Counting the Days (13 page)

Why didn’t his parents come and help me? Did they not hear me screaming? It’s not possible that they didn’t hear the entire commotion. They had to be turning a deaf ear as they usually did. That was their way. The pain was so intense that I was screaming as loud as I could. I hoped that someone would come and help me. His parents, a neighbor, anyone, but it was to no avail.

Time seemed to stand still as Danny tortured me for hours. Over and over again, I begged, pleaded and screamed, but he continued and raped me, repeatedly. He raped me in every sense of the word…Physically…Emotionally…Spiritually.

When he finished, he got up and went to take a shower. Just like that…as if nothing had happened. He got off of me, went to the bathroom and turned the shower on. He just left me there. I tried to get up, but couldn’t. My entire body felt like it was broken. All I could think of was…my baby. Did he hurt my baby?

When Danny finished with his shower, he got dressed and went out. On the way out, he made no attempt to help me. None. He stepped over my body and left. I passed out.

After a few hours, I finally came to and was able to muster enough strength to roll over. When I turned, I felt blood running out of me. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from? I forced myself up onto my hands and knees. I looked down at my privates and I immediately began to cry out with panic. I could see that the blood was pouring from down there. Oh God, no, please, not my baby. I couldn’t feel anything, only numbness. I crawled to the bathroom and got up onto the toilet.

I frantically began to feel around down there to find that I was bleeding rectally. I turned the shower on and crawled in. I sat on the floor of the stall and cried for hours. It was dark when I finally came out and dressed. I cleaned the blood up from the floor in the living room and telephoned the doctor.

After telling them some lame excuse for my headache, the answering service said that I could take Tylenol. It wouldn’t hurt the baby. They informed that the doctor would call if he felt it could be something more serious. I didn’t tell them anything about my bleeding rectally, so I knew the doctor would not be calling me back. I had put a sanitary napkin on and prayed that the bleeding would stop on its own.

I sat in the kitchen for hours. Not only was I numb from head to toe, but I was numb throughout my entire soul. It must have been around 3am when Danny returned. I was still sitting at the kitchen table in the dark. In his drunken stupor, he came into the kitchen, and upon seeing me, he got down on his hands and knees. He cried and apologized up and down. He begged for forgiveness and stated that he hoped the baby was all right. All, of course, was my fault, but he admitted that he needed to learn to curb his temper. He went on and on for hours, babbling the same thing over and over.

Throughout his entire performance, I did and said nothing. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t look at him, I didn’t reply to him, I didn’t even move a muscle…nothing. Eventually, he picked me up and brought me to our bedroom. He covered me up and then he went to sleep in the living room on the couch. Thank goodness, because I think that I would have killed him that night if he would have touched me again.

The next morning, he brought me breakfast in bed and spoon-fed me, because I did nothing. I just sat there and didn’t move, like a faded statue. This kind of treatment went on for weeks. Once in a while he’d bring some of his friends over to see the statue and see if they could get me to talk, walk, anything. When Danny was around, I was unresponsive to everything and everyone. One night, he sat me on the couch in front of the television and he went into our bedroom with another woman for the night. I did nothing…I didn’t care.

The baby inside of me, however, kept growing. That’s all I cared about. He or she was the only living creature that got my attention. My hands were constantly on my belly, consoling the baby and myself. I had a complete relationship with my unborn child. If it wasn’t for the little person inside of me, I would have given up and starved myself to death. When I was alone, I would talk to the baby constantly. As the baby got bigger, I felt it moving around more and more. I’d play soft music and slowly rock the baby to sleep. I’d also play salsa and when the baby began moving I would dance around the room. This baby was my only reason for living. Nothing else mattered.

One day in the middle of the afternoon, the doorbell rang and, to my surprise, it was Thomas. I tried ignoring him, thinking he would go away, but that didn’t work. He kept ringing the bell. Eventually he shouted, “Marilyn, it’s me, Thomas, open the door. I know you’re in there.”

I finally opened the door slightly and let him in. I greeted him and immediately told him that Danny wasn’t home. He said that he didn’t come over to visit with Danny, he came to visit me. He came to visit me…for what? I was immediately a little nervous, but I invited him to have a seat irregardless. If Danny knew that I was alone in the apartment with another guy, he would not be happy. Thomas asked how I was doing and how was married life. You know nothing really important, just the niceties.

I told him that I was expecting and he was really shocked. I mean he looked like the world was coming to an end. “Are you okay?” I asked, hoping he wasn’t going to pass out on me. He muttered that he was just a little surprised. I had no time for this conversation with him…Danny could show up and I’d be a dead woman. I was so nervous that I began pacing back and forth to the window keeping watch for his car.

I think that Thomas finally got the hint and finally left. I don’t know how long Thomas was over, but it must have been there only a short time. Nonetheless, I was a nervous wreck and was very glad when he left. Thomas is a really sweet guy and it was nice talking to him, but I couldn’t have a man in the house with me. It was a death wish.

I continued to remain mute as the months passed. Everyday he would try to make conversation with me, but I never responded. Every once in a while, Danny would come and rub my belly to show his pretense of caring about the baby. This pretense was all show for his friends. He never asked for sex…he’d just take me. Especially when I came from the doctor appointments, he would always violently take me. At first I would attempt to fight him, but after a while I gave up and didn’t fight anymore. I couldn’t. My life no longer was my own. I only hoped that I would have enough love and spirit left inside of me to give to the baby.

The days flew by and the weeks quickly turned into months. Finally the day came and Samantha was born.

