A Box Full of Sharp Objects

“Where were you?” he asked me while perched in the brown leather chair in our living room with not one single light illuminated.
I could feel my heart beat in my chest as I stared at the dark outline of my husband, his voice a dangerous tone.
“I got caught up at work,” I squeaked in barely a whisper.
There was a time when I wouldn’t take that from anyone and no one could intimidate me... It’s pretty messed up how only five years of marriage can’t break you.
“You’re lying,” he whispered in a heated tone. “You’re a liar.”
“I-I’m not lying,” I repeated, hearing the chair groan as he rose from it.
“Liar, liar,” he said in a soft, sing-song voice as he stopped in front of me with a smirk plastered on his face, his right hand caressing my right cheek. Before I even had time to worry about what was coming next, he punched me hard as hell in the stomach and I crumbled to the floor like a pathetic pile of sticks. “...Slut,” he muttered before kicking me just as hard a few times before leaving our house to go god knows where.
I lay there, curled up in a ball, crying for what felt like hours, but it was only a matter of minutes. My life has been falling apart since I married Jason five years ago. I had just turned 18, was oh-so-in-love with the 26 year old and was facing a bit of pressure to marry early like the rest of my family--- well, besides my brother who everyone pretended didn’t exist. He started beating me, started showing this sick and twisted side of himself shortly after we wed.
At first I fought back, I was quite a spirited girl though few knew it. I took after my brother and didn’t take anyone’s shit, however, I wasn’t like him enough to disobey my parents.
So despite taking more than my fair share of trips to the hospital, I said nothing of the beatings to my family and didn’t even consider divorcing him.
For shame should I do such a thing!
Everything I used to be, everyone I used to love was taken away by that asshole...
And somehow, as I lay on that floor clutching my surely bruised, if not broken, ribs, I felt something change...
I felt the old Scarlet’s strength coming through... and I knew exactly what I had to do, and that I didn’t have long to do it...
So instead of crying on that floor for hours like I wanted to, I pulled myself to my feet and grabbed the phone, punching in the numbers I remembered. The one’s I hadn’t called in years, the one’s I wasn’t sure still worked...and if they did, I wasn’t sure the recipient would even want to talk to me, not since I cut him off like the rest of my family, though against my will.
“Please...” I whispered in shaky tone as it just rang and rang.
“Hello?” someone answered in a confused tone, clearly not recognizing the number calling them.
“I...” didn’t know what to say...
“Scar?” he said the name like it was something secret and precious to him before a heaviness overtook the line as he filled with concern. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” he asked knowing I wouldn’t call him otherwise, which is pretty fucked.
“I can’t do it anymore, I want to go home and I’m not sure where that it is right now...” I said softly, trying not to let the tears be audible in my voice. I then shifted so I could watch for Jason coming back to the house, luckily no one was around, however the movement caused me to gasp in pain and grab my side.
“Scar?!” he said, alarmed. “What’s wrong, what did they do to you?!”
“...Bert, do you think you could save me one last time?” I whispered before my vision started to get foggy.