Empty Promises

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He was kissing the tears that were streaming down her face, dripping from her chin, like he really cared. She tried to push him away, struggling to hold onto the feelings of anger which were slipping through her grip like grains of sand. Maybe he really was sorry this time. His lips were in her silky blonde hair, soft and delicate, thick fingers were wiping the tears from her jet black eyelashes, smudging her mascara underneath her eyes. Who would think, from this doting attention, this sweet tenderness, that he would ever hurt her?
She flinched as his hand touched the quickly-forming bruise on the side of her face, and he pulled his hand back, possibly worried he had hurt her.

Ironic.

The room was dark, almost black, but Tanya had been in there enough times to know its navy blue walls, the feeling almost of claustrophobia - the bookshelves along the walls hemmed her in and the ceiling pressed down on her, like his body. Not even that muscular, she thought... It always surprised her that he could be so forceful. Curling her toes in the carpet, she could barely make out the features on his face. His sharp cheebones threw the rest of his face into dramatic relief, his normally pale grey eyes shadowed in the dim light. Glancing over at the clock on his bedside cabinet, she noted the neon numbers in the curtain-induced darkness - only eight o’clock. Winter was obviously gaining on her sooner than she had hoped or expected.

Attempting to block out the feeling of Chris kissing her, she focused on the events of the summer - bonfires on the beach on balmy nights, volleyball with the sand between her toes... He had cared about her then, she was sure he had loved her. Shaking herself mentally, the reminder that he still cared for her blazed across her conscience with a pang of guilt. He just had a strange way of showing it. Ugly purple marks were already rising along her cheekbone, the taste of blood coppery and nauseating in her mouth.

“I have to get going Chris,” she muttered, struggling against the covers in an attempt to sit upright. Yet her efforts were pointless and he pinned her back aggressively, his heavy palms against her shoulders.
“Why?” he snarled, pressing his lips against her throat with savage passion, his eyes burningly intense, even in the dark.
“My parents will want to know where I am. They’ll be wondering why I’m not home,” she answered, trying to get up again. Her hair had dropped into her eyes, scratching slightly, yet she didn't have the strength to push it away, couldn't free her hands from underneath him.
“They won’t. Even if you have to go home, I want a treat first."
The quiet chuckle made her shudder with disgust as, despite her struggles, his hands pushed against her roughly.
The air was thick with promise, practically dripping from the furniture, clinging onto the curtains and growing over the books on the bookshelves like some dank, clinging mould. And she knew better than to argue, unless she wanted another couple of bruises, a cut lip, perhaps even a broken bone.

He wasn’t sorry. He never was. And she lay back on his bed, blocking out his eager breath on her and the creeping discomfort and pain, she tried to think of summer.


Tanya woke in the morning, greeted by deep yellow bruises, thin traces of blue and purple winding through them like threads to contrast brutally against her pale, milky skin. Blooming like some diseased flower on her cheekbone, one was particularly nasty, the blood pooling under the surface painfully and causing her to wince in pain as her fingers wandered over it, stunned by her reflection.

Her parents barely noticed.
Divorce was at the forefront of their minds, jostling attention away from the daughter who spent so little time at home, instead getting beaten around by the man who had been oh-so-charming in the beginning.

Perhaps that was one of the reasons why she stayed with him. It's not like she had much else to hang on to. Even her friends were drifting from her now, uninterested in her constant rebuttals, her insistance that no, she didn't want to talk about it and no, she wouldn't be at this party or that party or some stupid, pointless meal in town. And in the end, the invites just stopped coming and she found herself with nothing more to talk about with them. Harsh, perhaps, but true.

After school, as she ritually had for months now, she fouind herself stood in front of Chris' house, ankleboots crunching across the gravel path as she made her way up to the front door. Pressing her finger against the doorbell, she heard the chimes... and the response came quicker than expected.
Barely seconds later, the door was flung open and he appeared in the doorway, face twisted into a bestial snarl. Grabbing her arm - a painful crack rang out and she yelped in pain, attempting to struggle away - he pulled her inside and pushed her against the coat closet door, several inches above the ground. Her feet hung limply - a marionette with it's strings cut, struggling weakly.
“Where have you been?” His voice held a guttural snarl, his upper lip curling with disdain.
“Nowhere!” Tanya shivered with fear, gooseflesh pricking at her arms, furious tears of pain and outrage stinging her eyes and clinging to her eyelashes.
“Stupid whore, you want to make a fool of me? Why are you so late? Who have you been with?” he screamed in her face, fists pushing her harder back against the wall. The handle pressed sharply into her back, sending shockwaves of pain to her brain as she struggled for breath, attempting to kick out at him, hit him, scratch him, anything...
“I c-came straight here, I... I promise..."
And suddenly, he dropped her and she slumped to the floor, shoulders heaving and contorting with sobs, the long scratch of the door handle red-sore and possibly bleeding. She couldn't tell, couldn't quite focus, merely struggling to find her breath again.

“Get up.”
His voice was quiet, unrecognisable almost. Yet she stayed where she was, not daring to move or even look up at him, towering over her like some living colossus. Her tears streaked her face mercilessly, burning her skin and dripping onto the floor.
“I said get up! Did yout not hear or something?” came his harsh reply as he dragged her up from the floor, one hand entangled in her hair as she struggled to find her footing.
But as soon as she found it, his fist closed in on her.

And then everything went black, and she felt nothing more.


Tanya sat straight up in her bed, breathing heavily, eyes wet with tears. Her skin was clammy with cold sweat, bedclothes clinging to her body and tendrils of her hair - blonde as ever - caught in damp curls against her forehead. The impressions of fingers on her shoulder and against her neck were just noticeable, visible peering out from the thin cotton of her vest top pyjamas.

Just memories, that was all.

She tried to settle down again, her breath still coming in uneven, choked gasps as she curled up under the duvet and glanced to her side. Chris' form was almost motionless, except for the peaceful rise and fall of his chest in time with the faint snores that drifted over. of sleep.
It hit like inspiration, a sudden knowledge as she buried her head into her pillow and tried to control her shivering that this couldn't carry on.

Wincing at every creak, every rustle, every imaginary stirring from the other side of the bed where her husband snored, ignorant to her plans, she carefully slid herself out of bed. The noise of her feet meeting the carpet made her flinch, yet she eventually found her way toward the door, fingers groping in the dark to find her whereabouts. She avoided the warderobe, didn't trip over the cushions scattered over the floor, testing each step nervously with her toes before taking it - glanced over her shoulder once, twice, a third time for any sign of a reaction, before easing the door open and slipping outside onto the landing.

Moonlight flooded through the frosted glass pane in the front door, washing the scene (usually so dull) in dark navy and heavy satin shadows - it couldn't be much later than midnight, could it? - as her hand found the telephone, the tone deafening in the silence, and began to dial...