She Will Be Loved
My name is Monica Geller. I am thirty years old. My boyfriend is Dr. Richard Burke. I love him. He loves me. He only hits me when I deserve it. I deserve to be hit. I am a terrible girlfriend. My boyfriend only hits me to help me become a better person.
I repeat the chant in my head. The same chant I repeat to myself every time he hits me. It's my routine. I need to do it to remind myself that what he does is to help me, and that he loves me and that I love him.
I sit up and ignore the pounding feeling in my head. I pull myself up from the floor and look at the clock. Four o'clock. Shit. He's going to be home in an hour and thirty minutes. I drag myself into the kitchen and look under the sink for the medicine box. I take out two paracetamol and swallow them with a glass of water. I run over to the freezer and pull out a lasagne for two that just needs to be heated in the oven. I haven't got time to cook anything from scratch now.
I put the lasagne on and set the timer for forty minutes and run to have a quick shower. Richard likes me to look my best for him. I'm not allowed to wear makeup in public, in case I attract any men. However, if we are just at his house, I have to wear it. I have to look my best for him. After my shower and I have finished washing all the dried blood off of my face, I go to check on the dinner. Twenty minutes left.
I go into the bedroom and apply some foundation to cover the bruises and cuts on my face. Richard says I'm pathetic and an attention seeker if I let them show. Then, I apply some mascara and lipstick. After I am happy with my appearance, I dry my hair and straighten my hair so it falls in a straight glossy sheet down my back. I am just cleaning up after myself when the phone rings. I run out to answer it in case it's Richard.
"Hello?" I ask.
"Hi Mon, it's Rachel" the voice at the other end of the phone sounds cheery but sad at the same time.
"Oh, hi Rach. Listen, now's not really a good time. I'll ring you later, ok?" I say hurriedly.
I'm not allowed to talk to anyone but Richard.
"No, Mon. I want to talk to you now. You said that nine months ago and didn't call back. I want to talk to you. I haven't seen you in over two years. What have you been up to?" she pushes.
"Oh not much. You?" I sigh, knowing there's no way I can get rid of her.
"Well, we all miss you like mad. When can we see you? How about we meet up for coffee in Central Perk tomorrow?" she asks.
"Sorry, I can't" I answer quickly.
"Why?"
"I just can't ok. Look I've got to go Rach. Talk to you soon. Bye" I gabble, slamming the phone down before I can get a reply.
I sit down on the sofa in a ball and try my hardest not to cry. Richard will be home soon. I miss my friends so much though. I miss my big brother and his boring dinosaur facts. I miss Rachel and all her fashion tips. I miss Phoebe and her weird beliefs. I miss Joey and his cute stupidity. However, for some weird reason the person I miss the most is Chandler. He was always there for me. Always ready with a hug when I was feeling down. With a joke for every occasion, Chandler could cheer anyone up.
It's only the smell of smoke that draws me from my endless pit of despair. I groan as I run over to the smoking oven. Shit. I forgot about the lasagne. Richard is going to hit the roof. He hates it when he hasn't got a proper dinner laid out for him on the table when he gets home from work. I scrape the lasagne in the bin and make him a quick bacon sandwich with trembling fingers, petrified what he will do when he gets home and see his makeshift dinner.
I hear the key in the door and rush out to meet him.
"Hi honey, how was your day?" I ask, trying my hardest to keep my voice level.
"Good. I can't wait to have dinner though. It better be good" he grunts.
I tremble as he walks into the kitchen, waiting for the yell. It came only seconds later.
"Monica, get your lazy, fat arse in here now!"
"Coming darling," I call nervously.
I walk into the room and he immediately slams his fist on the table, making me jump.
"What the fuck is this?" he screams, looking at his bacon sandwich with disgust.
"It-it's your dinner, darling" I answer, shaking.
"This isn't dinner. It's a fucking snack! Where's my dinner?"
"Well, I had lasagne cooking, but it got burnt when I was fixing myself up for you, babe" I tell him, leaving the part about Rachel calling.
"You were fixing your make up? You're a slut! A fat, ugly slut who can't do anything right!" he yells, grabbing my hair.
"Babe, I'm sorry. I'll try harder tomorrow. I promise" I say, trying not to shout from the pain.
"You fucking idiot. It better be tomorrow. God, you're so stupid. Why can't you do anything right!" he shouts, twisting my arm behind my back.
"I'm sorry!" I scream the pain almost unbearable.
"You're a bitch, Monica. A stupid bitch. And you know what happens to stupid bitches, don't you Monica?" he says, twisting my arm further behind my back.
"No, please. Not the cellar!" I scream.
He silently pulls me towards the cellar door as I scream that I'm sorry repeatedly.
"Well maybe next time you won't burn my dinner you stupid bitch!" he screams in my face.
He throws me down the cellar steps and onto the hard floor. He then sits on top of me and slaps me repeatedly.
"Please stop. I'm sorry!" I scream in pain.
He gets off of me and with a hard kick to my side, he goes upstairs, turning the light off and locking the door behind him, leaving me alone in the darkness.