Find a Critique Partner
Fixing John A Drink
By Barbara Johnson
Feb 2, 2009, 06:06

Bikini-clad women floated as if walking on air, whilst men with rippling brown six packs posed in the shade.
Phew! I too, couldn’t bare the heat, so I found a cabana and spent most of the early afternoon, watching the waves crash and slide against the rocks.
“You look like you could do with a back rub?” A deep voice shook the waves from my mind and I looked up to see a tall brown-skinned man looking down at me. He had sharp green eyes, which were veiled once he’d removed his shades and a smile that went from ear to ear. I sat upright and cleared my throat “What would give you that impression?”

The handsome face, which couldn’t have been any older than twenty-five lit up as he edged closer “A beautiful lady like you, wouldn’t want to be sun-burned now would you?”
I smiled and stared for a second, thinking of what else to say “Are you volunteering your services?” I wasn’t really sure of where I was going with such a suggestion, but I felt an attraction to those huge green eyes.
He knelt down and picked up the bottle of sunscreen. Pouring a handful, I turned over and waited for his touch.
Blissful and far away in my daydream, I was disturbed by the horrifying tone of my husband’s voice. It rang loudly in my ear like an annoying siren. Ignoring the clamour, I was reminded of his earlier out burst.

John called me ‘crazy’ this morning, and screamed like a banshee “you’ve lost your mind. I should have you institutionalized woman!”
Secretly, I smirked as I thought ‘it was he who was in dire need of psychoanalysis’ - screaming like a hormonal maniac.
I sat up, picked up the picnic blanket and walked back into the house. Looking around, I wished I were on the beach and a million miles away from this place. Brushing my hair in the dressing room mirror he stood over me like a sergeant major, belittling me further. I had gotten used to John telling me how useless and unworthy I was. After many years of hearing the same thing, one does become immune to the insults.
Closing my eyes, I repeatedly consoled myself that one day this nightmare would be in the past. However, sadly for me I was becoming accustomed to his outrageous behaviour and appreciated that one day, if we continued this way he would undoubtedly take my life. Confused, I did not know who to trust or where to go.

I didn’t feel I could tell my family, especially after the way I boasted about him to them. Imagine what a devastating revelation that would be - my loving husband getting drunk and high, then beating the crap out of me? Many opportunities were present for me to show Sadie the bruises and cuts, but fear rendered me still and I suffered further in silence.
Placing the comb and brush in their respective places, I moved towards the door leading to the hall and felt a burning sensation to the back of my legs. Crawling away on hands and knees, I looked back to see his heavy riding boots swiftly upon my trail and realised I had to do something to escape this torturous bond.

Finding safety in the bathroom, I quietly turned the lock on the door handle and shrunk my shoulders in anguish. Tears ran down my cheeks like a torrential rain and my heart ached endlessly. Raising my skirt I observed two large gashes just below my calf muscle. The pain was excruciating, so I reached into the floor cabinet and pulled out one of the first aid kits, I was mindful enough to place in all 8 bathrooms. Sucking in air, I passed the antiseptic wipe over each leg and clenched my teeth tightly as it stung.
Peering closer, there were two deep incisions below the calf muscles. Upon further inspection I thanked God, as an inch or two further and he would have severed important blood vessels, possibly crippling me. I cursed him under my breath for ruining my new Missoni skirt as I covered the wound with large bandages. Doesn’t he know that I was on the waiting list for that collection for five months?

Standing up was a nightmare and I winced each time I moved my legs. Checking my watch, I sighed with relief as I heard our cook, clanging away in the large kitchen. I knew John would never cause a scene with her in the house. He couldn’t bare the notion of anyone knowing how he treated me.
The pain raged through my brain like a tidal wave and I squatted down for relief. I closed my eyes and remembered when Mars and I first met.
Mars Adams came highly recommended courtesy of Maggie Green whom we had met at an estate agency in London’s Knightsbridge. She was sixty years old and had worked many years in several exclusive French restaurants. I was pleased when John informed me that she was to take up employment as our housekeeper seven days a week.

