TW: DV and love bombing

                  I'm fuming as the time ticks by and I stare at the clock, waiting for Mario to come home. I have paced the living room reciting the speech that will rip him a new asshole, over and over again, for lying to me. There was a moment I thought about calling my best friend Natalie, but she doesn't exactly like Mario, and will just give me an earful about how I should leave him. 

She doesn't get it.

She's not married.

Marriage takes work and sacrifice. You don't just give up because things are hard or get off track. After all, it takes two to tango, and I need to take accountability for my part in how we ended up here. I'm not good at communicating my needs, and I shut down, but that ends tonight if we plan to grow past this together.

The voice in the back of my head asks: does Mario want to?

Of course, he does! My husband is a gorgeous man and could be with anyone, but he chose me. He made a commitment to me. 

When I first met him, it was in college and he sat next to me during a Cultural Communications course. He asked to borrow a pen, and when I glanced up from note-taking, my lungs forgot to breathe. There he was with a head full of dark waves, hazel-green eyes, light stubble on his jawline, and the best smile I had ever seen with perfectly white, straight teeth. Then he reached for the extra pen I offered, our fingers grazed and I noticed the tattoos on his hand. I'm a bit of a sucker for tats, and the sight of them sent a tickle right down to my toes. 

Ink screams rebel, and something about that was exciting compared to my clean-cut life of being the daughter of a well-respected San Francisco detective, an honor roll student, a star athlete on the Track Team with a scholarship, and on my way to becoming an Olympic medalist. 

Or so I thought. 

A torn ACL shattered that dream, and I glued back the pieces of my broken heart by backpacking through Latin America. 

That day, before class ended, Mario slid a chewing gum wrapper across my desk, and said, "Call me."

With a wink, he left, and it was on our first date that I learned he wasn't even enrolled in the class. He just wanted to talk to me.

So, how did we end up here? There has to be a reasonable explanation for why he lied about working a double. Maybe he is working undercover? But then, why were his workmates there? They can't all be undercover. 

It's around three in the morning when the bedroom door creaks open. I've been laying here awake but pretending to be asleep as Mario's silhouette tiptoes to our en suite bathroom. There's a flash of light when he flicks it on, but it disappears as he locks himself inside. I was prepared to grill him about where he's been, but I froze, clutching the blankets with my head on the pillow, and now I listen to the drumming of the shower running. 

Do I want to know the truth and blow up my marriage? What if turning a blind eye to infidelity is what makes marriages last? One time, Mario confessed that his dad had an affair. He was just a kid when he found out, and regrets never telling his mom what he knew. Instead, Virginia went to her grave thinking her husband was a loyal man. When he told me, it suddenly made sense why Mario had always spoken so highly of his mother, yet so poorly of his father. To this day, they have a strained relationship.

So, why would he do this to me? 

There's the squeak of the faucet as the shower shuts off and moments of silence as my heart races, waiting for Mario to emerge. When he does, I continue pretending I'm asleep. Natalie will call me a coward for not confronting him, but I honestly don't know what to do anymore. This is a new frontier for me. 

The blanket lifts, causing a waft of cold air to caress my limbs before he climbs into bed, and then his arms are around me, followed by kisses on my neck and shoulder. I pretend to stir awake and nudge him with my elbow.

"Come on, Haze..." Mario kisses between my shoulder blades. "It's been forever."

"I'm sleeping."

"Then let me wake you up." He grinds his erection against me. "You know you want to."

And I did, hours ago, but not anymore. Not with that lap dance video playing in my mind on repeat. 

"Why are you home so late?"

"Because I worked a double." He glides his hand to the front of my sweats and pulses my clit through the material. I nudge him again.

"Yeah, but your shift ended at midnight. It's three in the morning."

"Are we going to do this or what?" He squeezes my breast.

"Why are you home so late?"

"Jesus, Haze!" he huffs and flops onto his back. "There was a big drug bust and I had to stay behind for booking and to fill out paperwork. Happy?"

"And that took hours?"

"Yes!" He tosses the blanket off and the mattress dips with his movements. "If I had known I was coming home to a damn interrogation, I would have stayed at work."

The door flies open and he marches down the hallway, stomping, with a pillow under his arm. 

Mario just flat-out lied to me.

Fire ignites in my veins as rage takes over and I scramble out of bed to race after him.

"You're lying to me," I say, skidding into the living room.

"Then call the station if you don't believe me!" He spreads himself on the couch and closes his eyes as if this concludes our argument.

"You're lying to me," I say again. "I can smell the beer on your breath from here."

His eyes fly open and he glares. "So what! I had a couple of brews after the booking. I think I've earned it. Maybe you should have a drink to loosen up."

"I don't need a drink to loosen up, Mario."

"No? Because you've been nothing but an Ice Queen for weeks and I would love to fuck my wife, but her knees are glued shut."

I inhale a sharp breath. "Excuse me?"

"Go play with your dildo." 

There's a tremble in my voice as I say, "Maybe I will." 

"Good. Now let me sleep. I'm the one who's tired now."

"Because you're drunk," I mumble and walk away.

However, it's not the end of our argument. Something crashes into the coffee table behind me. Hopefully, it was Mario's knees. When I look over my shoulder, he's right there on my heels. I don't even have time to turn around because he does it for me with an aggressive jerk, his fingers digging into my arms.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." I shake my head, my body now trembling with adrenaline.

