Accidental Lover

Sarah's Point of view:

I dialed Emily's number, my hands shaking with fear, my heart racing with anxiety. "Emily, he's going to kill me," I whispered, trying to hold back tears that streamed down my face like rain.

I was hiding in the basement, the only place I felt safe, surrounded by the musty smell of old boxes and the faint scent of mold. Alex had been raging upstairs, his anger and frustration boiling over like a pot left unattended on the stove. I knew I had to get out, but I was trapped, like a bird in a gilded cage with no key.

"Sarah, what's happening?" Emily's voice was calm, but I could hear the concern beneath.

"He's going to kill me," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper, my throat constricted with fear. "He's been getting worse and worse. I don't know what to do."

I heard Emily's sigh, her gentle words of comfort, but they felt like a distant echo, a reminder of a life I once knew, a life I could never go back to.

I thought back to the day I met Alex, the charming smile, the piercing eyes, the gentle touch. I fell deeply in love with him, like a leaf falling from a tree, helpless to stop my descent.

But it started with small things, like a trickle of water that erodes the stone. A criticism here, a raised voice there. I brushed it off as stress, as fatigue, but it escalated, like a fire that consumes everything in its path.

The night started off peacefully. I thought about the party we'd attended earlier that night. It was a charity gala, a sea of tuxedos and cocktail dresses. I'd worn a red gown, feeling elegant and confident.

But then, I'd accidentally spilled wine on the host's wife. Alex had been upset, his eyes flashing with anger. I'd known then that I was in for a long night.

I felt trapped, like I was living in a nightmare, with no escape, no respite. I wanted to scream, to shout, to break free, but my voice was silenced, like a bird with its wings clipped.

"Sarah, you have to leave him," Emily said, her voice firm. "You can't stay in this marriage. It's killing you."

"I know"

I knew she was right, like a truth that echoes in the soul. But I was scared, like a child in the dark, afraid of what lurked in the shadows.

"When will you leave him?" She asked a question that I'd pondered a million times.

"I don't know," I mumbled. I asked myself that question a lot when the abuse became too much to bear.

"I'll talk to you later, Emily."

"Stay safe Sarah, I love you," she replied, and the call went dead.

I waited in the dark, dank basement to stay out of his raging path. A faded scar on my arm served as a reminder of what happens when I linger when he is in a foul mood.

As I waited, my eyes strayed to the wardrobe that stored my paintings and my mind wandered back to the night I'd picked up painting. It was years ago, when the abuse first started. It was a way to express the emotions I couldn't verbalize. I needed an outlet and something to pass the time with when hiding.

I remember the feeling of the brush in my hand, the way the colors blended on the canvas. It was my escape, my sanctuary.

Now, hiding in the basement, I knew I had to escape. I couldn't take his anger, his control, anymore. I glanced at my latest painting, the colors dark and foreboding. It was a reflection of my soul, a cry for help.

I couldn't let Alex find my paintings. They were the last things I held dear in my life. He would go as far as destroying them just to hurt me more.

I thought about our honeymoon phase, the way he showered me with love and attention. The way he held my hand, the way he looked at me. I was so in love, so blind.

But then, things started to change. The little things, the dismissing, the accusing. I brushed it off as stress, as fatigue. But deep down, I knew.

I remember the first time he hit me. The shock, the pain, the fear. I thought it was a one-time thing, that he would never do it again. But it happened again, and again, and again.

I learned to cope, to hide. I took up painting, losing myself in the colors, the strokes. I painted to forget, to numb the pain.

But the pain never went away. It lingered, a constant reminder of what I'd become. A shadow of my former self.

I thought about my life, the choices I'd made. I thought about Alex, the man I loved, the man I feared. I knew I had to leave, but I was scared.

Scared of what he would do, scared of what would happen next. Scared of being alone.

I woke up to the sound of shattering glass. My heart racing, I sat up in bed, disoriented. Alex was standing in the doorway, his eyes blazing with anger.

"You stupid girl ," he spat, his voice venomous. "You think you can hide from me?"

I cowered, trying to make myself small, invisible. But he saw me, his gaze piercing through the darkness.

He stormed over to the bed, his fists clenched. I flinched, expecting the worst. But he just stood there, his chest heaving, his anger simmering like a pot about to boil over.

"You're going to pay for this," he growled, his voice low and menacing.

I didn't know what I'd done wrong. I never knew. But I knew I had to get out of there, fast.

I tried to run, he advanced faster.

"You need to learn to respect me," he snarled, his voice low and menacing.

But what led us to this point? Looking back, I realize that our relationship has always been complex.

We met in college, and I was swept off my feet by his charm and good looks. He was the star quarterback, and I was a cheerleader. We were the golden couple, and everyone thought we were perfect for each other.

Sarah, the stunningly beautiful cheerleader, with long fiery red hair and piercing emerald green eyes. Kind, gentle, and submissive. Alex, the quintessential college star athlete with the disarming smile, and confidence. He stood at around 6'2 with a strong, athletic build, and his short, dark hair and very blue eyes.

After graduation, Alex landed a high paying job at a prestigious company, and I became a full-time homemaker. We bought a beautiful house in the suburbs, and I spent my days decorating and cooking, while Alex worked long hours to provide for us.

To outsiders, our life looks perfect. But sometimes, I wonder if there's more to life than this...

As I curled there, frozen in fear, I couldn't help but think about how our relationship had changed over the years. How had we gone from being the perfect couple to this?

And then, the blows came. Slaps, punches, kicks. I tried to defend myself, but he was too strong.

Threw me to the ground like I was nothing

"You're nothing without me," he shouted, his fists hitting my flesh. "You're nothing!"

I curled up, trying to protect myself, but he just kept hitting. I thought it would never stop.

Finally, he exhausted himself, leaving me broken and battered on the floor.

As I lay there, I knew I had to escape. But how? He had me trapped, physically and emotionally.

And then, the worst part came. The apologies. The tears. The promises to change.