Lord knows, I hated the thought of being alone in that huge house when John was away on business and relished the thought of companionship. Cautioned by John, Mars and I were not to become pally-pally, so that respect would be maintained, but everyday we scoffed brandy filled hot cross buns, carrot cake slices and drank Green tea whilst discussing life in general.
Every evening before he returned home, we swiftly parted company and my remaining minutes were spent in the library, pretending to read uninteresting books.

More than a few instances occurred where Mars suspected something was not quite right within our marriage. Each time she queried where my cuts and bruises originated from; I would make excuses for my husband’s out of control and abusive behaviour. It was either I bumped into the refrigerator at nights or I was a clumsy woman. Eventually, she resisted asking and unremittingly busied herself with the usual kitchen duties.
We continued our daily meetings where everything from the Artichoke down to holidaying in Zimbabwe was being discussed. We never spoke again about my unfortunate accidents, because John found other places on my body to conceal the evidence of his abuse.

My husband was a chameleon and in company enjoyed the display of affection for me. He found comfort in the knowledge others formed of us, as being utterly and completely enraptured in each other. This façade was predominantly his idea of living a life others only dreamt of.
John’s relentless banging on the door caused me to tighten the dressing forcefully and I howled as the pain shot through my body. The pounding grew louder and his voice tremulous with fury as he commanded that I unlock the door.
Quaking, I lightly touched the door handle, but hesitation set in so I removed my hand and waited for him to charge through. The silence haunted me.

Frightened, I unlocked the door and threw myself between the toilet and corner unit. He stood in the doorway, eyes filled with hatred and rage. He took two steps forward and I quivered. Expecting the next punch, kick or perhaps this time a stab, I looked up at his face. Dumbfounded by his cold alien likeness I pleaded for my life.
“What have I done to deserve this?” I asked. He crouched down and softly stroked my face. “Perhaps you should concentrate on being a dutiful wife by simply doing what you are asked. That way I wouldn’t have to chastise you. The shirt you hid in the waste paper bin with the large hole, happened to be my favourite and now it’s been ruined by a clumsy woman!” He jumped up, threw the shirt at me and walked out. I held the shirt to my face and cried until my eyes were closed.

Misery was now my closest ally, and I felt weak and undervalued. Standing over the sink, I looked in the mirror and saw a weak and fragile woman looking back at me. My bloodshot left eye, twitched and I now had a permanent downward turn to my lips. Twisting the brass taps on, I cupped my hands and slowly trickled water over my face. The coldness made me gasp for air and slowly my mind began to clear.
Reaching for the towel, I blotted my puffy eyes and told myself that it was just another accident.
Deep inside I knew I was kidding myself, but what else could I tell myself? Truth was I didn’t have the courage to leave, so I convinced my heart that it was a phase we were going through. ‘I know he loves me, because he wouldn’t lavish me with such expensive jewellery! Why, only two days ago he placed a beautiful twenty-three Carat necklace around my neck and told me his life would be miserable without me in it!’ As I spoke those words out aloud, it was if I was talking about someone else.

2

Turning out of the bathroom, I fell to the floor and crawled over to the bed. I never dreamt love could hurt so much. Sometimes I wondered whether this was just a terrible hallucination, because it really could not be happening to me. Where was the romantic, patient gentle man I met six years ago? Where’d he go? I never believed in evil spirits, but this was not the John I married. It was just not possible!
He behaved like someone possessed with an unkind spirit and I was the unfortunate victim, receiving the back draft of its result. Drifting in and out of consciousness, my stomach heaved from the thoughts that ran amuck in my subconscious mind. I tried standing up again, but the heaviness in my aching muscles forced me to the floor and I crawled as pins and needles worked on me over to the toilet. I wretched in agony, but nothing came up again and again. My stomach was empty and dry. I tried to remain calm, but the perspiration made me dizzy.
Perhaps a quick swish of mouthwash might do the trick of settling my stomach. Lifting the bottle of Listerine to my mouth, I incessantly gargled until I almost choked on the revolting fluid. Feeling much better, I dragged myself over to the chaise lounge and stayed there until I fell asleep.
If you are summing up this nightmare, it is of importance that I take you to the beginning of our union, so that you are aware of the positive things I was privileged to experience with my husband.

