Purgatory

By Michele Hess

The desire to escape becomes so strong that one choice becomes the opportunity for destiny or destruction. With freedom, comes change, but everything has a price. Will the cost of Destiny and Love be too high? Will Karma demand recompense for deeds

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookTrail Publishing
• Release date: Jun 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781637678763

Book preview

Introduction

I knew the time before ever looking at the clock. Longing arrives every night in the quiet of 3 a.m., disrupting the chance of restful sleep. It begins slowly, maybe waking from a dream, a slight noise in the night, or even a full bladder. Then like an angry beast begins to feed on the layers of fears, anxieties, wants, and dines with loneliness.

The blankets become too heavy. The air was too cold. A weight sits upon the chest that demands recognition but lacks words. Sounds from the house seem terrifying: floorboards expanding, the heater turning on, sounds of breathing. Is the toilet running again? Why must everything be so loud? The mattress is now too hot and lumpy. A new one should have been purchased years ago. Instead, the feeling of suffocation is beginning to build. There is always an unquenchable thirst.

Pushing back the covers, I prepare for another conversation with Karma, Destiny, and Time. The feeling of being trapped in a perpetual time loop is real. How did I end up here, and why is it all so hard? It was supposed to be so very different. There was promised to be a Prince Charming, a Happy-Ever-After, and a beautiful castle with endless gardens, not perpetual disappointments, guilt, and scarring. So how did it end up this way?

When does the prison sentence end and my real life begin? I guess it is terrible to think of life that way. Yet, 3 a.m. reminds me of unfilled promises and the quest for the great adventure. What would it be like to be free, untethered? Purposeful? Loved?

Longing loves meeting anxiety when freedom is met with change. Looking around the house, there is so much to lose. The unknown is astronomical. I know my purpose is out there, which is why I don’t sleep at night. There is just so much pressure and darkness to get through. I am afraid to go forward and terrified that I am slipping backward. Any step ahead requires permission, which is then layered with guilt, followed by I told you so’s if there is a failure. Failure is unforgivable and unforgettable.

The tea has now grown cold, not that I really wanted it. I have stopped scrolling through websites looking for the perfect job, more education, the perfect vacation, online dating, and even took some self-help quizzes. The alarm will soon determine that it will be a new day of nothingness and the demands of servitude.

But what if it’s not?

Destiny, Time, and Karma all require recognition. Presenting a choice or opportunity, taken or not, will have consequences. Destiny demands acknowledgment of what was written in the stars, a great love, a higher purpose, or personal transformation. Time parcels out moments, demanding the accountability of how its currency is spent. Karma, known as the cruelest or kindest, exacts payment. Every choice has a cost. To stay or go? To speak up or stay quiet? To let go of the past. To discover myself. To shed light upon the darkness, facing the storm.

I never meant harm, but it was the darkest morning in February when longing visited. The only sounds were Clay and the dogs snoring when I realized in my journal that I had been writing the same theme for years. Every day, I would note that I hoped he would not wake up so that I would be free of this nightmare and live my life. It’s funny how 3 a.m. provides clarity because I realized it was time for me to begin to rewrite the story.

Chapter 1

Waneta, KY

Scarlet

My name is Scarlet, nicknamed after the Scarlet Witch from Marvel’s X-men. Clay, my ex, was a comic book geek, and that was the nickname that stuck. He said it was because of the spirited personality, but I think it was just because of the red hair. It is the only remnant of him that I have kept. Spend a lifetime with someone, and some things just stick. Life is slowly being rebuilt, one piece at a time. Along the way, I have met some fascinations. I love watching people.

I didn’t expect to move to Waneta, KY. I left Virginia searching for happiness and came across the Happiness Inn. I thought I would stay only for a few days. It is simply calm. Quiet. More of Mother Nature than of actual people. I like it more and more every day. It has been so relaxed and peaceful after all the book tours; I believe I finally found a home. That in itself is a funny thought, considering I left a residence called home though it felt more like perpetual want with walls.

It has taken a while to call it home. Just recently, I put the artwork up and purchased a lampshade. For months after moving in, the walls were bare. I had to make peace with the house, I guess, as I brought a lot of ghosts with me. Somehow, they decided not to leave. The other night, I spent two hours yelling at the stove and a blank wall as family ghosts swam around me. I called it a therapeutic wine session. Of course, five glasses were probably more therapy than required, but it relieved ghosts. My head didn’t see it that way at 2 a.m. the following morning. Hell, or healing? Perception. Perhaps, in my spare time, I need to bury the ghosts in landscaping.

