Short story: Ex nihilo nihil fit
Written by Ana Carrow
Illustrated by Khushboo Uday Nayak
Editor’s note: This piece contains depictions of domestic violence and may be disturbing or triggering to some readers. If you are experiencing domestic violence or know someone who is experiencing domestic violence, you can call the Georgia Coalition Against Domestic Violence hotline: 1-800-33-HAVEN (1-800-334-2836) or visit gcadv.org for more information.
You kept your mouth shut while he put you in your place, didn’t you? Hands behind your back, skirt grazing your scraped knees, eyes trained on the floor. Keeping quiet, like good girls do. But you’ll never be good enough, will you? F****** up every chance he gives you — look me in the eyes, he says, as he spits in your face. You hit the floor — sticky and wet. He’s finished with you now, and you should be grateful. Grateful for all he’s done for your poor, sorry self. Someone like you doesn’t deserve someone like him. Do better. Try harder. Ask for less, hide away, shrink into nothing. From nothing can become nothing.
He did that to you, didn’t he? Your coworker reaches up, her fingers brushing broken skin. But it’s nothing, just an accident. You fell down some stairs — what a klutz you are! If only you had been looking where you were going, maybe you could’ve prevented the trip before the fall. Yes, she says, everything seems clearer in retrospect. Although, hindsight doesn’t help us much in the present. Do you need help? No, never — the only person you need protection from is yourself. Because everything is your fault in the end, isn’t it?
You forgot to call him back on purpose, didn’t you? You must have been with another man. Don’t give him that bulls*** about your phone being dead. Even if it was, even if you were stuck in traffic — you should’ve found a way to contact him. Then you wouldn’t have caused him all this worry, all this stress. You brought this on yourself, you know. He doesn’t want to have to do this to you. This brings me no pleasure, he says. But he laughs as you cry. Don’t be such a baby. What are you crying for? What did you expect, sneaking around like that? It will never happen again. Next time, when he calls, you answer — immediately. Understood? Here he pauses, a solution forming. Maybe you shouldn’t even be working at all. Maybe you should keep to the house, so he can keep an eye on you better. So he knows you’ll be safe.
He’s always looking out for your wellbeing, isn’t he? Of course you don’t need a job. It’s too much responsibility for your pretty little head. Too much pressure — that’s what must be making you so anxious lately. Quit, take a break, focus on your marriage. You can be a model wife, greeting him when he gets home with a pot roast on the table and a smile on your face. Never mind those two missing teeth, they’re hardly noticeable. This is what you want, isn’t it? he asks. To be there for me? He promises that he’s always been there for you. And he always will be, if you’ll just listen to him. You want to listen to him, don’t you? His voice is so reassuring, swearing that everything will be alright. In the end, at least. The two of you are just going through a bit of a rough patch right now. For better or for worse, isn’t that right? His arm around your shoulder, busted knuckles passing over your cheek.
To love, cherish and obey, weren’t those the vows you took? Well, then, why is it so hard for you to follow simple commands? He woke up in a bad mood this morning — you could tell as much from the fresh hole in the drywall. But you were probably to blame for it, somehow. Better the drywall than your head. Cancel your plans, that’s what he wants. He specifically told you he doesn’t like your friends. They’re bad influences, they can’t possibly know what’s right for you like he does. How could you have forgotten? Why didn’t you tell him you were meeting them? What other secrets are you hiding? You have nothing to hide; you’re an open book to him, unfavorable chapters ripped out and burned. He burns the pages of this one, too, standing over your shoulder as you make excuses over the phone. No, you can’t make it for coffee. A family emergency has come up. Yes, thank you, goodbye. And then he insists on buying you a new phone, with a new number. He’s the one paying for your phone plan anyway — doesn’t that mean he has the right to make such decisions?
You made the decision to marry him, didn’t you? But how could you stay with him, your sister asks, when he treats you like this? He treats you fine, you’re well taken care of. Plenty of people have it worse, don’t they? Your sister shakes her head. You’re hurting. He hurts you. We all lose our tempers sometimes. Did he ever have one in the first place? He loves you, though. He wasn’t always like this, not in the beginning. He was sweet to you, doting. The gentlest touches, the warmest embraces. And then you started disappointing him. It’s hard to be patient with someone like you — someone who constantly lets him down. Your sister grabs your arm, noticing the way you flinch. She tells you you’re being crazy — hasn’t he said the same thing before? — and that you’re staying at her place tonight. No, he wouldn’t like that at all. He’d come after you, wouldn’t he? You’re not allowed to just leave like that, without permission. What do you mean, permission? He doesn’t own you.
I own you, he growls in your ear, dragging you through the apartment you both share. No, he owns it. The apartment is his. You’re just another possession, like a piece of furniture, stood up in a room and locked inside. You thought you could get away with this, with no repercussions? No punishments? You broke his trust. You lying, cheating, ungrateful little b****. What did your sister fill your head with? What did you tell her? What did you say? Speak up, he can’t hear you.
Shut the f*** up — a crack to the jaw. How dare you talk to him like that? After all he’s done — the sacrifices he’s made, the lengths he’s gone, and now you want to fuck him over like this? You’ve been using him this whole time, haven’t you? Leeching off his money, his protection, his love, like the traitorous pest you are. Go ahead, leave if you want. You’re nothing but a poison, a cancer. Pack your bags — s***, he’ll pack them for you. A suitcase thrown across the room, a lightbulb shatters. Sparks fly, darkness settles.
You’re not really leaving me, are you? His voice nudges its way through the black, softer now, more childlike. You’re not really leaving him, are you? But you say yes, and your teeth ache. You taste blood. He promises to be better. His hands reach for yours, trembling. They travel up your body, touching the side of your face. He won’t do that to you again. He never wanted to hurt you, he’s sorry, he just wasn’t thinking right, you see? His head is clear now — it really is, he’ll treat you proper from now on, like a princess. Don’t you want to be pampered like a princess? Like his princess? There, there, that’s a good girl. Come to bed now. He’ll clean up that glass in the morning. Careful not to step in it. His hands are ginger, tentative. The lights stay off. He says he doesn’t want to see the bruises on your face. He hates seeing you so banged up. He loves you very much, you know.
You love him, too. Don’t you?