John and I were married on the twelfth of July nineteen eighty-nine, a beautiful and perfect day for a summer wedding. From the moment of our engagement, discussions rapidly took place for a spectacular summer nuptial and July twelfth was the destined day.
John was the sweetest, kindest gentle man I had ever known in my life. For one year he wined, dined and lavished me with beautiful expensive gifts. The first gift John purchased upon my arrival from London was a strikingly gorgeous diamond necklace entangled with three large stones.
I was astounded as each evening a dozen yellow and red roses were delivered to my home, with a signed card expressing his affections for me.
To begin with, so many arrived that I begged him to stop. I remember the first time we showed off my custom-designed eighteen-carat engagement ring.
Mars, our family and close friends stood watching as he presented the ring to me. He said it was a symbol that we would remain ‘together forever’ and he made a sign with his hands. Once he had concluded his speech, looking around the room at the thirty or so gathered, I noted not a single dry eye was seen to remain in the room.

You see everyone adored John, including myself. He had a certain charm that was irresistible to all. I thought it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me. I winked at Megan and Sadie, who were filming the moment as I shed tears of joy. Adorned with the most stunningly, cut baby blue diamonds, the platinum band was surrounded by smaller white diamonds; which glistened like the stars at night.
There wasn’t a part on the band that was visible to the naked eye and I positively agreed when my mother-in-law to be, rejoiced that one’s reflection could be seen in its rainbow colours. I was so afraid to wear the ring for fear of damaging it, so I placed it carefully on the large dressing table. Every chance I had, I took it out of the box in the privacy of our huge bedroom and gazed endlessly. I am certain each time I looked at it, I noticed there was something different. My university girlfriends were green with envy, but in a pleasant way, not envious or anything of that sort.

Quietly stowed away in the magnanimous bedroom, Megan popped the cork on the Krug champagne bottle and filled two glasses to the brim. Toasting to my future happiness, Megan and I figured the ring must have cost at least twenty-five thousand pounds or more “has he said how much it costs?” she asked. Of course I didn’t ask, because I was afraid of the responsibility that kind of price tag brought. My sister insisted “you have to determine whether or not it has an insurance bond attached. I fail to see how something as spectacular as this wouldn’t!” I looked at her and with open arms we embraced laughing.


It still hadn’t occurred to me that my future husband was an affluent socialite. Not that I cared for his money or distinguished lifestyle. I was so in love and all I wanted was for us to be together.
After our wedding, his folks flew us first class to the Burj Al-Arab hotel in Dubai for our honeymoon.
We were spoiled as if we were celebrities. When the hostesses served up Cristal and caviar, shortly after take off.
Relaxing, I reclined my chair and watched as the clouds danced around the sky. John was still eating when the pilot mentioned the altitude, distance and length of time remaining for our arrival at Dubai’s International Airport.
Looking down past the fluffy layers, I saw the outline of an aqua coloured coastline, surrounded by beautiful trees that reach out towards the heavens.
Smiling, I gently rubbed his arm and he reached over to kiss me.

The flight was smooth with minimal turbulence, making the journey more enjoyable for me. I was afraid I’d be miserable, especially as it was my first flight since I was a child. Megan hadn’t helped much, by insisting that I watch a disaster movie with her. The worst thing was, the plot revolved around passengers mysteriously dying on a plane. “Great! That’s exactly the kind of film I should not be watching!” I informed her. She laughed and told me not to be so dramatic. “Abi, it’s only a movie!” Nevertheless, I became uneasy when a little turbulence began vibrating the aircraft.
Once that had passed, I unlocked my seatbelt and went for a stretch. Not that I desperately needed it, but after sitting for three hours it felt good to stand again. John was fast asleep with the eye mask over his face. I smiled as I walked by and waved to the elderly couple in the opposite isle.
The old gentleman pointed to John and said that he wished he was able to sleep. I sat on the last seat, as I could see he wanted to hold a conversation.
He and his wife of seventy-five years were on another honeymoon, celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary “Goodness that is wonderful. Congratulations, what a milestone! We are newlyweds and I pray that one day we too will be sitting in your seats influencing another pair of lovebirds, with a comparable account!” I was genuinely impressed and felt privileged to have met them.

