Part 6

Here is part 6 (mostly finished). Please keep in mind that this is a rough draft and that I will "flesh out" the story once it is completed. It's good to get the thoughts down first and then go back and fix things. Enjoy and let me know what ya'll think.



Walking to the market, I thought about how incredibly blessed I was to live in this small town. The last five years had certainly gone by with ease and comfort. No one really inquired too much about my past and that was a relief. My past was a rabid dog and I would much rather leave that dog alone.

Life here was bliss, really. There were four distinct seasons, my friends were supportive and fun, my home was charming, and I had a job that I loved. Yes, this was pretty much the polar opposite of what my life had been in Florida.

I married at such an early age. He had said that he loved me beyond reason and I believed him. Juan was devilishly handsome and he had such a way with words. We met in Ybor City and I had been taken by his exotic looks and the way that he was different than anyone I had ever met.

After a whirlwind courtship in which Juan showed that he could be moody, we married. Looking back, those moods only foreshadowed the horrors that my marriage would hold. On our wedding night I realized what a huge mistake that I had made. Like most girls, I imagined my honeymoon to be filled with romance. Instead of gentle caresses, I received harsh words of criticism if my hair was the slightest bit out of place. Instead of a doting new husband, I was left to my own devices while he leered at and flirted with other women. Divorce was frowned upon and beside the fact, my pride prevented me from admitting defeat.

Juan knew all of this and he seemed to derive some sort of sadistic pleasure from watching me become miserable. Over the next few years, Juan became more and more physical with his malice. In the beginning of our marriage, Juan used words to wound me and occasionally fists. Now, he was striking me on a regular basis. Oh, yes, he always made sure to do so on my back or upper arm where my clothing would hide the purple bruises. There were a few times that he lost control and actually punched my face. Amazingly enough, those punches did not leave any marks although they hurt like the dickens.

I finally began to fight back. Two could and would play that game. The first time I struck Juan he was more than surprised. It seemed to calm him and he walked away from me with a frown creasing his brow. The next bought of physical violence brought about Juan picking me up over his shoulder and repeatedly thrusting my head into our headboard. I bit his hand hard enough to draw blood and he released me onto the bed. As I sat there, gulping for breath, Juan slapped me across the face and demanded that I go make dinner.

We continued along this destructive path for five years. It is a miracle from God Himself that I was not killed. I always knew that I was strong, but, being married to Juan showed me just where exactly my strength came from.

Oh! The other women, and men, I should add only added to the insults. One afternoon, I was walking down 7th Avenue and Juan and one of his “friends”, Maria, were walking arm and arm happy as could be. There were rumors, always rumors. Juan vehemently denied there being any validity to them, but in my heart I knew that they were true. How else could a supposed husband treat his wife with such malice and utter hatred?

That night Juan drew the final straw. I made spaghetti for our dinner and had it waiting on the table for him. When he walked in the door, Juan ignored the hot dinner and instead went to a different room to read the newspaper. I sat and ate my dinner in peace and waited. The minutes turned into hours and Juan still did not come for his dinner. My anger was bubbling over so I decided to do something about the situation instead of just sitting patiently waiting for my dose of punishment.

Calmly, I warmed the plate in the oven. With a soft smile on my face I went to the study where Juan was now reading a book. A little voice in my head said, “Flip the plate! Flip the plate! Flip the plate!” and I DID. I flipped the plate of hot spaghetti on Juan and he yelped in pain. Victory was mine although it was short lived. I meant to leap out of the way and run out of the house. Instead, Juan grabbed my wrist and jerked me to him. It hurt but the triumph of watching Juan dance around in pain more than numbed my wrist. He shoved me backward and I fell into a doorknob. It hit the back of my head and I blacked out. That would be the last time Juan would ever put his hands on me.

The priest found multiple grounds for our annulment and I moved to start a new life.