Haunting

The scene was perfect. Later they would call it the most beautiful wedding of the year. My golden hair was woven into an intricate braid with loose curls framing my face. My dress was gorgeous and very expensive. It was more then I ever imagined I would get. It was strapless and it showed off my slim shoulder frame. My skin was flawless from the makeup crew, it looked pore-less. My bright blue eyes were framed by a set of impossibly long eyelashes. I had peeked around the corner of the hall we were to be married in once to bask in the beauty of what I was about to walk into, and at that moment I thought there was no way I could be happier, but I was wrong. When I turned the corner to walk down the isle my heart took a leap. He stood waiting for me looking like the definition of perfection. His short cropped hair was gelled in a fancy way, and his face was shining as he looked at me. His eyes sparkled in a way that made me fight to keep my pace from quickening.

He was the son of a retired senator and a field agent for the Washington D.C. FBI office, working mainly on murder cases. He had a good job and a good family, so my parents had pushed me towards him when he showed interest in me. He was good to me when we dated, always sending flowers to the office where I worked, usually with some cute note that made all the ladies fawn over him. Even then I wasn't sure if I loved him, but he was nicer to me than anyone had ever been so when he proposed of course I said yes, making my parents think I was worth something for once in my life.

I grew up in a loveless house with parents that didn't love each other. They probably would have never stayed together, except that they had me. They may have resented each other, but they hated me. I think it was because I kept them together. I was the thing that kept them from being happy. So when I met Devin I must have mistaken the gratefulness I felt towards him for actual love, because it was the closest thing to it I had ever felt. He made me smile and so I figured I couldn't do much better.

I was only twenty years old the day I married Devin. I figured I would settle down and get started on the babies early because I wanted to love something the way my parents had never loved me. I wanted to feel that readiness to do anything for someone. It was all I wanted with my life. That all changed about three months into the marriage.

The first time Devin beat me I had myself convinced it was a one time thing. He had a bad day at work, I had told myself, this is just the alcohol. But it wasn't. A few weeks later it happened again. This time I told myself it was the stress. He couldn't catch the murderer to a cold case he had taken on.

As the months drug by I stopped making excuses for him. He was always careful, never leaving marks that could be seen. The bruises were always on my ribs or legs. One time he had grabbed my wrist and I had to wear a long sleeved shirt until it faded.

After a year of being together he made me quit my job. He told me that I should stay home and take care of the house. I think he really just wanted to limit my interaction with other people so that I didn't tell anyone. At first I was fine staying home, but that was back when he would let me out of the house by myself. After year two of our marriage I wasn't aloud to leave unless supervised by him. He would call the house regularly just to make sure I was there. He went as far as to turn my cell phone off so he could monitor the calls I made from the house phone.

Still I wasn't phased because he wasn't always bad. He was actually really good when he wasn't drinking. He would bring home a movie and ice cream and we would lounge around all night. But the good days slowly started to decline in number until there were never any. He was always drunk, therefore always mean. I still remember the first time he raped me. It was after that night I knew I had to escape. He lay next to my bruised and battered form, passed out from his mass consumption of alcohol, after nearly choking me to death, and I just knew that if I stayed much longer he would kill me. Or I would kill my self. It was also that night that I made my plan to escape.