I spent two hours in their company, where I learned that this was their fifth trip to Dubai “We stayed in one of the gold suites. It’s a little over the top, but spectacular and I enjoy the ambiance!” smiled the old lady. Her description of the place only heightened my curiosity and I couldn’t wait to arrive. When John opened his eyes, I kissed their cheeks and went over to be with him. Shortly after taking my seat, the captain announced our imminent landing. Hastily, I buckled my seat belt and held John’s hand securely.
Waiting as the plane descended to the ground, I began shaking “Hey, don’t be scared, I’ll protect you!” I smiled brightly at John and declared “My hero, what would I do without you!”

Stepping out into the luminescent African sun, the brightness created a temporary blindness, causing me to rampantly search through my vanity case for my Chanel sunglasses. Walking towards the terminal, we were hit by a sudden heat. Reminiscent of a sauna, I quickly stripped off my light summer coat, whilst John rolled up his sleeves “Is this not the most beautiful place on earth?” I enthused. “This is positively paradise on earth, darling!” He replied.
Strolling through to the clearance lounge, John and I waited as our luggage was placed on a trolley. Walking briskly together, John squeezed my hand firmly as our personal chauffeur whisked us through customs.
“Darling, I cannot recall ever getting through customs this fast!” he whispered. I laughed as John placed a kiss on my forehead. Josef took the trolley from John and dashed towards the white Rolls Royce waiting outside.


Sighing deeply, I felt like a celebrity being shuffled around and thought if only my father could see me, I thought. A tiny note of sadness made my heart sink, and I looked out through darkened windows as the car sped off towards the hotel.
In the distance, the sight of the futuristic structure, took my breath away. Walking through the huge doors of the only seven star hotel in the world, we were greeted and sprayed with scented water. “What was that?” I enquired.
“It’s simply to cool you down, as it gets so hot here!” Josef replied. John stopped to help himself to some of the treats she was offering. I was amazed by the sheer size of the reception area and much preferred the gift of a quick tour.
The Burj’s colossal walls and marbled columns radiated elegance and grandeur. I was exhausted from just looking, so I perched at the end of the leather seat, whilst John and Josef finalised our checking in.
Josef returned shortly and introduced us to our personal butler, Carlos. Walking toward the lift, I squeezed John’s hand fervently as we stepped in.
The smoothness of the lift going up, disguised our short arrival on the 8th floor, and I caught sight of a miniature insignia on the panel close to the door. “What does that mean?” I asked Carlos, pointing.
“That floor has been especially reserved for celebrities and entrepreneurs because they make the most demands and mess!” The lift slowly opened and John pinched my butt as I stepped out. A tingling sensation rushed through me and I couldn’t wait for us to be alone.
Making love with John was like sipping honey from a fountain - smooth and gentle. After the consumption of two bottles of champagne and fruit, I slept like a baby in our queen-sized bed. Rubbing my eyes I looked around for John and spotted him sitting in the living room watching the plasma screen. “What’s on?” I asked, parting the lace curtains on the French doors. “The end of a polo match. Had a good rest I take it?” he replied. I bent over his head and our lips collided.

3

Out on the terrace, I inhaled the fresh air deeply and smiled at the beautiful surroundings. “We should begin to dress for dinner?” John stood in the doorway, naked and devilish. “What will we be having tonight?” I taunted as I walked over to him. His eyes darted down at his waist, referring to his manhood and I giggled like a shy schoolgirl.
“I don’t have any energy left and my stomach is at war!” I said, heading to the bathroom. Turning the shower tap the hot water soothed my tired, aching joints. I lathered my hair and stood under the stream, allowing it to beat down upon my head.
Hunger had now started its journey in my stomach, so I briskly dried off and stepped out. “What shall it be tonight - the Versace strap dress, or my black Givenchy chiffon?” I muttered to myself.
Shifting through the rails of clothing, I picked out a beige short puff sleeve dress, accompanied by a pair of high-heeled sandals. John was in cream linen and together we accompanied Josef into the elevator.