My other therapy is my swing, tucked under the covered porch. It looks out over the empty fields with mountains in the distance. Privacy is granted to me as the nearest neighbor is two miles away. My dog and fish keep me company as I fight internal demons, listening to the bullfrogs and crickets. Conversations swirl in my head. Words that were spoken or should have been said, but the moment is passed. Loneliness pats me on the shoulder. I move over on the swing to provide him a spot.

I am a motivational speaker, talented at building people and providing pathways to self-improvement and restorative health. This led to creating the Journey to Happiness book and international tour. Never one to play well in the traditional sandbox, after completing my Ph.D., I started my own set of programs designed to empower individuals to reach their fullest potential. The irony is that the best examples are often the ones experienced. It was the need to support the family after Clay’s motorcycle accident nine years ago. Lunch with my sister and dearest friend, Samantha, a publicist for the family publishing company, propelled me into doing exactly what I always dreamed of doing, much to the duplicitous messages of disgust and support from my husband. Disgust when book sales were low. Support and praise when the checks came rolling in.

The accident happened when the kids were still in high school. Clay’s career as a respiratory therapist completely stopped as we suddenly embraced a head injury, neurological trauma, and depression as new members of our household. Compounded with teenage angst and a complete upheaval of all things familiar, I don’t know how we made it through. While I was working at the time as a recreational therapist, I made only what Clay called a pittance of a salary compared to what he made as a respiratory therapist. It was true, but I liked my job and was really good at it. It was actually how we met. A son and daughter who were both active in high school, a husband who didn’t comprehend living on disability because he favored the champagne lifestyle meant a new career and bankruptcy. Of course, Clay made it known that it didn’t matter for him because he was on disability. It became a sick joke as I met with the attorney and filed the papers. He was the only one who laughed.

We met twenty-five years ago. Both of us worked in healthcare. He was so arrogant but charming. As a new recreational therapist on the rehabilitation unit in the hospital, I would watch him work. He was on a completely different level of skill and talent, but I wanted his attention. He had soft brown hair and beautiful brown eyes with a big smile. The nurses all loved him. Somehow, he was always smiling in my direction. Charting occurs at the nurses’ station, making it a great meeting space. Well, not only was he good-looking, but he had a great sense of humor, catching all my quips as well.

From one magical date, every moment was then spent together. We couldn’t get enough of each other. Six weeks later, he proposed. The answer, of course, was yes. Moving in with him was obviously the natural choice. At twenty-three, life was full and intense. Marriage came. Children came, two of them.

The perfect family, one girl, and one boy. Everything aligned beautifully, or so it seemed. Being a new wife and mom seemed to fit the storybook.

Clay began to change. His personality darkened. What used to be a sense of humor became gray. Experiences beyond the façade were not to be shared. I was bringing shame to the family. He would call the children horrible names. Threaten them, and turn it around to be my fault so that somehow, I would be the one who would be apologizing. Looking back, he was clever, always concealing his actions with a something that contained a price tag.

The house was filled with artwork, collections, and objects. He would regularly purchase trinkets and jewelry for me to excuse any bad behavior. One moment, I was of worth and the next, worthless. It was just enough to measure control, play inside my head. Later, turn the kids to be just like him. When I dream of them now, they are always innocent; reality has yet to touch them.

We always had to live in a house that displayed more than we made. Appearances were everything, never mind the credit card debt. He liked his things, possessions. I think I was a possession. The funny thing is, there was there was never money to go on vacations, have celebrations, or plan events, but there was money for his wants and his desires.

Nine years ago, he took his motorcycle out with his buddies. It was supposed to be a dry Sunday, but the roads were wet after a sudden shower. Like all turn of events, it only takes one moment to change a life. His was the S-curve on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Leaves had fallen, and an oncoming driver crossed the lane. He nearly went over the mountain ridge. Days afterward and sometimes years, I wish that he had. He was never one to wear a helmet, always thinking they were for sissies. As the motorcycle skidded across the pavement with his skull bouncing along the asphalt, I am sure a helmet may have been something that crossed his mind before he lost consciousness.

A traumatic brain injury, multiple bone fractures, internal bleeding, and skull lacerations, the list was long, and the rehabilitation was months in the hospital: skin grafts, therapy, cognitive retraining. I was now his caregiver. All the negative aspects of his personality became more aggressive than before and more easily triggered. The positive parts seemed to have disappeared entirely. The hospital suggested that he go on disability as they did not feel he could return to his duties. Depression and anger filled every crevice of him. On good days, he described himself as half a man. He continued to refuse mental health treatment.

