"I Know He Loves Me"

Lynn stood in front of the bathroom mirror and gently touched the puffy discoloration around her left eye.  She couldn’t go to the office looking like this.  Reaching for a bottle of makeup, her mind returned to the previous evening. 


Their dinner was slowly drying out on the kitchen range as she‘d paced from room to room worrying that Brent might have been in an accident and poised to snatch up the phone when it rang – but it hadn’t rung.

It was nearly eight when she poked a fork at the hardened roast and stirred the mushy vegetables.

“It’s all ruined,” she muttered, carrying the pans to the sink and flipping on the disposal.

She sat down in front of the TV and fell asleep.  The next thing she remembered was waking up to find Brent standing over her, smelling heavily of booze and leering at her.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said, reaching out and squeezing her breast.

Hoping that he would go to sleep, she spent an inordinate amount of time in the shower.  Yet, when she finally stepped out, there he was – buck naked, leaning against the lavatory, grinning at her.

“What took you so long?” he asked, massaging his erection.  “Junior here is getting impatient.”

“Brent, I don’t really feel . . . “

Ignoring her protest, he quickly moved toward her and yanked the towel from her body.  Grabbing her by the shoulders, he crushed her against him and began covering her face with slobbery kisses.

Filled with revulsion, she pushed hard against his chest.  “Don’t!”

He staggered backward, caught his balance and grabbed her arm, holding it in a vise-like grip.  He stared at her, his eyes glittering with anger.

“How dare you push me away!  It’s my right!”  Suddenly his fist lashed out and smashed into her face.  “You ever do that again, I’ll break your neck!”

Tears of pain and frustration rolled down her cheeks as he dragged her to the bed, threw her down on it, pinned her arms above her head and proceeded to rape her.


Blinking back the tears the memory brought, Lynn, wincing, spread another thin layer of foundation on the bruised tissue.  And it’s getting worse, she thought.  The rages, the hitting, the forced sex were getting ever more frequent.  Never knowing what would set him off, she lived in constant fear.  “Oh, how did I ever get myself into this?” she whispered to her mirrored image.


She had met Brent two years earlier when the entire Accounting Department was working overtime trying to finish the year-end closeout.  He was new to the Department and she had been assigned to show him the ropes of the grueling annual chore.

When they were all quitting for the evening, he turned to her with a shy smile.

“You wanna go with me to grab a burger?”

“Sounds good,” she replied, returning his smile.

Chatting about work, they walked to a cozy little café and slid into a booth.  When their burgers and fries were placed in front of them, they ate in silence.

Suddenly Lynn noticed that he was gazing at her left hand.  He glanced up, caught her watching him and blushed.

“So,” he said, “you’re not married.”

Lynn wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question.  She shook her head and smiled.  “Haven’t met Mr. Right yet.  How about you?  Are you married?”

He frowned and stared at his plate for a long moment before slowly shaking his head.  “I was . . . once, but it didn’t work out.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I guess maybe she just never really loved me.  Maybe she was just looking for a meal ticket.”

Lynn was filled with sympathy for him.  How terrible it must be to be locked into a relationship and know that your partner didn’t really care about you as a person.

During the entire week that Lynn had worked with Brent on the closeout, she  became increasingly fond of his shy manner and considerate behavior. 
Consequently, when a few weeks later, Brent stopped by her desk and invited her to lunch, she accepted without hesitation.

They left the building and walked down the street.

“I hope you like Mexican,” Brent said hesitantly as they approached the entrance of a small storefront.

“Oh, I love it!” Lynn replied as she preceded him through the door.

While they waited to be seated, Lynn gazed around at the cashier’s station and the tiny bar, both faced with hand-painted ceramic tile.  She drank in the ancient-looking pottery overflowing with huge bouquets of bright flowers.

As the hostess led them between white-clothed tables, she admired the murals of Old Mexico that adorned every wall of the long, narrow room. 

Munching on tortilla clips and salsa, she nodded her head toward the view of mountain scenery next to their table.

“Isn’t that beautiful,” she enthused.  “It makes you feel as if you’re sitting on the portico and actually seeing that view.”  Brent nodded silently.  “I didn’t even know this place was here,” she continued.  “Ok, look at that picture of the marketplace!  I can’t get over how real they all look.”

Brent glanced in the direction she indicated.  “Yeah, they’re nice.”

His apparent lack of interest captured her attention.  “What’s wrong?”          

He shrugged.  “The boss gave me a royal ass-chewing this morning.”

“What happened?”

“Well,” he said slowly.  “It seems that a whole batch of invoices got posted with the wrong codes and he said I’d been here long enough to know better.”

“But everyone makes mistakes,” she protested.