The Al Mahara undersea restaurant was magnificent and the submarine rides delightful. Fortunately, Carlos, the chef spoke fluent English and John became engrossed in a sporting discussion. I sat gripped by the beauty of the gigantic aquarium and mesmerized by the colourful marine life that freely floated to and fro.
After our delicious meal John and I retired to our suite. I threw of my clothes and headed for the Jacuzzi “Honey, I will be in the panoramic Sky bar on the top floor after a quick swim, if you care for some cocktail!” John shouted, as he changed in the dressing room.
I was so relaxed, that I could hardly speak “aren’t you joining me?” I called out trying to entice him, but no answer returned.
Exhaustion had gotten the best of me, so I climbed into bed, tapped the large plasma screen television and fell asleep to the silky vocals of Nat King Cole.
The following morning, Jimmy a business associate of John’ met us in the Al Wan for breakfast “oh my Gosh, such spectacular views!” I exclaimed excitedly.
John smiled and commented ‘that’s what money brings, incomparable luxuries!’ as jimmy quickly drank the rest of his pineapple juice.
‘Ah, the taxi’s here!” I looked at John and as he opened the door for me, I fantasized about the luxury yacht; we were due to board for our cruise around the city.
“I have no intentions of doing anything other than sunbathing all day!” I squealed.
“Well, you are free to do as you please my dear, but we’re going for a dive. I will see you shortly!” Our lips briefly entwined as John nose-dived off the deck into the crystal clear aqua water and disappeared below. I watched as both he and Jimmy swam out into the middle then began waving, frantically like a pair of giddy school boys at me.

The sun was beaming so brightly into my eyes, that when I stood up to find my sunglasses; I could see nothing but hazy green beyond my nose.
“Oh my goodness, I have sun blindness!” I figured it was best if I remained where I was with my eyes closed for a few minutes, so that’s what I did.
Drifting off, I began thinking about my life as a child and what I had been through. I grew up naïve and sheltered by parents who spent very little time together, and then he left. I had no reasoning or knowledge associated with the prominent life I was now gracefully accepting. I felt cheated, because I was never told that people actually lived this way.

Growing up in a one parent family household, I felt partially responsible for my father‘s absence. Guilty because when he turned up each night at eleven pm, my sister and I pretended to be sound asleep; so we wouldn’t have to speak to him. It was wrong for us to take sides, but in hindsight I believed it was normal to stick close and protect the one who showed us interest and that was our mother.
To make a living, my father drove a black cab and for the most part spent at least twenty hours on the streets each day. By my father’s standards taking personal time out; meant spending an entire evening face down in a glass of beer. I missed him terribly at first, but grew more independent as time went on.
Oftentimes, my younger sister Megan and I would lie awake listening to our parents’ continuous arguments.
Scared from the noise of things being thrown around the room, I buried my head under my pillow and prayed for it to end. I was twelve years old and convinced my family’s problems would one day saunter away. I naively declared one day to my mother, “money will never be an issue my husband and I argue over, because I’m going to marry a movie star or a millionaire!” My mother pulled me close to her and lovingly said. “Baby, it’s Ok to want the fairytales and I truly hope that you will be more fortunate in love than I have been!”


As I matured, I denied myself the pleasures of male companionship, certain to protect my heart from the pain my mother suffered. From the time my father left us, mother threw herself into work. I believed it was be her way of blocking out his betrayal and deception.
Megan and I watched her change from a beautiful lively person into a dowdy, unhappy woman.
Living in a council flat in Hackney, I could never have imagined I would be where I am now.


