Photo by Maria Luiza Melo
“He doesn’t appreciate me." Tia’s voice went up an octave. "It's like I’m his slave, there to serve him from morning till night. He just makes demands, demands, demands…” She gazed at her shoes. “My friends complain that I never go out anymore. They’ve stopped calling, and Brenda's been telling everyone that I’m in a codependent relationship… whatever that means.”
Phoebe stifled a yawn as she placed a box of tissues in front of Tia and took a quick sip of her cold latte. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“I’m exhausted, and disappointed… bitter?”
“Are you asking or telling me?”
Tia dabbed at her eyes with a handful of tissues. “I don’t know. I’m so tired. It’s never ending. This morning he complained because I made him an omelette when he wanted scrambled eggs. Yesterday, his freshly squeezed orange juice had bits… he gagged, then shouted, then kicked me.” She lifted her trousers. A rainbow of bruises covered the hairy pale skin of her left shin. “Last week he bit me. He bit me. This is abuse. I can’t… I can’t… take it… anymore.”
Phoebe hum-hummed, waiting for Tia’s sobbing to ease.
Tia balled the tissues in her fist and dumped them on the immaculate glass coffee table. “I do love him, I think… Yes. No, I do love him, but it’s so hard. He makes it so hard.”
Phoebe’s fringe annoyed her, but blowing it off her eyelashes might upset Tia. She studied the young woman’s face. Pale, twitchy, bags under her eyes. All the signs were there. Phoebe forced a smile to soften her voice. “Does he behave better when you’re out?”
“No. He screamed at me on the way back from the supermarket on Monday… that he hated me. He keeps humiliating me, in and out, makes no difference… I’ve had enough.”
“So, what are you planning to do about it?”
“I don’t know? What can I do? I can’t leave... him?” Tia bit the soft skin around her nail until it bled. She pulled more tissues out of the box, pressed them on her thumb, threw them on the table, sucked on her thumb, and stared at Phoebe.
Phoebe breathed in deeply. “Not unless… you’re willing to give him away.” She picked the bloodied tissues with her fingertips, threw them in the bin, and disinfected her hands. “Are you? Willing to give him up?”
Tia crumpled on the sofa. “Sometimes I wish I could. I think he triggers me on purpose…”
“Do you, really? Have you thought about what we talked about? About imposing limits?”
“Like…”
“Like… you taking control…”
“It’s too hard. I can't do it. It’s not my fault… I’m the victim here… You know me, you know my past… He’s so strong willed.”
“I get that, but.. he’s your son, you’re—”
“He triggers me!”
“He’s three… you’re the mother, the adult…” Phoebe checked her watch. “Okay, our time is up. See you next week?”
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