During this time, the kids finished high school and entered college. I went with them, knowing additional education would lead me somewhere though not sure where. The arguments of money were constant, though eBay packages arrived regularly. Any success I had while in school and working full time was absorbed and credited to his support. The children began to remove themselves from our lives, limiting communication to once a week and visits on holidays. Even those visits were fraught with tension as negativity spewed forth. His complaints filled the room, demanding validation.

Completing my Ph.D. was a passion, and I began writing, holing up in an office. Clay began to adjust to a new life at home, performing menial tasks and gradually completing yardwork for the subdivision. Taking to shaving and polishing his head, he became fanatic about exercise again, criticizing me constantly about my full-figured curviness. It seemed the women in the neighborhood enjoyed Clay’s new appearance, as frequent platters of cookies, fruit, and meals arrived, all addressed to Clay, thanking him for the yardwork. Some parts of him continued to function, and he remained proud of that accomplishment. Tasks around our house remained undone. He would become angry that I was tired after working and school and that housework was still not done as he sat on the couch mindlessly looking at the TV or computer.

You are probably wondering, Why did I stay?

If it is all that you know, where do you go? By the time the accident had happened, Clay had isolated me from my family and friends. I saw them once, maybe twice a year, even though I lived only forty-five minutes away. Every step toward bettering myself was negated with a comment of You’re not smart enough. You can’t do that without me. It wasn’t until I realized I was breaking that I began to know that there was a world better without Clay.

Chapter 2

Culpepper, VA

Clay

She was persistent and quirky. One way or the other, she let the world know she was there. How do you miss a flaming, red firecracker? I certainly couldn’t. From the very beginning, I watched her. Her charm and charisma entertained patients and annoyed staff. You either liked Scarlet or didn’t. There was never really an in-between. I fell in love instantly.

She was intense all the time, except when she slept. We were together for only six weeks. I remember the moment clearly. Her bright eyes sparkled as she simply handed me the test with the plus sign. Suddenly, a baby was on the way. There was no us. We were now a family. Then there were four. She was a rabbit and just kept producing. Every time I turned around, she said, Honey, guess what? It was always with that shitty grin on her face. I just wanted it to be us for a while. Didn’t she ever hear of birth control? That is the woman’s job.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the kids, but they were always a pain in the ass. Needy and wanting. I wanted just her. She was happy to be a mom, pushing me aside. Pissing me off. What was I? Just a paycheck? I worked my ass off to come home to crying kids when all I wanted was to be cared for by my Scarlet. I have needs too. Mine were simply ignored.

It was when she wanted to go back to school. I nearly choked on the debt, though she signed the loans. I refused to co-sign, but I still demanded my time. I wasn’t going to be left high-and-dry. I am her husband and had first rights. I began to pick up extra shifts at that hospital, leaving her to have the kids and school. Extra shifts—the blond one and the brunette, which shift was most available? I have needs. I had it all covered, my Scarlet and my extras.

To make up for my extra work, I started buying her motivational gifts and trinkets. One for her and extras to pass around. The nice thing about school and childrearing is that they kept her busy. I was busy too. I was seriously thinking about just leaving, then life decided to change.

It was that motorcycle ride. She was always nagging me to wear a helmet. Why? Well, that day was the reason as the car came out of nowhere on the S-curve. I close my eyes and still feel the impact. Then it all goes black. Recovery is a lifetime. Rods. Pins. Skin grafting. Traumatic Brain Injury. Disability. Scarlet wonders why I am angry, really? She says I am different now since the accident and need mental health treatment to cope with loss. I don’t need counseling or a therapist! I want my life back.

I just needed her to leave me alone. Her noise and chatter grated on me. She was around all the time, wanting to help me, wanting to do things for me. Leave me the hell alone. I was half a man and will forever be half a man. She spent the first few months finding hobbies and activities for me. With each attempt, I got more pissed off, screaming louder at her and cursing more at the kids. Finally, she stopped and left me alone in the silent chambers of my darkness. I was growing to like it there. The more I was left alone in my quiet hell, the more I hated everyone and everything.

Everything was so loud since the accident. It took twice as long to do something, or I had to ask Scarlet to do it. The whole world was frustrating. The kids were teenagers and did not understand. All I seemed to do was yell at them. All they did was yell back.

There was a volcano inside of me, and it hurt to be touched. I tried to explain this to Scarlet. I swore sometimes she got it, and other times, she was absolutely clueless as she sang so freaking