It was pretty magical our wedding day. Everything meticulously planned in advance. Jerome our wedding planner was a lovely young man but way too effeminate. Despite his faults, created beautiful bouquets of white lilies around the room. The gardens lined archway filtered out into a pool of the most divinely colourful begonias. The crispness of the white Egyptian linen and cotton on the tables and chairs thrilled me and I was excited.
My white Vera Wang beaded gown hung above the walk-in closet vent. Suddenly aware of the time, Megan persisted that I get into it “what’s the problem, it’s customary for the bride to be late right?” I replied and she shook her head in disbelief.
“Abigale, are you going to let him think you’ve changed your mind?” she hissed walking into the bathroom. “Megan, I’m not planning on arriving two hours late, perhaps twenty minutes that’s all!” Megan was not impressed, so I stepped into the dress and she proceeded to lace up the back.


Once I was out in the hall, my elongated train proved too long for the limousine Uncle Henry had hired for the day “My God, you need a stretched Hummer for that thing!” he exclaimed.
My mother ran about frantically chasing after Henry, who insisted as time was of the essence; that she carries the train on her lap. “What! That’s an absurd idea Henry. Apart from the fact that it’s very long, it would be dreadfully creased by the time she arrived at the church!”
Uncle Henry stamped in frustration “what can I do, it’s time to go to the church!” Mother’s impatience was wearing thin, so she lifted her dress from the floor and marched over to her brother.
“Henry, do you have plans to sabotage your niece’s wedding day, because I know you can sort it. For heaven’s sake you are a partner in the company; get another car here now!” My mother stood watching her younger brother disappear into one of the reception rooms, then ushered Jerome to come out and realign something displeasing in her sight.
Settling in front of the hallway mirror, I was captivated by the image of the elegant bride looking back at me. Tearfully, I thought of my missing father and decided I much preferred Uncle Henry’s company down the isle. At least he wouldn’t make me nervous.

Megan walked in and I hastily dried my eyes “Oh Abigale, you look so beautiful, I wish dad was here to see you!” Facing her, I burst into tears and sank into the chair “Abigale, I didn’t mean to upset you. He would be so proud to see how beautiful you are!”
I understood my sister’s intention, but still longed for his approval and affection, especially on a day such as this. Effortlessly I retorted “I shouldn’t detest him really, but a part of me still does for all the years he never bothered to call or write!” Megan pulled out a tissue and began dabbing my eyes “You nearly ruined my hard work crying. I agree that he should be here to celebrate your special day, but he’ not so let’s finish getting you ready!”
I re-adjusted my necklace and added “In any case, it’s my wedding day and I’ll not allow anymore talk like this to spoil it. OK!” Megan beamed with delight and together, began walking towards the front entrance of the mansion.
When the Maybach limousine moved off taking me around the grounds of Manor Farm, I squeezed my sister’s hand in anticipation of what was ahead of me. Peering through the window, I noted an array of limousines neatly parked in a row and suddenly my nerves started to tremble.
Taking deep, slow breaths the unusual sight of my uncle fighting with the cravat, mother insisted he wore made my stomach hurt. Megan and I attempted to control our hysteria, when Uncle Henry flashed us a wicked glare, but it was harder than I could have contemplated. I laughed so loud that I was afraid I’d burst the seams of my corset.

Pulling us together, Megan and I watched as he strolled towards the car. Debonair and handsome in his cream tuxedo, he quickly turned on his heels as the chauffeur slowed the car beside him. My uncle opened the door and sweetest words almost made me cry. “You are a princess and John is the luckiest man alive, I hope he appreciates you and treats you with love and respect!”
I held my heart and breath after promising for the third time today that I wouldn’t smudge my make-up and hugged my relation. After a moment’s silence, our driver announced “Are you ready to be married ma’am?” Surprised at my own reaction, I stared at Uncle Henry with bulging eyes.
Megan held my hand and offered “Come on sis, it’s time to put that man out of his misery!”

