I amped things up and regularly decluttered – cleared out my cupboards and Warren’s. “Donated” stuff to charity. Made a huge noise about it for Tom’s benefit. Updated and upgraded stuff around my entire house, to his delight. He loved it when I redecorated, especially since he got to choose everything new.
But I wasn’t donating to charity. All my old stuff was carted off to my storage locker. All the TVs, CD players, bedside lamps, kitchen utensils, furniture, and soft furnishings Tom thought I gave away were in my storage unit, ready for my new home. My nest was growing and freedom was within striking distance.
Tom did not want me on birth control, but God forbid I got pregnant while I was trying to escape his clutches, so quietly, I took a contraceptive injection.
But I experienced an adverse reaction to the injection and had to switch back to the pill, which I hid in my freezer next to my illicit credit card among the frozen Brussels sprouts and cauliflower. The freezer was coming in pretty handy these days. Who knew frozen vegetables could multitask?
My fear that he would find out my plans to leave him caused me such panic attacks that at times I threw up from nerves.
I knew that for some reason – and God knows why – Tom didn’t want to lose me. He couldn’t live without me for long. Never once did I kid myself that it was because he loved me too much. He only loved himself. It was the control that he needed. Without that control, he floundered.
He was a pretty guarded and private individual, so I didn’t know much about his childhood. But I knew that he had severed all ties with his family a long time ago. It became obvious very quickly that he was extremely jealous of the close relationship I had with my mom and my three siblings. He was especially jealous of my relationship with my darling brother Ritchie. Like most abusers, he had lured me away from my family so that he could control me.
Then disaster. During one of my visits to my doctor, he smiled and said, “Congratulations, Arena. You’re going to have a baby.”
“Wha…what?”
“You’re pregnant.”
“I can’t be!” I whispered. “No!”
Dr. Jackson’s smile vanished.
“No, no, no, no, no!” I cried.
My doctor stared slack-jawed as I broke down and cried in his office. Sobbed.
“Arena, what on earth is going on?” my doctor finally asked.
Dr. Jackson’s voice was so gentle that I felt like blurting, “I don’t want to have this baby. How can I possibly bring another child into this marriage when I live with a tyrant who terrorizes our three year old? Warren is not allowed to be a child, he is not allowed to leave toys around, he’s not allowed to have tantrums, he’s not allowed to run around barefoot. He’s constantly bullied and mocked by his father. He is forced to grow up quickly or face his cruel father’s wrath. I can’t have this baby, Doctor. Make it go away. Please.” That’s what I really wanted to say. But Dr. Jackson played squash with Tom every Friday, so…
“Talk to me, Arena.”
“Hormones,” I muttered and hurriedly left Dr. Jackson’s office.
Tom was ecstatic with the pregnancy and threw a lavish party, where he showered me with jewelry. This time, I accepted the jewelry with a smile. When I look back, I think Tom liked the idea of more kids simply because they displayed his virility, and they were nooses around my neck. Most importantly, they would keep me dependent on him.
From the moment he met me, he was always afraid of losing me. When we first met, I was carefree, but quite confident. He had to work really hard to get me, so it baffled me as to why he treated me the way he did.
It was a difficult pregnancy – I had several miscarriage scares, and I had to be admitted to the hospital at various stages of my pregnancy. No way could I leave Tom now. The noose tightened, and deep down, I resented this baby who had brought the pillow closer to my face.
Then, on a cold July morning, a beautiful, bouncy, blue-eyed angel with lips like rosebuds and skin like satin was placed in my arms.
She was the image of my sister, and I just melted as I held my heart in my arms for the second time in my life. All resentment of her flew out the window. She was so soft and delicate that I vowed never to let Tom harm her.
“We shall call her Sasha,” Tom announced. I had no say in the naming of either of my kids, whatsoever.
He didn’t hurt Sasha, but he grew increasingly impatient and mean towards Warren for no reason. When Warren would cry, he would call him dumb or sissy or stupid and offer him Sasha’s pacifier.
When I intervened, he would get furious, accuse me of taking Warren’s side, and then he’d terrorize Warren even further.
It was flabbergasting to realize that Tom didn’t see Warren as his son; he saw him as his competition, as another man.
One night, while reading a bedtime story to Warren, who had been crying earlier on, I stopped and whispered, “Warren, soon you, me, and Sasha, we’re going to leave this house and live away from Daddy.”
His eyes lit up. “Really, Mom?”
I nodded and put my finger to my lips. “Don’t tell Daddy, okay? Our little secret.”
He took my finger from my lips and tapped it to his. “You promise, Mom?”
“I promise, honey. And I’m even going to allow you a dog. A teeny one. Not right away, but soon after we settle down.”
His eyes filled with delight. “We gonna live without mean old Daddy?”
I nodded. “So when Daddy is mean, just remember that soon we are going to say bye-bye to him and live just by ourselves.”
“Then can I run around the house and play hide-and-seek in it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Can I yell?”
“Absolutely.”
“Can I eat in the TV room?”
“Absolutely.”
“Can I…can I walk around without my shoes?”
“Absolutely!”
“I can?” He threw his arms around me and hugged me hard, and my heart ached for my son who wanted to kick off his shoes when he was inside his house.
After that, every night I would read him a quick bedtime story, then talk more about our life without Tom.
“Will I be able to leave my toys lying around?”
“While you are playing, yes!”
“Awesome, Mom.”
“Would I be able to…?”
It would be question after question, and he would eventually fall asleep with a smile on his face.
When Tom wasn’t around, Warren and I packed a suitcase for him, stuff that he could take in a hurry, then hid the suitcase in the storage locker. Sasha’s suitcase and mine were also packed and hidden. Only my jewelry couldn’t be packed in advance. I worried about that, as I needed my jewelry so that I could sell it and survive.
In spite of my concerns, our freedom was so close that I became really excited. Because of that, I was able to tolerate Tom’s continued abuse.
Having two kids drained me of energy, and I just wasn’t able to look the part Tom wanted. I had not lost the baby weight, and because I was sleep-deprived, I didn’t have the energy to exercise and be glamorous.
I would awake two to three times a night for Sasha, and then be up at 7 a.m. to give Tom his wheatgrass and quinoa, then get Warren ready for preschool and drive him to it. The day with baby Sasha was a blur and before I knew it, it was time to pick up Warren again. I was constantly exhausted.
That didn’t sit well in Tom’s perfect world. To him, my exhaustion and failure to look less than perfect was simply an excuse.
“Look at Victoria Beckham. She lost the weight like that!” He snapped his fingers. “She has four children, and yet she has an amazing figure. Four! How many children do you have?” He’d cup his hand to his ear. “Sorry, didn’t hear you…what did you say…? Ah yes, two children. Not three, not four, just two. Oh, and let’s not forget that you don’t have a fashion empire to run.”
He didn’t hesitate to criticize my appearance at every opportunity.
“Am I supposed to introduce you as my wife while you wear that?”
“What’s with those granny shoes?”
“Are you wearing sweat pants again?”
“Look at Elizabeth Hurley – she lost the baby weight within weeks with that watercress soup or whatever. Why can’t you? I’ll google the recipe for you if you like.”
“How many children has Angelina got? Her own children?”
Berated, belittled, and beaten, I could no longer bear it. Sasha was three months old, Warren was four years old – it was time to leave this toxic environment, I decided.
The question was, when? How? Do I just walk out and leave him a note? Do I talk to him and say goodbye?
I didn’t know just how to do it, so I floundered a bit.