4. Coraline
4
Coraline
A few months ago
I feel like the kids and I are constantly walking on eggshells. I don’t understand why Nash gets so upset so easily. I know I need to get us away from him, but I can’t yet.
I’ve been secretly trying to withdraw some cash, a little at a time, hoping Nash won’t notice. He watches our bank account like a hawk.
He'll blow his paychecks on gambling and alcohol without a second thought, and yet if I spend less than ten dollars on the kids for a meal from a fastfood place, he jumps down my throat.
It’s eleven p.m. on a school night, and the boys and I are in their bed. They look so peaceful when they sleep. Lately, I’ve been spending more and more nights with them in their room. I just can’t stand the smell of liquor on Nash anymore.
I keep praying that he'll change and that things will get better. At this point, I honestly feel like God has forgotten about me as I live in this hell on earth.
Nash used to drink occasionally when we first got together— mainly just on the weekend or socially— but it's gotten so much worse this past year. He’s already on his second DUI and I told him I wouldn't bail him out again if he got another one.
“CORALINE!” Nash yells in a slurred voice and I flinch. “Where are you baby?” I hear him stumbling around in the kitchen— throwing things around. He acts like a giant drunken toddler when he’s mad.
I say a quiet prayer that he doesn’t wake up the kids. I don’t care what he does to me, but I don’t ever want them to be involved.
I can hear him cussing as he continues to trash the kitchen. I know if I don’t go to him now, he will continue to spiral.
I turn on the kids' TV, setting it to a white noise channel, and raise the volume so they won’t hear what's about to happen. Quietly, I slip out of their bedroom and tiptoe into the kitchen.
I smell him before I see him. Nash has a bottle of liquor in his hands and is drinking it like it’s water. He’s so drunk that he can’t even stand up straight. He’s swaying back and forth and his eyes are glassy and bloodshot.
“Shh shh. I’m right here, Nash. I didn’t go anywhere,” I attempt to calm him down and wrap him up in an embrace. He starts to sob and drool on my shoulder.
Then, suddenly, he stops crying.
“You weren’t in my bed waiting for me.”
My breath catches in my throat and tears well in my eyes. I just pray the kids can sleep through his antics tonight. This is the second time this week he’s done this.
It honestly scares me how quickly he can switch like that. I never know what he’s going to do or say, but I always know it’s not going to be good when he gets like this.
I know that the best thing to do right now is to try to distract him and de-escalate the situation. Sometimes it works, most of the time it doesn't.
“Baby look at me,” I say as I wipe my eyes and take his hands in mine. “Shh. It’s okay. Let’s go to bed now. I’ll go with you.” I press a kiss to his cheek and cringe internally.
He follows me to the bedroom. My stomach clenches in dread. I can’t keep doing this. I’ve got to get out of this prison and away from him.