Climbing out of the car, the surroundings appeared much larger to me than before. Megan stooped behind me and arranged my train on the carpet. She said that I reminded her of a butterfly ready for flight.
Uncle Henry and I began our descent towards the red-carpeted corridor of the marquee, and then the butterflies commenced making waves in my stomach. I turned to look at Megan before the doors opened and exhaled.
Uncle Henry quickly pulled out a small flask and insisted I take a sip to calm my anxiety “Uncle Henry, have you gone mad? I cannot drink that! It’s Whiskey, imagine if anyone saw, they could assume I have a dependency!”
Ignoring my petition, he ensured I took a swift taste to settle my nerves, then clutched my hand in preparation for the wedding march towards the pulpit. A tingling sensation as the liquid moved through my veins, stabilized me and I braced myself for the incredulous journey. Squeezing the bouquet a little tighter behind my veil, my eyes darted from isle to isle. Excited and unperturbed, I smiled as I floated pass family and friends I hadn’t seen for many months. Uncle Henry was shaking, so I whispered silly things to lessen the pressure.

Finally close enough to see John’s face, my heart palpitated so much that I was certain everyone else could hear it. Looking at him, I could have screamed with such joyful burstings. His handsome face radiated with delight and I was consumed with lustful thoughts, that I was intrigued by what was to take place in our honeymoon suite tonight.
Uncle Henry stopped as we arrived in front of Pastor Brown, and embellished both John and I with loving words of support and encouragement. Letting go of his emotions, he received a standing ovation and mother began to cry.
Pastor Brown whispered something in John’s ear, then he lifted my veil and smiled lovingly at me. Three hours were to follow before we were able to sign the marriage register. It was strange writing my name and holding onto the moment; Pastor Brown announced we were man and wife. I was sure this was a dream, until John stretched out his hand and took me outside, then I knew it was for real.
The reception in itself was a magical and beautiful event complimented by great music, entertainment and various delectable delicacies.

Surrounded by loyal family and supportive friends, I felt like Cinderella - the princess who finally found her prince charming.
A bucket of cold seawater came crashing down on me and I screamed, from the shock. Devastated, I peered over the edge only to see John floating about with laughter. Unimpressed with him I yelled, “I will have my revenge I promise you that!”
I got up and went inside to find a clean towel. Below deck I found reprisal as I picked up his T-shirt and shorts and hid them under the mattress.
Through with searching for his clothes, John walked over to the window and stared out into glimmering endless water. Moving sluggishly towards him, I wrapped my arms around his slender waist and added “Here we are honeymooning in beautiful Dubai, it’s obvious why you love it here John!” I twisted half way to see the reaction on his face. “Sweetheart, this has been the holiday destination for eight years. A tradition I hope we’ll maintain when our family increases!”
Fluttering my eyes and tantalizingly rubbing my hips up and down his thigh, my intention was to turn him on. “Family increasing, what do you mean?” I teased.
“Follow me and I’ll give you a demonstration!”
Thirty minutes later after much begging and an apology, I pointed to where his clothes were hidden.

4

I promise you that after eight years of matrimony, how I came to poison my husband was purely by accident. You see, John’s abuse not only continued, but increasingly became more barbarous and degrading. He thought I was an imprudent and flighty lady, who didn’t have the intelligence to gather that her husband was sleeping with other women. His brazenness didn’t conceal his disdainful behaviour, nor did he make any attempts to improve our declining marriage. As the years rolled by, the beatings increased - occurring every other day, whilst his apologies became a redundant strain on my ears.
Having had several physical fights, which caused me to take many unnecessary vacations in the hospital; I resigned myself to accepting he was right and I was wrong. Then came a time, when I could no longer accept the cracked ribs, black eyes and my hair being viciously ripped out. I once asked him for a divorce, and he slapped me so hard that I flew over to the other side of our bed.

Its hilarious listening to other victims of abuse state that their partners love them, because I now know that abuse is never about love; only control. I could relate to those women, because control was what John thrived on and I too believed that he really loved me.
Hand on my heart, I didn’t stay with John for eight years out of love alone, it was also because of fear.
After many bittersweet years I changed, because he had killed all my passion by then. It’s unfortunate how we ended up that way, misplaced and out of love. I believed him when he threatened he’d hunt down and kill me, each time I ran away.

