Chapter XIV

(Jane)

As much as I love the sweetly aromatic scent that fills the air after sex with Maura, I despise the harsh, sweaty smell that now hangs like a thick fog in the bedroom over our bed. Casey's steady breathing and light snoring tell me he's already asleep. As always, once he's had his fill.

I feel nauseous and struggle to free myself from the now sluggish embrace that holds me almost like a hostage. His limbs are heavy, and I fear I might throw up on the carpet if I don't get away soon.

I crawl to the bathroom and hang over the toilet for minutes. The memories are almost unbearable. I hate that he touches me. I hate that he makes me so helpless. Violent retching and suppressed sobs make it almost impossible to breathe. It feels like my chest is in a vice, relentlessly squeezing tighter and compressing my body. Slowly, I feel my strength fading, my vision blurring, and darkness surrounding me.

"Jane."

I'm freezing. It's cold, wet.

"Jane! Wake up!"

I feel him grab my arms and yank me up. Struggling, I open my eyes and see those merciless eyes.

The ice-cold stream of the shower makes me shiver and tremble. My teeth chatter, and my legs threaten to give out again.

His grip tightens. My upper arms ache. I close my eyes to hold back the tears.

"Pull yourself together!" Just a whisper. Quietly, threatening.

I hit my head on the shower shelf as I recoil against the hard tiles.

He snorts, punches the wall just inches from my head, and storms out of the bathroom with heavy steps.

"Go to bed. I don't want to see your pathetic ass anymore tonight."

I cry as I sit under the still icy water, washing my body now numb from the cold. It feels like I'm dirty, and I scrub until nearly every spot he touched is raw.

I wipe the fogged-up mirror with my forearm and look into my bloodshot, tear-swollen eyes.

How did I deserve this? When did I miss the exit from this nightmare?

As I lotion my battered body, I try to remember when my life took such a dramatic turn.

I've known Casey for many years; we went to school together. He was always the hero. Handsome, intelligent, from a wealthy family. He was funny, educated, and charming, and the older he got, the sexier he became. All the women were crazy about him, and he broke all their hearts.

I was always a bit different, not as "girly" as the other girls. I played baseball and basketball, fought with the boys, and never cared for dolls, clothes, or makeup. But one thing I had in common with everyone else: the crush on Casey.

And then, many years later – I had almost forgotten him – he approached me at this boring heroes' celebration, rekindling all my hopes. When he first invited me to dinner, my heart soared higher than ever before. When he first kissed me, I was sure the butterflies in my stomach would fly out of my mouth and ears in the next second. When we first slept together, he was attentive, gentle, and always mindful that I was satisfied too.

I thought he was my promise of happiness and contentment, a small family with sweet children. I thought he was my home base.

But then, shortly after he made that romantic, perhaps even a bit cheesy proposal – which I immediately accepted – he told me he had been promoted and had to go back to Afghanistan.

No, he didn't force or pressure me to go with him. He always gave me a choice... or so it seemed.

Much too late, I realized he had manipulated me cunningly. That he knew about his promotion before the proposal. That before and during our relationship, he was a regular at the brothel on the other side of town. That he had softened me up. Me, the tough, cool detective, feared by many but respected by all. The youngest ever to be promoted to detective. I melted like butter in the sun, let myself be wrapped around his finger, dropped my walls, and surrendered to him. I started to change to please him. I wore makeup, went shopping, got my nails done.

Far too late, I discovered who Casey Jones really is.

Initially, he just yelled, broke some dishes. I was a bit intimidated and let it happen. I was alone on this military base in Afghanistan and already Mrs. Jane Jones. Then he hit me for the first time when he came home completely drunk from an evening with his friends. The next day, he apologized, promised it would never happen again.

I forgave him.

The second time was the same. I forgave him again but started taking again birth control pills I had stopped months before.

Maybe I should have left then, right at that moment. Or maybe even earlier.

For years, I endured this hell. His humiliations, his violence, his emotional rollercoasters. His declarations of love. His post-traumatic stress disorder was an excuse for many of his escapades.

He went to the brothel because he sometimes needed it "rougher," and I was too good for that animalistic urge. When he apologized for hitting me again, he said he loved me so much that I could drive him insane. "My feelings for you are so strong, Jane, sometimes I lose control. You're the only woman who's ever had such power over me."