His eyes flashed angrily.  “I didn’t make the mistake!  It was that damn Rachel!  She gave me the wrong code sheet.”

“Well, regardless, I wouldn’t worry about it,” she said soothingly.  “It can always be corrected.”

“But that’s not the point!  I got blamed for something that wasn’t my fault.  I wouldn’t be surprised if that bitch Rachel did it on purposes – just to get me in trouble.”


Lynn shook her head at her mirrored image.  Maybe that flash of temper was my first clue, she thought.  But she hadn’t seen it.  Or maybe she had simply chosen not to recognize it.


A few days later, he invited her out to dinner.

“I have a better idea,” she countered.  “Why don’t I fix dinner and you come to my place.  You can bring a nice bottle of wine and it’ll be nice.”

He readily agreed and Lynn began planning her menu.  At the appointed hour, he showed up at her door, bottle in hand.

She led him into the living room and motioned toward the sofa.  “It’ll be a few minutes before dinner is ready.”  She lifted the wine bottle.  “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll pour us a glass of this?”

Going into the kitchen, she quickly checked the progress of her meal, took two wine glasses from the cabinet and opened the bottle.  When she carried the drinks back to the living room, she found Brent standing next to the stereo poring through her CDs.

“You got some good stuff here,” he said.

“I do like music,” she said, handing him his glass and taking a sip from her own.  “Why don’t you put something on?”

Lynn hummed along with the music as she got their food on the table.  When all was ready, she returned to the living room.  With a mock bow, she said, “Dinner is served, sir,” then held out her hand for his empty glass.

Grinning with pleasure, he passed her the glass and followed her into the dining area.

All through dinner, she was constantly jumping up – to grab the salt and pepper-shakers she’d forgotten or to refill his glass.

When they’d finished eating, she quickly cleared the table and carried their dirty dishes to the sink.  As she stood rinsing their things and loading them into the dishwasher, Brent came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist.

“That was really nice,” he murmured against her neck.  “In fact,” he said, turning her to face him. “You’re more than really nice.”

He bent his head and kissed her, gently at first, but then with increasing intensity. 

Her body responded, but when she felt his fingers slipping under her sweater, she pulled back and twisted out of his arms.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.  “You want me as much as I want you!”

She blushed at her own physical weakness.  “I . . . I think it’s just a little premature, that’s all.”

“Premature!  You’ve been coming on to me all evening!”

“No, I . . . I . . .”  She sighed.  “I’m sorry if I led you . . . to believe anything.”  She paused, and then said apologetically, “I didn’t mean to.”

With an indignant huff, he whirled around and slammed out of the apartment.


“I should have called it quits right then,” she told her reflection.  But she hadn’t.  He had continued to call her, begging her to go out with him.  Finally she had relented and they began dating on a regular basis.


As the weeks passed, they began sleeping together.  Soon, he was pleading, “Move in with me.  I can’t stand our being apart so much of the time.  I’ve never felt loved like this before.  Please say you’ll come live with me.”

When she was promoted to a new job in another part of town, his pleas became more frantic.

“I never see you anymore,” he complained.  “We can’t go to lunch, you’re always too tired to go out in the evenings.  Why won’t you move in with me?”

Eventually, he had worn her down.  She sold or gave away almost all of her belongings and made the move.

From then on, it only grew progressively worse.  He began calling her at work ever more frequently.  If she were in a meeting or away from her desk, she would return to find an angry voicemail.

“Where the hell are you?  I thought you were supposed to be working!”  Then his receiver would slam in her ear.

Then one day, he popped his head in her office door.

“Hi!”  A wide grin split his face.  “I came to take you to lunch.”

“Oh, Brent,” she cried.  “Why didn’t you say something about planning to drop by.  I’ve already made plans.”

“Plans?” His eyes narrowed.  “Who’s the guy?”

“There isn’t any guy,” she protested.  “I promised some of the girls I’d go with them to check out this new restaurant.”

“So get out of it.  I didn’t come all the way across town, just to turn around and go back.”  She sat looking up at him, a confused expression on her face.  He gave her a smug smile.  “Unless, that is,” he went on, “you prefer their company to mine.”

“Oh, Brent,” she protested, “you know that’s not true.”

He stood watching her, the now-familiar glitter in his eyes.  “That’s what it sounds like to me.  If you really wanted to be with me, you’d call and cancel.”

With a deep sigh, Lynn reached for the phone.  “Judy,” she said when her friend answered.  “Something’s come up and I’m going to have to cancel out on lunch.”

“Something important?”  Judy asked.

Lynn shot a glance at Brent.  “Pretty much.”