"You always have something smart to say under your breath, but when confronted you gaslight me."

"What? I'm not gaslighting you." I furrow my brows and try to break free from his grip. 

But it's a useless tussle since Mario is stronger than me and he spins me around so my back is facing him. It all happens so fast and I find myself bent over the couch with my arms pinned behind me as if I just got slammed onto the hood of a squad car and I'm being arrested. 

"Mario. You're hurting me," I cry.

"Yeah? Well, maybe you deserve a little spanking for talking back to me."

He whacks my bottom so hard it sends sharp pain up my spine and my entire body stiffens. I don't like where this is going.

"Mario, can we please go to bed?" I release a sob, begging. "This isn't you. My loving husband would never treat me like this. Please, let me go. You're hurting me." 

The living room becomes eerily quiet, but then the pressure against my wrists releases, and the warmth of his body leaves me as he steps back. I slowly stand upright and massage my arms with my back to him as I cry and my shoulders tremble. 

"Fuck... I fucked up," he says. "I'm sorry, Haze. I'm so sorry."

But I don't respond. I might even be scared to face him—to see someone I no longer recognize.

"Haze, please say something..."

"Let's just go to bed," I sniffle and walk away.

He follows a few steps behind me, and I slide into a bed that is now cold. I shouldn't have gone after him. I should have just let it go because now I'm too scared to look him in the eyes and see the devil. There's hesitation in his presence as he stands near the bed and the beats of silence tick by with only my sniffling to fill the void. Then, he finally joins me, his arms wrapping around me, and his warm, booze-saturated breath on my ear as he whispers how sorry he is. 

This has never happened before, and I have no idea how to navigate this situation.

"Please look at me, Haze," he says with a crack in his voice. "I love you." He kisses my shoulder. "I would never hurt you," he begins to cry. "You're right. Maybe I do need to cut back on drinking and hours at work. I should have listened. I love you and I'm so sorry."

Hearing the hurt in his voice shatters something in me. I cave and turn my head to finally look at him. There's a smile of relief in his watery eyes and he kisses me. Those eyes. Those kind eyes. That's the Mario I love. My body rotates completely to face him, accepting his kiss, and it deepens as he strokes my face tenderly. He hugs me closer, and I drape my leg over him, pulling him into me. 

Our kisses become ravenous, our clothes come off, and our bodies become one as we connect our souls in a passionate moment of forgiveness through love-making.

At this moment, Mario is Mario again. He's my gentle husband.

Perhaps tonight was the wake-up call he needed, and tomorrow can be a fresh start. 

When morning arrives, I awake to the aroma of coffee beans brewing, and I follow it into the kitchen while tugging on my silk robe. Mario is flipping pancakes while bacon sizzles on a griddle, so I climb onto a stool at the breakfast bar. I love watching him cook. He gets into the zone and is damn good at it. 

"Hey, beautiful," he says over his shoulder.

"Hey, handsome."

Mario pours more batter onto the pan, then turns, and leans across the marble island to kiss me. A smile instantly spreads across my face. The doorbell rings, and Mario's gaze flashes toward it, then back to me with a cheezy grin.

"Go see who it is."

"Ok..." I get down from the stool and make my way to the door, a smile still plastered on my face.

When I open it, I'm greeted with an immense bouquet of light pink roses. A deep breath catches in my lungs and my eyes water. I love pink roses. Especially soft, pastel pink ones. Mario knows this. The delivery person hands them off to me and I return to the kitchen with a teary smile and my cheeks warm with appreciation. 

"Thank you." I throw my arm around him and lean on tiptoes to kiss him.

"Only the best for you, Haze." He takes the bouquet from me, sets it on the counter then pulls me in by the waist for another kiss. "I love you."

"I love you."

"After breakfast, what do you say we take a shower, and you let me treat your body like a buffet?" Before I can answer, he scoops his arms under my bottom and hoists me onto the marble island. "But I think I'd like a sneaky little taste right now."

"Mario..." I breathe.

He grins mischievously, pushing apart my legs, and kneels between them. I'm not wearing panties, so it's easy access as he dives right in and sends me into oblivion with his mouth. It's been so long since we've behaved this way, and each moan he coaxes out of me is filled with hope. A hope that today is our fresh start. 

I can forgive and forget that video Lucas sent me. I can forgive Mario's lies. 

Today is the beginning of things being different and maybe we can bring a baby into our home. 

That thought sends me over the edge as I climax shouting my husband's name. 

*
*
*

Alright, not sure if this chap needed a trigger warning, but I added one anyway. Most people might look at Hazel's rationale and think she's a pushover, but it was important to show how she views herself in comparison to Mario. She holds him on a pedestal and his ability to flip the switch from jerk to loving husband feeds that part of her that desires to be loved.

Oftentimes, in abusive relationships, it's difficult to see what is truly happening to you. Some might even cling to their vows, or fear breaking up their family, or worry what others might think. So, they stay. They rationalize their partner's abusive behavior and downplay it, but the abuser also knows how to manipulate, which makes it harder for the victim to think clearly.

An important takeaway is: focus on the person's behavior. Not the substance. Think about it this way: the substance is what makes their mask come off and reveal the real them. Trust your gut and never downplay what they are showing you with their behavior both sober and not sober. Pay attention to patterns.

That's my Ted Talk for the week 🫶🏽