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You need to promise me that whatever happened to me, or whatever happens to us, you will never take it out on yourself again.”
    “I wish I could, Doc , but, I will never promise you anything that I can’t make good on.  You deserve better than that.”
    Her chin trembled and she pinched her lips to hold back a sob. One broke through anyway, and shaking her head, she walked away. That look and those tears tore at my heart, but I could never promise her that.  And I knew.  I knew it was only a matter of time before that woman walked the fuck out of my life, because I was fucked up beyond repair.  How was I supposed to stop it?  How do I stop being how I am ? 
    This is who I am.
     

Chapter 4
     

     
    I heard them talking in the kitchen as I walked downstairs looking for Kade, wrapped in one of his dark terrycloth robes.  Hushed whispers, fists slamming, Jen sniffling, of course, they must have been speaking of me.  Passing the den, I stopped in complete shock.  Unease rolled deep in my belly.  Oh my God, he had lost control .  Please let it have been a bat he took to the room and not his hands .  
    Jen’s voice hissed out, taking my attention off the wreckage of the den.  Then like uncontrollable projectile word vomit, she was telling them about the torture David dragged me through.  What the hell was she thinking?  This is going to kill Kade and push him into the monster that he fears lies dormant in his soul .  Anger bubbled up in my throat, choking me.  I knew she meant well. Jen was just trying to help him understand, but even she didn’t know everything.  No one ever will .  There are things, words that just won’t pass my lips, emotions and fears I won’t let myself remember.  I can’t.  I have to be stronger than them.  I have to be, or they will consume me.
    Do you understand that?
    I leaned against the outside of the door, listening.  My terror warped into a few worthless insignificant bunch of spoken words.  They didn’t hold the weight of my experience.  No, the weight of it was safely tucked away in my heart, so as not to hurt the ones I loved.
    Oh, my God .  Your warped curiosity wants to know anyway, doesn’t it? Fuck it.   As long as it’s not you, right?  As long as the story is about someone else and you can get to feel bad, get to be part of the experience a bit , and then walk away without all the years of anger and fear that really comes with it .  I get it; it’s human nature.  It’s okay, I’ll be your spokesperson for domestic abuse. I’ll be the face of victimization, and you can live vicariously through me.  Go ahead, I’ve signed the release forms, and made sure no one else but me will be hurt in the making of the dramatization.
    There is a reason why I’m a strong person.  There is a reason for my inability to filter the things I say when I see an underdog, or feel oppressed in any way, or when someone tells me I can’t do something.  I fucking earned it .  I earned respect when I put myself through medical school, and chose to use my talents to help save people who were fighting for my freedoms, and I can’t even begin to tell you about the hell that was in Afghanistan or Kuwait .  I earned my strength when a sick psychotic man took the perfect world I built for myself, shook it like a snow globe, and smashed it up against a wall.  I have earned every breath I’ve ever took, while being choked at the hands of that madman.  Can you even begin to understand what it would feel like, if the person you chose to spend the rest of your life with was trying to kill you?  Torture you?  You probably couldn’t even fathom what it would feel like, if you found out your husband had another secret life, well hidden from the one you knew.  You probably think it’s impossible.
    Nothing in this life is impossible.
    Peek through his cell phone.
    Look through the history on his computer.
    Watch his eyes wander at a restaurant.
    Listen quietly in the