Again and again, he found new excuses, manipulated me further. And I let it happen. I was too cowardly to end it. Initially, I was too proud to admit that my marriage to the famous Casey Jones, whom so many women envied, had failed. To admit I had made a huge mistake, that I had been deceived and manipulated. Me, who by profession should detect manipulation and lies. Me, who fought so hard for women's equality in this male-dominated profession. Me, who relentlessly hunted down and dealt with abusers.

And then, at some point, I became too scared of the possible consequences if I tried to leave him. I was afraid of him.

And now I'm paralyzed. Eaten away by self-doubt, which I hate myself for in good moments. I am a hostage of myself. Too weak to break the downward spiral. My head knows his words are wrong, but my heart no longer obeys me.

I feel so worthless. Every attempt to free myself from this miserable life seems futile.

And then, Maura came into my life.

Like the sun after days of storm, she illuminated the darkest corners of my soul. It seemed like fate was finally being kind to me after years of horror. It seemed worth fighting and struggling. It seemed I could find the parts of myself I had lost somewhere on this hellish journey. It seemed I was getting a second chance for some reason. She was so full of understanding, so full of love. I almost made it. After months of running away, using and hurting Maura. And even then, she welcomed me with open arms and gave me a chance to escape. I had a real chance to escape. After months of struggling and denying, I almost made it.

And then came that disastrous Friday morning.

With a smile, I jog down Maura's driveway and head home. For the second time this week, we met in the park to jog but ended up engaging in an entirely different activity.

Slowly, I'm even managing to open up more and more and let myself go in Maura's presence. I know I can't expect miracles, and Maura's patient waiting shows me she thinks the same.

We haven't talked about us yet, but I know that conversation is due in the next few days. More than anything, I want to assure Maura that I won't run away anymore, that I'm ready to fight for this relationship.

I'm just entering the house, thinking about what these abstract ideas of a relationship with her would mean in real actions.

"So, how was the jog?"

I'm startled and turn to him. Since when has that damned chair been under the window right by the door?

"Good," I answer, a bit confused. Something's wrong, I can feel it. Although I haven't been a detective for years, my gut feeling (mostly) still works just as well as back then. And right now, all my alarm bells are ringing loud and clear.

He stands up and takes a few steps toward me. Somehow threatening. I can see the coldness in his eyes and wonder what he's up to. If only he weren't so damn unpredictable.

"Oh yes, I believe you!"

He grabs my arm and presses me against his chest. I don't even try to fight back; it's useless. He's so much bigger and stronger than I am.

"You think I don't know?"

"Casey, what are you talking about?"

I'm sweating, and my thoughts are racing. I desperately hope he doesn't mean what I think he does.

With a resounding slap, I fly against the opposite wall.

"You don't know what I'm talking about? Are you trying to make a fool of me?"

I slide down the wall to put as much distance as possible between him and myself, hoping to somehow save myself.

"Yes, now you're scared, aren't you?" The mockery and scorn in his now sickly sweet voice make me sick.

With a quick move, I try to dart to the side and almost believe I've made it when I feel his strong grip on my ankle and crash to the floor.

"You fuck that little slut and think you can run away from me? I'll show you why you need a man."

I feel sick and run to the toilet. Only when I taste the salty tears on my lips do I realize I'm crying.

I need to get out of this hell, but besides all the physical and psychological wounds Casey has inflicted on me, he has also taken away the one reason that made it worth fighting.

Maura.

Why does someone so evil have so much luck? The fact that we ran into Maura and JayJay and that I couldn't refuse that fateful invitation feels like destiny. A destiny that is clearly on Casey's side.

No, we do not want to have a baby. I don't want to have children with Casey, and he doesn't want me to get pregnant and "lose the only thing you have to offer: your body." Initially, I believed we both dreamed of having a family. But he only pretended to want children with me. "There are ways to deal with such inconveniences," he said once when I feared – or perhaps even hoped – that I was pregnant.

But Casey, in all his manipulative glory, charmed everyone that evening and then carefully watched for the moment Maura approached us to drop that devastating line exactly when he knew she would hear it.

And then it was over. I couldn't even look her in the eyes. His threat still vividly echoed in my mind from when he left me naked and beaten on the bed.

"If you sleep with her one more time, or even think about touching her, I will hurt her. And you don't want that, do you, Jane? You don't want more people to suffer because of YOU, right?"

And so, I remained silent, staring at the ground, breaking the heart of the only person who could have saved me from this hell on earth.

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