On three occasions, I managed to escape to several hotels merely to be betrayed by my credit card.
It was evident that John was becoming irrational and incensed with my running away “I’ll not contemplate hiring a hit man to do the job, so don’t push me!” He scowled in my face, as he closed the door of his Bentley coupe. How could I love a man with such a sick mind as his?
I guess the only consolation to come from our marriage was the fact that we had no children to witness his unscrupulous behaviour. God! What a blessing in disguise; that my unborn child was fortunate not to be linked to this Jekyll and Hyde character.
John did not really want to have children, although we had had many discussions, he never seemed very enthusiastic. We had been married for more than five years, yet he insisted we were still young and saw no urgency in becoming parents.

The following morning, I walked out on our private balcony, intending on exercising there rather than the basement gymnasium. Stretching, I was distracted by voices resonating from the guest wing below me. Without hesitation I stopped ardently when I heard his parents having a conversation regarding grandchildren. I sank to the floor, shaking when my mother-in-law uttered “I would have thought we’d have a grand child by now. Perhaps, John’s not spoken about his low sperm count!” his mother declared. “Yes, I suppose you’re right dear. I’ll speak to him a little later!” My father-in-law’s dejected voice was enough for me to put things into perspective.
Shocked by the revelation, I hurried off to see our physician to discuss any chance of conceiving.
Dr Maurice explained that once abnormal sperm morphology, coupled with a low sperm count had been diagnosed; our likelihood of reproducing a healthy child was almost unfeasible. “John has to give up the alcohol, not only for reproductive reasons, his health is in grave danger!”

It was devastating news I could never have prepared myself for. Terrible as it may appear, I was unfazed by his disclosure, when he concluded that alcohol and stress was a major contributing factor to the problem. Inside I was crushed by his family’s deception and couldn’t fathom the thought of having children with him now.
What gave him the right to conceal such important information from me?
I was an insignificant person, who happened to trust John whole-heartedly. As time went by, it became easier for me to see him as a weak individual who wouldn’t be capable of fathering healthy children.
My heart began closing off and I took ease, just existing from day to day. John’s arrival home got later and later, until the only time I saw him was at breakfast. He offered several feeble excuses and blamed his tardiness on stress.

I was no fool, and knew better than to fall for his stories. His explanation came forth out of guilt rather than sincerity, because in the eight years, he never related the undertakings of work before. Suddenly candid, he claimed the business was rapidly going down hill.
“People no longer seem to be using our services. Now that the Internet has gained worldwide recognition, clients are able to carry out their own research, ordering and shipping effects using a simple credit card!” I tried my best to show enthusiasm, but the more I listened the more repulsed I became.
The other excuse was that I complained of having too many headaches whenever he wanted to make love. I stood up and added, “Perhaps, if you stopped tugging my hair so callously, things might be different!” climbing into bed I wondered, where he got the nerve to make such a statement. What did he expect, when he caused the headaches in the first place?

A voice replayed over and over, as I lay my head on the pillow and looked out into the darkened room. “I didn’t take any pleasure in my hair being ripped out, thank you very much!” It’s not that I didn’t want to make love to him, but the way he said things instantly turned me off. I was prepared to offer myself to him, if it meant no more beatings and a bit of peace.
For example, one night we lay cuddling in bed, I wondered what his feelings were on starting a family. “Honey, it has been several years, and I want a baby!”
He looked at me with such loathing and from that moment on, I gathered wanting a child with him would be to my own detriment. Please do not misunderstand; I didn’t want a child to cement our crumbling marriage, although I hoped things would change. My biological clock was ticking loudly and I longed for children to love.
Perhaps if we had a child of our own, things might improve in our marriage and John would be happy.
I was under no illusions, we had problems like every other couple did, but I believed it could work. I chose to put my career on hold and had passed up many career opportunities and ambitions to be John’s all in all. I did not want to fail, or to end up as a divorcee.
When I made my vows I meant forever, until death do we part! I couldn’t place John’s loathing, as it was a natural progression that children come from the marriage, as a symbol of our undying love for each other.



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