Esme sat alone in her room, tapping her foot. She'd heard her husband Charles storm in through the front door and knew it was only a matter of time before he made it down the hallway.
She felt trapped in an abusive marriage and there was nothing she could do to get out of it. Things were never great with Charles; he'd always had a bad temper and a will to drink, but lately it had gotten worse - much worse.
The sound of breaking glass made Esme jump from the tense position she sat in by the window sill. A collection of cuss words followed and she closed her eyes, balling her fists as she waited in anticipation for whatever punishment her husband had in store for her.
The quick, heavy footsteps down the hall made her close her eyes tighter and then the door burst open.
"You finished your dinner before I got home?" Charles asked, huffing in the doorway. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"It's nearly midnight, Charles," Esme said back, and then put he hands up in defense as he began to storm toward her with a hand raised.
When he stopped she was thankful, yet surprised.
"You have a mess to clean up downstairs," he barked, "I dropped by bottle."
"Of course." Esme rose from where she sat and cautiously walked toward him.
As she passed by he raised a hand and connected hard with the side of her face, sending Esme into the side of the door.
"I don't care what time it is," Charles said, towering over her, "You wait for your husband to eat dinner."
Esme held the side of her face but had long since practiced the art of holding her tears in. The anger had taken over where sadness had left off.
"Do you understand?" he asked with a menacing glare.
She cleared her throat and wished her face hurt just a little bit less so he wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing her pain. Esme held her face and stood up as proudly as she could manage. "Yes, Charles."
The smell of alcohol lingered on his breath and the look in his eyes was filled with anything but love; it was disgust, despair, arrogance.
Esme had thought of getting married as a younger girl but she had never envisioned this was what the fairy tale would entail.
"Go clean up the spilled whiskey," he ordered, "I'll be down once I change out of these clothes. It's time you started appreciating a working man."
Esme took a deep breath and wandered down the hallway trying to ignore the deep throbbing in her face. She entered the kitchen, finding a dustpan and brook to discard of the glass and then eventually mopped up the alcohol.
"Still cleaning up?" Charles asked as he stumbled into the room.
"I just want to make sure there's no leftover glass for you to step on," Esme said meekly. She felt around on the ground with her hands and winced as a tiny piece of glass pierced her hand, "Like that."
A small trickle of blood ran down her hand toward her wrist.
"Better you than me." Charles walked passed her, eyeing the deep bruise and accompanied cuts that were forming around her right eye. He then glanced at her hand. "I'll take you into town to see the doctor tomorrow," he told her, "You slipped and fell mopping up a vase you dropped. That's also how you cut your hand."
Esme glanced at him from the corner of her eye and stood up from the ground.
"You hear me?" Charles asked her, taking a step in her direction.
"Yes." Esme hurried to the sink and turned on the water, letting the fresh blood run in small pools down the drain.
Charles sat down at the table and began to eat the meal she'd prepared for him hours before. "First thing in the morning we'll go to the doctor. Do your best to keep that cut under control tonight."
Esme stood with her back to him and closed her eyes thinking there had to be something more out there for her.