“Well, okay.  Maybe we can go another time.”

“Sure.  We’ll do that.”

Lynn and Brent left the office together and, as they walked toward the restaurant he’d chosen, he chatted happily about his job and how he’s just beat a co-worker out of a prime assignment.  “Guess Ol’ Man Brown knows who the best man is,” he concluded as they entered the restaurant.


Over the months that followed, Lynn often wished that she could leave him.  “But, how could I?” she asked her mirrored image as she dabbed a bit more makeup around her eye.  He had often threatened to hunt her down and kill her if she ever tried.  Besides that, she had nothing with which to start over.  “Nothing except my clothes and a couple of table lamps,” she muttered.  Her thoughts went back to an evening a few weeks earlier.


Lynn had left work a few minutes later than usual, but she hadn’t been worried.  She still had plenty of time to get home and fix dinner before Brent got there.

But she hadn’t anticipated that accident that brought traffic to a complete standstill.  Sitting bumper-to-bumper with thousands of other cars, she anxiously watched the minutes roll by.  Brent always expected dinner on the table by six o’clock.  If it wasn’t there, he would be extremely angry.

By the time all the cars began inching forward, it was nearly six.  When she finally got past the scene of the accident, with her heart pounding, she pushed up her speed as far as she dared.

When she burst into the apartment, Brent was standing, hands on his hips, in the hallway.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.  A sneer curled his lips.  “Having a little tete-a-tete with the Office Manager?”

She dropped her purse on the hall table and hurried into the kitchen with him close behind.  “There was an accident on the freeway,” she said over her shoulder.  “Everything was backed up and no one was moving.”

“Hah!  That’s a likely story!”  He waved his arm toward the floral centerpiece on the empty table.  “Where’s my dinner?  Does that look like dinner to you?  I’ve told you that I want dinner at six!”

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator, opening it and handing it to him.  “It won’t be very long, I promise.  Isn’t there a football game on TV tonight?”

With relief she watched him take the beer and move toward the living room.

A half-hour later, she stuck her head around the living room doorway.  “Dinner’s ready.”

“The game’s already started,” he replied.  “Bring mine in here.”

Without a word, she returned to the table, filled him a plate and carried it to the living room.

“Where’s my bread?” he asked, taking the plate and glaring at her.

Silently she returned to the kitchen, buttered two slices of bread and took it to him.

He grunted as he took the small plate, then picked up his empty beer bottle and thrust it toward her.  “Bring me another beer.”

With a sigh, she took the empty and brought back a fresh bottle.  Then she returned to the dining area and sat down at the table.  She sat for a while just pushing the food around on her plate and taking an occasional nibble.

“I’ll take some more of that ham,” Brent bellowed from the living room.

Picking up the platter, she carrier it to the sofa and forked a couple slices onto his plate.  “Is that enough?”

“Yeah.  That’ll do.”

Lynn returned to the table and sat for a long while, wondering how it had all come to this.  When no further demands came from the living room, she wearily pushed back her chair and began to clear the table.  With the leftovers safely stowed, she began rinsing the dishes.

In the living room she found his things setting on the coffee table.  As she gathered
them up, he handed her his beer bottle.

“Bring me a beer,” he said.

After taking him his beer and rinsing the remaining dishes, she poured herself a glass of wine and went in to sit on the opposite end of the sofa.

During the next commercial, he looked at her stemmed wineglass with a sneer, but said nothing.

With only minutes remaining in the last quarter of his game, she refilled her glass. 

Now she could watch a rerun of her favorite sitcom.

When the game ended, Brent stood up.  Lynn picked up the remote and changed the channel.

He yawned and stretched.  “I’m going to bed,” he announced.  When she didn’t get up to follow him, he frowned.  “You comin’?“

She glanced up at him.  “I want to watch this show.”

“Well, I want you to come to bed.”

Reluctantly she clicked off the set, took her glass and his empty bottle to the kitchen then followed him into the bedroom.

As she walked through the door he scooped her up, carried her across the room, playfully threw her on the bed and dropped on top of her, pulling at her clothes.

“Stop!” she said, grabbing at his hands.  “This is one of my best blouses!  You’ll ruin it!”

He continued tugging and just laughed as the buttons popped off.


“I can’t take it anymore!” she told her reflection.  “I won’t take it!”  Where was that number the doctor had given her when she’d pulled the tendon in her arm and he’d noticed the bruises?  “It has to still be in my purse,” she muttered, dashing to the bedroom, snatching the bag and digging through its contents.  At last she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and smoothed it out on the nightstand.  ‘TX Abuse Hotline’ was boldly printed and underneath an 800 number.  Paper in hand, she sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for the phone.