The house was empty when she returned; limping on bloodied feet and shivering from the cool evening air and exhaustion.
The front door was unlocked. The lights were off. Cautiously she stood in the hall listening for signs of anyone else in the house.
Then Pam made her way upstairs quickly, half-fearful she would find Roy at the top or in the bedroom. She set to work. Grabbing a box of band aids from the bathroom cabinet, she cleaned up her feet as best as she could, applying bandages before pulling some socks from the laundry over the top.
She slunk into the bedroom like a ghost. A vague odour of sweat hung in the dry and musty air. She had never been able to rid the room of it, despite vigorous cleaning and humidifying, it always smelt stale, like the window hadn't been opened in a long time. She slipped her stinging feet into an old pair of Keds and picked up her purse. Making her way over to the dresser with short wincing steps; she briskly snatched up a handful of lingerie and stuffed them into her purse. Chaotically she threw items on top of the underwear; contact solution, a sweater, socks. She tossed the box of band aids in as an afterthought.
Then, she picked up the smartphone off the bedside table on Roy's side. Roy always kept a second phone by the bed. Quickly, she turned the phone on and waited agonizingly for it to set up.
She called for a cab. Fifteen minutes, the bored operator told her. Pam put the phone back and smoothed out Roy's pillow automatically.
This was the room she had shared with Roy for over four years. The carpet, grey and rough, where she had more than once found herself branded with a carpet burn on her forearm and other areas from being pulled across the floor in a fit of fury. How many times had he dragged her around this room? How many times had she woken up in this bed with his fingers in her, on her, always demanding of her? Memories flashed in front of her, a phantasmagoria of soiled and savage souvenirs of her relationship with Roy.
This was it. So many, many times she had thought about leaving. She fingered the band on her left hand, picked her purse up off the bed and walked unevenly away. At the doorway, Pam stopped. Hesitated. Biting her lip she turned back to face the room again.
As if moved by force, she yanked the simple diamond cluster ring she wore off and dropped it carelessly onto the pillow that Roy slept on. She didn't look back.
Hurrying down the stairs, her purse bouncing irritatingly against her hip, she pulled her trench coat off the hook in the hallway. Slinging it over her arm, she felt the pockets for her keys. Opening the door, a fresh burst of cool night air brushed over her.
Later on, she would wonder how he had managed to stay so silent – Roy, who had all the grace and poise of a fit bull, Roy, who's thundering stride could be heard, under any other circumstance, from a distance too far away for easy comfort.
It happened so quickly. She had stepped only halfway out the door before being roughly seized and dragged back inside. Before she could utter so much as a squeak, she was slammed into the wall at a numbing pace, gruff fingers pulling tightly on her hair. Pam wriggled and yelped against the fiery sting of her scalp. She collapsed to the floor, her heart punching wildly.
"Get away from that door!" Roy bellowed, dragging her along the carpet. Pam moaned, her head exploding with sharp pain. Roy's eyes were bright, wild with fury. He dropped his grip on her hair and stomped over to the door, kicking it shut.
Pam groaned and pulled herself up achingly, leaning against the wall for support.
"What the hell is this?" Roy stormed, thrusting her bag up in the air. Furiously he ripped it open, growling through the contents Pam had so hastily tossed inside. Flipping the bag upside down; coins, purse, lipsticks – her underwear rained out on to the floor. Roy seemed to swell with rage. He reached out and nudged her underwear with a booted toe. "You whore." He spat at her. "I knew it. You think you're just gonna leave here and go to him?"
Pushing herself away from the wall, Pam looked at Roy with disgust. Everything, every punch, kick, bite, every accusation, all the humiliation- only yesterday she was being treated for concussion – every indignity Roy had ever forced upon her swelled up painfully inside her. Concussion. Broken bones. Lies. Emotional blackmail. Accusations. The bare fact that his first instinct was to blame Jim for her leaving. Her resolve strengthened.
"I'm leaving. I'm done." She said simply, trying to keep the quiver from her voice. She wasn't going to debate the issue of Jim – or anything else with him – she had come back to the house with one purpose, to end things and leave.
Roy was walking towards her slowly. "Oh, is that right?" he growled. His face was hard, incensed, focused on her. It was a look she had seen often in the past; yet there was a wild intensity set in his features that she was not familiar with. Roy looked like a feral bear, rising up to his full height over her menacingly. Pam flinched back against the wall, scanning the room for anything she could use against him.
"Yes." she tried to edge away slowly. "You don't love me, Roy. I think you love the person you expect me to be. You hit me-"
"You make me! If you would just do what I ask I wouldn't react that way! It's your fault we're in this mess now!" Roy slammed his hand furiously against the wall, his open palm inches from her head.
"You hit me." She repeated as calmly as she could. "You hurt me when you are faced with me, not the fantasy woman who does everything right that you think I should be."
Roy looked taken aback.
"I am leaving Roy. I-I don't want to fight now. Please let me go." She stood firm, her shaking voice betraying her fear.
"You are not going anywhere." his voice deathly quiet and low, moving towards her.
"Yes, I-" His palm smashed round in a circular motion, landing sharply on her cheek. Pam's eyes watered as she thudded back against the wall. Roy stood in front of her, hands balled into fists, looking as furious as she had ever seen him.
"I'm going." She repeated, yelping as Roy yanked her roughly away from the wall and pushed her down on to the carpet.
He hit her many times, during their struggle. Roy usually worked on her lower body, but this night it was apparent he didn't care what marks he left visible on her. Pam put up a defence, something she had never ever done. She slapped him, something she definitely had never ever done before. Roy spewed out an extensive string of expletives at her, his rage unrelenting.
"No one else would ever want you. Remember." he snarled down at her. She gasped up at him, colorful spots dancing before her eyes. A burning pain seared red hot across her left shoulder and a low moan escaped her lips. Pam rolled her aching head to her left. Little raindrops of blood were glistening on the carpet. For a blind moment she panicked more so– she would have to clean that up, Roy hated stains on the carpet – when she suddenly snorted a crazy laugh. The rules are simple and set in stone, she thought hysterically.
Roy gaped at her.
Pam took advantage of his moment of distraction and shoved at him forcefully, which in all truth was not that hard, every movement she made caused a muscle or bone to cry out in pain. However she was also, by this point, doubting that she was any less than fighting for her life.
Roy stumbled backwards, his face contorting with naked anger. His left foot came down on her bottle of contact solution, lying in the debris of bag items Roy had scattered around the hall. He slipped and momentarily he caught hold of the wall to stop himself landing on the floor.
Pam fled away from him, not looking back. She flung open the front door, dimly aware of the thunderous footsteps threateningly behind her. She ran down the street, her nose bloodied, cheek swelling and her shirt ripped clear at the shoulder.
She ran, mindless of the burst of pain in her heels and toes, mindless of the tears coursing down her face, pink with blood. She ran and ran until she stopped, doubled over and vomited spontaneously over the sidewalk.
She limped on, and on, until eventually, relief drove up in a shiny grey taxi. She hailed it, gratefully.