Pretty girl is suffering, while he confesses everything
Pretty soon she'll figure out what his intentions were about
That's what you get for falling again
You can never get 'em out of your head

Tonight, I walked into my bedroom and found my husband . . . with another woman. I stood there, stunned beyond comprehension, and my legs felt like jello. I was unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to cry. My hand flew to my mouth and all the contents of my stomach came rising to my mouth. Ed stopped and looked at me, daring me to speak, daring me to stop him. My legs gave out but I turned around before I fell to my knees for this man, this abusive, lying, cheating . . . father of my beautiful baby girl. I dodged into the bathroom before he could chase after me, not that he would. The door clicked shut as I locked it. I shut everyone and everything out. I darted toward the toilet as the pain escaped me through my almost-digested food. Once, twice, three times I retched and I shook as I began to feel numb, hoping the day would disappear into the toilet. My hands shook and my body trembled as I wiped my mouth with toilet paper. My face was clammy and cold; I felt like death.

I looked down at the bits and pieces of my lunch, feeling more and more like the pieces of my heart had been purged into the toilet water like my food had. It was not that I really loved Ed anymore, it was that my life was falling apart at the seams, that there was no one left to go to, that there was no one to be there when I got home from work---it was the impending loneliness. I have never been afraid of loneliness until now . . . I have a family to lean on but at the same time, I have a family I need to support. I have to be there for them . . . I need to stay in this position, nothing can change. I need to be the wife that Ed gets off by beating senseless. I need to be the mother that tells her daughter that everything will be fine, to go back to sleep because mommy and daddy are just playing a little game. I need to be the person that Ed can verbally and physically abuse because if I don't take it, someone weaker will have to. I cannot let him hurt anyone else. I have become the world's protector . . . I take the burdens of all and I never look back. I told Gil once that I live my life to never look back, never regret . . . I do not regret staying with Ed for so long . . . I find a certain solace in it, knowing that as long as I can sustain the nightly beatings, no one else around me will have to. I can take on the weight of the world, for the good of the people, but I don't know how I can anymore . . . now that it's all crumbling beneath me.

I flush the toilet and stand up uneasily as I move to the sink. I turn on the water and shove my heads into it. I splash it up into my face over and over in an endless cycle until I see the mirror fog up. I look down at the clear water funneling down the drain as the heat rises. Without knowing, the hot water is on full-blast and my face and hands are bright red, almost scorched but I don't feel it. I stare at my hands as the heat rises all around them. They look wounded and raw and I fight the sudden urge to throw them underneath the steaming liquid once more, to feel how it burns for the first time.

It's the way
That he makes you feel
It's the way
That he kisses you
It's the way
That he makes you fall in love

As the water evaporates, I close my eyes and lean into it. I think back to the last few days . . . the abuse I have gone through and the pain I felt because of it. I feel as though I should have seen this coming . . . There was a subtle difference in the ways Ed has treated me. The abuse was the same; frankly, that never changes with time . . . The small things did change, however; the kisses went from dominating to bruising. The touch of his hands went from strong to crushing. The smell of his cologne was strong but now it has become weak. The little things that I should have seen coming are flooding my brain, alerting me to the already present danger.

God help me, I don't think I can take this anymore. The physical abuse that I took as the reward for protection of my loved ones is now changing into the emotional abuse that I can no longer lean to. The room has become so hot and my thoughts are dazed. All I want to do is stop but I cannot stop . . . I must go on. I must stay strong. I cannot crumble. And realization dawns on me . . . I must leave. I have to leave the abuse and the cheating before I fall so far away from who I really am that there will be no way out.

She's beautiful as usual with bruises on her ego and
Her killer instinct tells her to beware of evil men
And that's what you get for falling again
You can never get 'em out of your head
And that's what you get for falling again
You can never get 'em out of your head

I must go; now . . . before my resolve crumbles and I decide to stay for the good of others. I shut off the water and wipe the mirror off with my hand. I look at my reflection and it occurs to me that I have no cried. I cannot remember the last time I have cried for, or because of, Ed. My face no longer looks like Catherine Willows's face . . . I look like a stranger in my own skin. My eyes are no longer bright, but solemn and dreary. My lips are dry and my mouth tastes awful. I reach to the faucet and turn on the cold water, pausing a moment at the hot side, daring myself . . . I pick up a toothbrush and toothpaste and begin slow, monotonous movements. I do not pay attention to the strokes. I brush harder and harder without realizing it. As I go to rinse off the bristles, I see them tainted red with blood and I pray that this unconsious destruction will be coming to an end. I wouldn't want anyone to notice this . . . I wouldn't want anyone to care.

After rinsing my mouth of the toothpaste and blood, I start out the door, pausing before unlocking it. I wait for a moment, listening to make sure Ed and the woman are done screwing each other before I go in to gather my things. Surely enough, I do not hear any moans or creaks of the bed and I assume that it is safe to walk out.

I open the door and walk slowly into my room to gather a few things. Ed comes in, dressed in boxers and cussing up a storm. I barely listen; I quit listening the day he hit me. I glance back at him and his face is red hot with anger. His hands and arms are flying about, gesturing at the outlandish notion that I could walk into my own bedroom without knocking first. His hands get closer to my face and I do not flinch, also something I gave up the day he started to beat me. I continue on with the task at hand, daring him to ask me what I am doing. He doesn't seem to notice . . .

I shove shirts and pants into my bag, anything I can grab. I do not make a show of it, I just gently grab a few things and throw them into the bag, knowing Ed will not realize what I am doing. I manage to fill up the bag and zip it before I leave the room and Ed shouting for me to come back this instant. I continue walking. I feel invincible . . . he's hit me so many times before that I am more than used to it; whatever he throws my way, I can take.

I descend the stairs and walk into the kitchen, Ed trailing me. He has stopped ranting enough for me to pull out a TV dinner. I grab a knife and Ed steps back as I hold it in my hand, stabbing holes into the taut plastic. I throw it in the microwave for a few moments and turn around to take more verbal abuse from him. He doesn't start up again until I put the knife down on the counter---good to know he is not as moronic as he acts. He paces around the room and I look at him, my eyes no longer portraying hurt, worry, or empathy.

He stops and looks at the bag on the floor. He finally realizes what I have set out to do. As he asks me where the hell I'm going, the microwave beeps at me. I turn to the beeps and tell him that I'm leaving. My own voice scares me; there is no emotion whatsoever in it. He mutters a few cuss words and I peel back the punctured plastic from the meal. I open the utensil drawer and grab a knife. I shove it in the salisbury steak and throw it across the table at him. I grab my bag and go to Lindsey's room, leaving a startled man alone in my kitchen with a partially cooked dinner.

A few minutes later, I emerge from Lindsey's room with a bag and find Ed sitting at the table, staring at the salisbury steak. Throwing a, "Eat it before it gets cold" behind me, I walk out the door. I walk out of my life with Ed forever.

It's the way
That he makes you feel
It's the way
That he kisses you
It's the way
That he makes you fall in love

I picked up Lindsey from school and rented a motel room just outside Vegas, far away from Ed and out home. Lindsey is too young to ask any questions and she sits on the bed, happily watching cartoons. After awhile, I order dinner and realize that I have not gone to work like I was supposed to. I don't call, I don't worry, I just flop down on the bed next to my daughter and close my eyes, drowning my sorrows in the laughter of my daughter.