"Stupid" (standard:drama, 1325 words)
Author: jenne64	Added: Mar 07 2001	Views/Reads: 4009/2372	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Leaving someone seems easier than staying, if your on the outside looking in. Becky is on the inside looking out. Her brother thinks she's stupid, her husband thinks she's stupid but both for very different reasons... Feedback appreciated.

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happened, would it?  Well; would it!" 

"No."  'He's right.  This is my fault.  All my fault.' 

"As if I don't have enough to worry about.  I can't even come home to a
hot dinner." 

I glance up, recognizing the sound of the ring being pulled from a can. 
'Beer or coke?  'Coke!  He only drinks on Fridays, stupid.' 

I begin to rise, to take the tissues to the bin but he shoves me back
down, tumbling backwards, my head banging against the fridge door.  I 
see the anger in his eyes as they meet mine.  Cold and calculating, and 
yet burning with rage.  Wrapping my arms around my knees, bowing my 
head, trying to find shelter, I wait.  The first blow hits, gliding 
over my head like a pebble skimming across the surface of the ocean. 

"All I wanted was my dinner!  You couldn't even get that right!" 

The words hardly register before the next blow hits, stinging like a
wasp.  My brothers voice echoes through my head at the next kick.  'How 
you gonna explain that bruise Becky?  Walked into another door?  I know 
how he treats you.  I know what he's really like.'  The bitterness in 
that voice hits me harder than the next kick as it falls.  'No you're 
wrong’ I’d responded.  ‘He loves me.  Dad loved us and he did the same 
thing.  It's just what men do.'  The blood tickles as it falls from my 
nose in small droplets. 

Greg's voice breaks through the haze.  “You fucking stupid bitch." 

This time it's different.  Hollow.  Instinctively I know he's almost
done, the rage almost gone.  One more blow knocks the breath from my 
lungs.  I gasp, searching for air.  Finally, I find it.  I watch his 
legs turn away from me.  He walks away as though nothing has happened.  
Just as he always does.  I sit awaiting his return. 

Emerging from the bathroom, he offers me his hand.  Accepting, I allow
him to pull me to my feet.  It hurts to move but I drive myself 
forward.  Make myself stand, allowing him to lead me to the chair.  He 
drops to his knees in front of me, bringing his hands towards my face.  
I see the redness of his knuckles.  The warm flannel feels good against 
my skin as he gently begins to wipe the blood from my face. 

Leaning forward, he whispers in my ear, "I'm sorry." 

I can't respond.  I want and need too but I can't. 

Holding me closer to him, pulling me nearer.  "I'm sorry," he repeats. 
"I didn't mean to . . ." 

'To hurt me.  I know that Greg.'  I tell him silently. 'My fault, this
is my fault.  If I wasn't so stupid you wouldn't lose your temper.' 

"I love you Becky." 

I nod.  He raises his head, revealing the pain in his eyes.  They no
longer contain rage, just anguish. 

"It's okay.  I know you do." 

My need to comfort him overwhelming.  Glancing at the phone, I'm
reminded of the words my brother spoke this afternoon,  'I know you 
think he loves you, that dad loved us, but not all men are like that 
Becky.  It doesn't have to be this way’ 

Sitting with Greg's head nestled on my chest, his arms wrapped round me,
a sense of calm prevails.  He seems so venerable now. 

Running  my fingers through his graying hair, comforting him, silently I
answer my brother’s remarks. 

“Greg's not the monster you all want me to believe.  You just don't know
him like I do.  You can't see the things I see; you only see what you 
want to see.  If you could, you wouldn't say the things you do to me.  
You wouldn't ask me to leave the only man who's ever looked after me, 
cared for me and loved me.” 

In my mind, I hear Jim respond as he always does. 'This isn't love
Becky.' 

'How do you know?  How can you be so self assured?  It feels like love
to me, love hurts, or so they say.' 

I feel the dampness of Greg’s tears against my chest, hear him sob
against me. 

‘You don't see this do you Jim?  All you see is the bruises.  Dad never
shed a tear after . . . after he hurt me.  He didn't care; not like 
Greg does.  If I wasn't so stupid, so forgetful, this wouldn't happen.' 


Once more Jim's words, eccho through my head, 'Leave him Becky, just
walk away.' 

Looking at the scene surrounding me, the eggs still lay broken and
bleeding on the floor.  Greg clings to me seemingly as fragile as those 
eggs, silently seeking my forgiveness. 

‘Shut up Jim,’ goes through my mind, ‘you don’t know what you're asking
me to do.  How can I walk away from him?  How can I leave him when he 
needs me?  If only you could see him now, you wouldn't ask me to leave; 
perhaps you'd even understand instead of telling me I'm stupid to stay. 



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