The night that I went into labor, Danny complained that he had a gig at the club and how dare I go into labor. It was a Friday night and he had more important things to do. After a brief discussion with his mother, he decided that I’d be in labor for hours, possibly even days, so he was going to the bar to play that night. I’d be fine by myself for a couple of hours until he got back. When I protested, he belted me in the mouth and gave me a swift kick to my behind. The pain shot up my back as he broke my tailbone. Shortly thereafter, my water broke.

I paced the apartment for hours, as the labor pains got more and more intense. When I couldn’t take the pain anymore, I finally called Jenny and Paul to come get me. They took me to the hospital and stayed with me until Samantha was born. I also tried calling Tina before I left the house, but she coolly dismissed me agreeing with Danny that it would be hours. I was a little heartbroken that evening, the two people who I expected love from, disappointed me by their reactions. I partly expected the reaction that I got from Danny, he’s a jerk and I knew it, but not the reaction I got from Tina. Even though we’ve grown apart and there’s been some bad blood between us, I thought for sure that Tina would be there for me. I was sadly mistaken. Childhood friendship obviously meant nothing to her. Time to let it go, Marilyn, and move on.

All weekend long, I tried calling the house to see if Danny would acknowledge that our child was born. I left several messages for him with happy announcements. Nothing. Either he wasn’t home or he just wasn’t answering the phone. I even tried calling a couple of his buddies’ houses to see if they knew where he was. Nothing. Nobody knew anything.

When I had gone into labor, I had called my mother. She came by every morning and evening to see the baby. Each time, she didn’t stay very long, but at least she was there. It was nice. She was great with the baby, I could tell that she was going to be a perfect grandma, but with me, she was a little cold and distant, still very hurt about our last encounter. Our estranged relationship was apparent to everyone that came to visit. I think that I could have been a little warmer to her myself. It didn’t help that I didn’t know what I could say to her that would make everything better. If, that is, there was something that I could say, so, I stayed quiet.

Danny’s parents came to visit also, but they had no idea where he could be, so they say. Cathy kept looking at me, as if she wanted to tell me something, but couldn’t. I could see in her eyes that she was pleading for my forgiveness. She looked apologetic. I’m positive they’ve heard my cries and have ignored me. Her eyes gave her away.

Of course, Danny eventually showed up, three days after the fact, to pick us up. He showed up with a handful of toys and a smile. No apology. He acted like a proud daddy, parading Samantha up and down the hospital hallways, acting like he was the perfect husband and father. He needed to go to Hollywood, because he was a great performer. He definitely knows how to put on a wonderful show. Even though his performance made me want to vomit, I still thought he was kind of cute. I mean, there’s something precious about a man who ogles over a baby. I can’t explain it, but I felt an inner joy when I saw him with Samantha.

That feeling quickly faded, when all realized that the wonderful husband and father forgot to bring Samantha’s car seat. I got a kick out of his facial expression when Hospital Administration wouldn’t let him take us home until he got the car seat. So, he was forced to go all the way back home to get it. Several hours later, we were all home.

Life went on as it always had been. Samantha’s birth didn’t change Danny’s behavior, not one bit. I could only pray that he would grow up and become the husband and father that I knew he could be. I had a feeling that I was wasting my time and, worst yet, god’s time. For a few weeks after Samantha’s birth, things were pretty peaceful. Danny would come and go as he pleased and, to tell you the truth, I didn’t care where he was. As long as he was leaving Samantha and me alone, I really and truly didn’t care what he did with his time.

Unfortunately, that peaceful time didn’t last long enough. Samantha must have been about four weeks old when he fell into his old abusive pattern. I remember that he was home for dinner late one evening. He was quite irritated because that day his father put him to paint a large home by himself. Man, he was in a foul mood, cursing and screaming from the moment he got home. He wanted his dinner and he wanted it right now. Of course, dinner was ready, but Danny came in so late that it needed to be reheated.

Samantha began to cry, but I ignored her and began reheating his dinner right away. In his mind, I was moving too slow, so he started pushing me around the kitchen, trying to “motivate me to move a little faster” as he called it. Little did he notice that his pushing me around was actually delaying his dinner longer. Throughout his intimidation tactic, I was able to get his dinner heated and on a plate for him.

By this time, Samantha was frantic. I took one look at Danny and made sure he had everything the way he likes it, then I turned to go get Samantha. Halfway through the kitchen, Danny growled and his plate went flying past my head. He was immediately on top of me, slamming me into the kitchen wall. “What kind of crap are you trying to feed me? Are you trying to kill me or something with the garbage you’re trying to pass off as food?” he yelled. He repeatedly slammed my head into the wall before dragging me by the hair into the living room.

Because Samantha was already hysterical, I tried to remain as calm as I could, but he was hurting me so I began to cry. I tried not to cry too loudly so as not to frighten her. Danny hooted and hollered about the house and about how it wasn’t clean enough. “Look at this house. There’s food and broken glass all over the floor. It’s a pigsty. Don’t you have any pride in your housework?” he asked. “I don’t like living in filth.” He paced us back and forth, holding on tightly to my hair with his fists.

By this time, Samantha was flat out screaming. “Danny, I’m sorry. I’ll do a better job cleaning from now on,” I begged. Besides the plate he just threw on to the floor, I had no idea what filth he was referring to, because I had this apartment so clean that you could eat off of the floors. But Danny was always right. Debating the issue would result in my getting a beating. “Please Danny…let me tend to Samantha and I promise, before you go to bed tonight the house will be spotless.”

“
You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” he asked. “You think that tending to the baby is more important than cleaning your house. Right? Wrong! You’ll clean first and then tend to the baby.”