The Long Journey Back Part 1

Chapter 1

Morning. She awoke to the alarm blaring next to the bed. There was the sound of bird song outside her bedroom window but in the midst of exhaustion and pain she didn't hear it. Shuffling through the blur which was her world sans glasses she made her way to the bathroom and started the shower. Once the water was nice and hot she reached out to move the shower curtain and saw the first bruise. With a sigh of resignation she stepped in, relaxing just a bit as the spray hit her tired body. Soaping her body she reflected on the prior evening.

She fussed in the kitchen. Paul was due home at any moment and she wanted it to be a nice evening. They had been having so few of those of late. The meal was simple. Homemade pasta sauce from the freezer, ziti, salad, and garlic bread. But it was good.

She lit candles about the living room for ambiance and decided to forgo the incense, allowing instead the smells of a home cooked meal to serve in its stead. Suddenly she felt the floor vibrate as he slammed shut the front door.

"Oh shit!" she whispered. She knew that the slammed door meant a hard day, after what had been an especially hard week. Then forcing a smile she turned to welcome Paul home.

Dinner was a disaster. He barely touched any food, choosing instead to dine on a 12-pack of beer. After dinner (if you could call it that), it was obvious that the alcohol had taken hold. He came up behind her as she washed the dishes, a touch here a kiss there. It was obvious what he had in mind.

Taking a hold of her wrist he moved to turn her away from the sink.

"Honey, can this wait a bit? I really should clean up the kitchen first."

With that utterance his grip around her wrist shifted from a light touch to a death grip. And his kisses grew more intense.

"Honey please."

It was no good. When he drank there was no reasoning with him. In fact, her reluctance seemed to act as an aphrodisiac. It wasn't that he meant to force her, he had no idea he was even hurting her, she was sure. Or she hoped she was sure. He just wanted her. Then and now. And not knowing what else to do, she never seemed to know what to do when he got like this, she submitted.

But as his kisses deepened and he started to remove her clothes she drifted off inside her mind. There had been times when their lovemaking was spectacular. There had been moments in bed when they seemed to connect in soul as well as in body. But not for a long time. Not when he was like this. Not when booze had clouded his mind so that he either became unable to comprehend the words "not now" or "no".

So she left. She closed her eyes and slipped off to the silent place in her mind. The sacred spot she used to go to in trance, in meditation. And so she wasn't there when he thrust his fingers between her legs. She wasn't there when his kisses, sometimes so soft and gentle turned sloppy and harsh. And she wasn't there when he climbed on top of her disregarding the fact that she was obviously not ready. Disregarding everything but the pleasure which rose and crested leaving him spent on top of her.

She shook off the memory and clean and somewhat awake she turned off the water. She dried herself off gently and moved to the mirror. She looked at the person looking back at her and wondered how it had gotten like this. But time waited for no man, or woman, and it was pointless to waste time thinking about things that would never change.

She got dressed a pair of denim leggings and a lose and soft turtleneck. Twisted her still damp hair up into a bun and went off into the kitchen. As she expected it was spotless, the coffee was made and there was a note on the 'fridge.

Morning Joanna! I know its Saturday but they called me into the office. I shouldn't be home too late. Love you, Me

As if nothing had happened. But then what had happened? He had hurt her, but he hadn't really meant to. And as for the sex? Well she supposed that if she had really wanted to stop him she could have. And goodness knows she wasn't the first woman to just "lie there" when the mood hadn't struck them. With a shrug she made a cup of coffee and headed downstairs. The home she and Paul shared wasn't overly large, but it did have the luxury of a basement. Every time she went down the stairs she was always struck by how much stuff they had managed to cram into such a small space.

The room held the computer desk they shared, a number of bookcases, and an altar. She laid her coffee mug on the coaster she kept on her desk and on a whim she went over to it. The low table which was bedecked with crystals and candles. On the left was the chalice that Paul had bought her, a lovely hand blown piece in shades of purple. On the right the blade she had bought him at Ren Fair. In the center lay their wands, crafted from fallen branches which had been sanded with love and care. She hadn't intended to do any ritual, her heart has been too sore for that lately. But suddenly something called to her.

She stood for a moment to collect her thoughts and a familiar prayer ran through her head. But, instead of continuing with the prayer of self-blessing she instead recited one line over and over again first silently and then aloud.

"Bless me Mother for I am Your child"

It was her mantra. It was what she was trying so desperately to remember, to feel again. When she had met Paul she was already a witch. After practicing on her own for a couple of years she had yearned for the company of others. So when she saw a notice at the local bookstore that a Pagan Study Group was forming she jumped at the chance. When she walked in that first night, the first person she met was Paul. She liked to say it was love at first sight. But in actuality she, they, didn't know it was love until almost a year of friendship. What she experienced was more like remembrance. It was as if her soul and his recognized one another in that first instant. And from that moment on they were simply bound to one another, destined to be together.

