The Beginning
Seeing Bradley’s lifeless form in that casket is just as emotional as she thought it would be; though it’s for reasons completely unknown to others.
The funeral parlor is dimly lit up by the crystal chandelier that hangs above those attending the service. There are rows of chairs positioned in a parallel fashion, but she refuses to sit amongst those who are genuinely grieving over him. She can’t possibly relate in the slightest, but she’s there in order to maintain the image of a distraught widow that everyone thinks she is.
Ximena is in her black dress standing a few feet away from where he lies. It’s the dress he specifically purchased for her months ago because he liked how it settled right below her knees and the way the sleeves slipped past her wrists. Upon first seeing it, her immediate thought was how much she hated it. She hated how it was so plain in design aside from the sewn-in flowers that lined the peter pan collar. She hated how the cheap material felt against her smooth skin and how it made the frame of her curvaceous body look misshapen. Those reasons were probably why he liked it so much. He was convinced it drew less positive attention to her. When she first wore it in front of him he did a quick glance up and down before he proceeded to say, “Makes you look modest. Even though we both know you fuckin’ aren’t.”
To this very day she still has no idea as to why she simply nodded, her full lips twisted in a way that made him raise an eyebrow in her direction as if daring her to counter his words.
Ah yes. It’s because she was scared.
It wasn’t always that way though. At least not when it all began nearly five years ago. Back then she was just a quirky elementary school teacher who decided to go on a date with a successful business man she met on an online dating site. He was nearly twenty years her senior but due to being unlucky with men her age, she figured it was worth giving a shot. She remembers good moments with him where she’d slick back his dark hair and cup underneath his jaw as his lips would teasingly ghost against hers. She remembers the chilly evenings when he would stay over at her apartment and how she’d wake up warm in his arms. The sun would be streaming in from the blinds of the arched window in her bedroom and overall, things just felt right.
She also remembers their first rushed ’I love you’. It was just as fleeting as his patience. It was a character flaw she was quick to discover by their third date when she accidentally spilled some red wine across his lap and he reacted by screaming at her in front of all of the other diners. She excused his explosive reaction by relating it to the stressful day at work that he had. When she returned home, she even made it a point to remind herself not to take it personal. Though she instead should’ve taken it as a warning of the abusive years that lay ahead of her.
“You doing okay, sweetheart?” a woman’s voice intrudes her thoughts and it’s followed by a slight pressure against her upper back where a hand is now placed. It’s supposed to be a comforting gesture but it sends a shiver down her spine instead. She turns her head to find Bradley’s mother now standing beside her. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t wipe away the image of the older woman collapsing in front of his open casket. She was hysterical when she erupted in tears just a few hours prior to this very moment as she begged for her only son to come back, “You’ve been standing here for some time now. I thought I should check in.”
“I think I should be asking you that,” Ximena replies softly. It’s then silent between them for a moment. Other relatives of his come and go to give their final goodbyes but the two of them remain still in their spot. Ximena can’t help but wonder if she knows how horrific Bradley really was.
What the woman says next is more than enough to give her the answer she’s looking for.
“He loved you, you know. He spoke about you all the time whenever he visited us,” at that she can feel a bitter laugh almost escape her. To her relief, it ends up getting lodged in her throat and it results in a small garbled sound that resembles one instigated by tears rather than laughter. If Bradley really did love her as his mother claims, he sure had a strange way of showing it.
She thinks back to the way his thick fingers braced around her slender throat multiple times throughout their relationship. The way his blunt nails dug into her tanned skin with his grip tight enough to promise future bruising. It was a rainy day when she was secluded in their quiet apartment for the evening when it first happened. It’s been some time but she can recall everything clearly.
Her senses were on high alert when he came staggering into the kitchen with his dotted work tie loosely undone. She no longer was focused on the loud hum of the refrigerator or the dripping of the leaky faucet that he once promised to fix but never had. She was too distracted by his sinister sneer and the way his large brooding figure seemed to tower over her.
She found herself trailing backwards before she was able to clutch at the ridges of the cool metal countertop to steady herself. Her initial instinct was to run, her mind was screaming at her to find an escape but yet her feet denied her of this action since they remained rooted to the ground. She stared back at him with her dark eyes abnormally wide as he gradually approached her and suddenly time felt as though it had frozen.
After being together for nearly a year at the time, she knew he had a temper, a bad one at that. One that was shown especially after an evening spent drinking with shady men he considered to be his close friends.
One moment he was a couple of feet away from her and the next he was caging her where she stood. His blue eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. The apples of his cheeks were an alarming shade of red and his breath reeked of cheap liquor. She watched in complete silence as the corners of his thin mouth curled to form a sneer as he clumsily grazed the side of her slender face, “You and your fuckin’ pretty lips,” he slurred. He then used his thumb to trace the outline of her cupid’s bow, “They’re all you’re good for.”
She still doesn’t know what triggered the intense rage that suddenly overtook him. It started with him shaking her thin body back and forth against the wall repeatedly. It further escalated when her head was then being savagely slammed against the concrete once he managed to grab a fistful of her long dark hair. She was convinced it would split open due to the amount of excessive force he put into it, and her frenzied attempts to pry at his fingers ended up falling short. She didn’t realize she was screaming until he proceeded onto his next action.
He was gonna strangle her, and there was nothing she could do to help herself.
She could barely gasp out a breath as her hands instinctively shot up to desperately grab at his wrist that was adorned by his beloved Rolex. It was the same watch he wasn’t even hesitant to spend thousands on, whereas the engagement ring she had been eyeing some time before was far too much in price to him.
In that same moment her first thought was, ’I’m going to die,’ and she had this same one the many other times he put his hands on her—each time she wished more and more that she actually would. From then on, leaving was no longer an option.
Ximena snaps free from her thoughts once more only to discover Bradley’s mother is no longer standing with her, and has instead moved to the back to quietly converse with the remainder of the people left.
She feels so small in comparison to the large white floral arrangements that adorn the area surrounding his mahogany casket. They’re nauseatingly overwhelming in terms of scent and they only contribute to the inherent stuffiness of the parlor. She advances closer until his face is finally in her view. From what she can tell, the person responsible for cosmetics did a wonderful job because he actually looks at peace. There’s color added to his hollow cheeks that make up for the lack of warmth. He no longer resembles the already graying corpse she discovered in their shared home after what the paramedics declared was a heart-attack.
Ximena leans forward so that her mouth is by his ear in order to give her final farewell, “I’m glad you’re gone,” she whispers.
She does cry later though. She’s in the shower, pressed up against the tiled wall with the water pleasantly burning her skin when it happens. The tears that cascade down her cheeks are not out of grief.
