipstick but the split in my lip just started bleeding again.

I sighed to my self and tried to dry a solitary tear without smudging my make up.

Back in the bedroom Richard was lying face down on the bed drooling on his pillow as he snored. I pulled the duvet over his sleeping form and kissed his forehead. I still loved him desperately and prayed that this time he would keep his promise to sort our problems out. I needed him so much it hurt, another ache to add to all the others he had given me. Since mum and dad died he was all I had, my world.

Pulling the night dress over my head I could see myself in the mirror. I tried not to wince as I saw the faint tinge off blue over my legs and chest. The left thigh hurt the most, he had kicked me as I lay on the bedroom floor curled into a ball and praying he would stop soon.

I stepped into a pair of knickers that really should have been headed for the bin and carefully eased them up my bruised legs. I had to gasp as I tried to put my bra on. I know my breasts were sore but the bra was too tight anyway and it squeezed the sore skin too much for me to be able wear it today. Well I didn’t even own another one so I would have to manage without today.

I pulled on a pair of baggy jeans and tee shirt covered by a roll neck pullover that would cover up most of the bruising. It’s funny Richard always used to say that he preferred to see me in a skirt and blouse but now he wanted me to wear jeans or trousers and long sleeved tops all the time to cover up the bruises, he hated being reminded of them.

Richard had come home drunk again last night. He had hauled me out of bed around one in the morning, screaming something about what a fat lazy bitch I was, he was going to teach me to be properly respectful.

Then he started slapping me. I tried to understand, what had I done this time? His punches rained down on me and I just took it, it was his right I suppose, it’s what all I was good for. Later when I was down on the floor, that’s when the kicking had started. By then I had stopped thinking any thing except “Will he let me live this time” if the truth be told a large part of me didn’t want to, didn’t want to have to face this again tomorrow night or the next night. I had eventually blacked out when one kick had landed on my right breast, the starburst of pain had shot through my whole body and everything went dark.

When I came too I was cradled in Richard’s arms as he cried over me.

He was so sorry, it would never happen again. He would give up drinking, find another job. Life would be different from now on.

I had heard it all before but didn’t have the strength to argue with him about it, I just didn’t want to start him off again. It seemed these days anything that was said could set him off, even looking at me often was enough to send him into boiling rage especially if my clothing allowed any hint of older bruises to be seen. I had tried to change, be the wife he expected and needed, tried to look prettier for him, but none of it had ever made any difference. I eventually fell asleep cradled in his arms feeling both vulnerable and secure at the same time.

Walking out into the kitchen-living room of our shabby mobile home I had a breakfast of painkillers, nothing else was going stay down this morning.

Picking up my bag and car keys I went out to the car and off to work. At least it was a few hours to myself. Getting out of that caravan I felt like a weight had been suddenly lifted from my shoulders.