During her early years as a Witch, as a Priestess, she was keenly aware of the Lady's presence about and within her. It was at once the glow of moonlight shining down upon her and a warm coal within her. It was something that made magical the flicker of candlelight and the soft rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. It was something that made sacred all the mundane acts that make up a life. That had made up her life. But, the last 2 years and the disappointments which had come with it had robbed the world of some of its beauty, had robbed her heart of some of the magic which once resided there. While she had once reached out for her faith in times of need, in times of despair, recently the more she hurt the less she felt able to turn to the trappings of her religion. And the more time that passed since she had held ritual the more she felt ashamed. Ashamed to call herself Witch, ashamed to call herself Priestess, and ashamed to call upon the Divine, her Lord and Lady. As a result she had practiced her religion less and less. She had grown more distant from her faith as evidenced by the puff of dust that rose into the air disturbed as she reached for a lighter.

She lit the central candle on the altar and sat before it. Trying to center herself and to feel again that connection to the Divine.

"Oh Goddess I ask that you send your blessings down upon me." Her voices crackled with unshed tears. "I know I don't deserve the privilege. Who am I to ask for anything? But please? I'm not sure where to go or what to do. Please help me find a way out; transform my life, transform me if that be your will. But, I can't live like this anymore." With those last words her shell cracked and she began to cry. She curled up on the floor as the sobs wracked her body. They were the deep wrenching sounds of grief. She grieved for herself, for the memories of the prior evening, for the soreness in her body and mind. She grieved for the lack of meaning in her life as well as for the other losses of the past years. And finally she grieved for the man she loved, for whom their losses had been devastating. Finally she cried over the alcohol which was changing him into someone she didn't know. Gradually her sobs turned to softer cries and finally spent in body and soul her breathing slowed and she fell asleep.

Chapter 2

The dream was always the same.

His hands are tied in front of him with rough rope. They've been tied that way a while as he can feel the raw chafed skin there. There is the taste of blood in his mouth and his head is pounding in time to the steps he's being forced to make. He's been beaten.

The night is cold and damp. He can see his breath in small white clouds rising up to the heavens. He hurts. His body is sore. He catches the scent of wood smoke and his heart fills with fear. No it fills with something greater than fear, stark terror and utter despair….

He hears a bird twittering in the distance. Tu Tu Eeet Tu Tu Eeet

Paul awoke to the sound of the phone ringing.

"Yeah?" he whispered so as not to wake up the woman beside him.

"Hey man" Charlie said "I need you to come in today Jim is a no-show and you're all I got."

"Oh come on. It's Saturday and I already put in 50 hours this week."

"I don't want to be a hard-ass. You can man the shift or not. If you don't you can start looking for a new job."

"Alright, give me an hour and I'll be there."

Sitting up he was suddenly aware of the pounding in his head. He gazed down at the sleeping form beside him and wondered how he had been lucky enough to win the heart of this lovely creature. Short and with curves in all the right places ("and most of the wrong ones" he heard her say in his head) her hair poured over the pillow like a stream. A true strawberry blonde, complete with blue eyes and freckles she looked truly Irish much to the "dismay" of her Italian parents.

He bent and brushed her forehead with a kiss. "Love you My Love" he whispered.

Much as he would like to curl up beside her and wake her with kisses, duty called. He stumbled to the bathroom, took 3 Advil and stepped into a cool shower. Quickly soaping and shampooing he was done in 5 minutes. After drying off and throwing on a pair of Dockers and a Dress shirt he went into the kitchen for some coffee. The sink was still full of dishes; it wasn't like Joanna to leave the kitchen a mess before bed.

Suddenly he was struck by a vague memory of the previous night. He remembered being on top of Jo, her eyes closed, and he chuckled as obviously her tidying had been interrupted by passion. As he filled the dishwasher he realized that he really didn't remember much else of the previous evening. He remembered coming home exhausted after a long week. He had stopped at the liquor store on the way home and remembered that Jo had seemed a bit put off by his drinking. Or maybe it was his not eating much of dinner. She always hated it when he didn't appreciate her cooking. Maybe he should take her out for dinner to make it up to her.

After loading the dishwasher, he noticed a number of beer bottles about. As he gathered them up for recycling he realized that he held the remnants of a full 12-pack.

"Did I really drink that much?" he mused. "Funny, I don't remember. But unless the cat has developed a taste for hops, it must've been me." But somehow the joke tasted sour even to himself. He didn't really like the fact that he couldn't remember hours of his life and he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something important that he had lost in that alcohol induced blur. A glance at the microwave told him he was going to be late if he didn't hurry, so he jotted off a quick note and hurried out the door into an all too bright morning in his somewhat hungover state.

The drive was an easy and fast one. He was at the office 15 minutes after walking out his front door. The ibuprofen had finally kicked in and he was feeling a bit more human. The morning progressed smoothly, but still Paul was grateful when Jim finally showed up, albeit 3 hours late, allowing him to go home.

He walked in the door surprised not to see Jo on the couch reading. Lazy Saturdays often found her curled up with a fantasy or sci-fi novel. He checked the bedroom and bathroom and finally the basement. What he saw surprised him. She was asleep on the floor in front of the altar. He was more surprised by how she looked. Her eyes were obviously red and puffy despite being closed. She'd obviously been crying. His heart ached to see her like that and he bent down to stroke her face. In her sleep she flinched as if expecting pain to follow. Then his eyes caught sight of something.

Her wrist was bruised. Badly. He could see the outline of fingers. He called out her name in a tight whisper.

"Joanna?"

She stirred but didn't wake up.

"Jo?" he said a bit louder.

Her eyes fluttered open. For a minute she was unsure where she was. "How long was I asleep?" she muttered. Then looking up into Paul's face she said more clearly, "Oh Hi Honey, you're home. What time is it? Do you need lunch?"

"What happened to your wrist?" he asked. He watched the emotions play on her face. Confusion. Embarrassment.

Joanna wasn't sure what to do. She had never let him see the marks he left. She never told him about what he did. Part of her was trying to protect him. She knew how he felt about men who abused their spouses, and despite their lack of a marriage certificate she was no less his wife. But, also, she was trying to protect herself. Because she knew that she couldn't face it if in fact he did know what he'd been doing and simply didn't care.

"Oh that? Oh don't worry about it, I'm fine. Come on, how about a ham sandwich?"

"Jo. Come on. I can see from here that someone hurt you. I can see finger marks."

She blinked a few times. She had always believed that he didn't remember what happened when he drank too much. She had believed it, she had had to, but she had never known for sure. But here he was standing before her with love and concern in his deep blue eyes, asking her what was wrong. How was she supposed to answer him? What words were there to soften what she believed, no now she knew, would be a blow. That he was the one who had hurt her.

"Jo!" he said a bit more forcefully, "are you having an affair?"

"Oh Gods No!" she said.

"Then what happened? Who did this to you?"

She lowered her head and replied in a breath of a whisper, so low he couldn't make out what she said.

A cold hand of fear wrapped itself around his heart. A suspicion was growing in the back of his mind. But, it wasn't possible. Again that picture rose in his mind. He saw himself on top of her, her eyes closed. But, what if they weren't closed in passion? A lump formed in his throat.

He swallowed and raised her head with his fingertips beneath her chin, he asked "Hun, please, what happened?"

"Well," she said finally, "I guess it happened last night."

"What do you mean?"

"When we were …. You know … " and she trailed off. She didn't want to call it having sex, but couldn't bring herself to call it making love.

"You mean …. " his voice breaking as much with shock as with shame., "I …. Did … this?"

"Yes" she replied in a voice just above a whisper.

His legs gave out from under him and he sat suddenly and forcefully on the floor.

He gazed up at her. "Was it the first time?"

"No…. it only happens when you drink though."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Oh Gods I've been abusing you. I swear to you I don't remember. What did I do to you? Did I …. Beat you?"

"No …"

"Then how did this …" he reached out as if to touch her wrist and then drew back "happen."

Joanna gazed at him, at the well sculpted face that she knew and loved. She swallowed and met his gaze. Green eyes and blue locked together and with that a gate in his mind opened and he remembered Jo beneath him, her eyes closed not in passion but in resignation. He remembered her gasping beneath him not in pleasure but in the pain which accompanied a rushed and forceful entry into her womanhood. He remembered that he just wanted, needed to be within her so desperately. That he had felt as if he were drowning and that she was somehow his life preserver. He had wanted to feel that connection, that sacredness, that accompanied their lovemaking. But, he had destroyed it. How could she ever forgive him for this. This was unspeakable. He had forced her. He had brought violence into their bed

"No oh Gods No"

"Paul, its okay. Really…… Paul?"

"How is it okay? I hurt you."

"But, you didn't mean it. It was" she grasped for words "an accident. We'll get help. We'll work on this together."

"How can you even stand to be in the same room with me? You should leave and never look back." And with that said he broke down into sobs.

She gazed at him and drew him to her, trying to wrap him her love around him as she did her arms. Holding him as he cried out his fear and his shame, mingling her tears with his own. Hoping that somehow this was the beginning of healing.