The Tyrant's Trophy

Maybell

Phil left me in this place for a while now. Not once did he come and tell everyone the truth - not once did he take back those filthy lies. I groaned weakly, exhausted by the fighting and screaming. No one’s listening.

No one cares.

I’m going to rot in here.

I’m going to die here and everyone will be happy. I can see it now: they’ll congratulate my husband and say how lucky he is to be rid of me. Then I’ll be buried but my soul will be in hell. I deserve eternal suffering.

I didn’t protect my baby.

I didn’t leave when I had the chance.

“Maybe this is my punishment.” I laughed to myself. Phil was right: I’m pathetic. I deserve all those beatings he gave to me. I deserve his scorn and every punch he throws my way. Why would he want me acquitted anyways? I deserve the death penalty. “What am I thinking?”

Oh, that's right…the truth.

A life without Phil. It’s hard to picture that.

I can’t see past the life I’ve lived with him but I do remember all the things I wanted to do but Phil never let me. I wanted to get a job. Yes, nothing significant, but I always wanted a job since high school.

My mom was big on learning and didn’t want me to get a job while in school. She let me deliver papers but it wasn’t technically a job, especially since my route was the way I took to school. I wanted a full-time job where I could be useful and make my own income. I dreamt of saving up and getting a place of my own where I could support my mother.

Then Phil came and my dream shifted.

Chad was adamant about me trying things I wanted. So when I told him that I wanted a job, he surprised me with some applications for hotels. He helped me fill them out last night and today, we drove to the first one I’m applying for.

It was the same hotel where we had breakfast.

When we walked inside, we came back to the restaurant area. Chad left to make some calls and I stood near the wall, waiting for him to return. The second good thing I learned about Chad is he’s patient. He didn’t lose his temper with me or call me stupid when I struggled to answer some of the applications. He helped me, instead, and gave me tips on how to carry myself when we go to these interviews.

I smiled at the memories.

He’s sweeter than I thought.

It was crowded today; the restaurant was packed and slowly my nerves began to get jittery. I forced myself to be calm, reminding myself that Chad wouldn’t let anything happen to me. He promised me he wouldn’t and he doesn’t seem like the type to lie.

'So keep it together, Maybell.' I scolded myself, holding my resume closer to my chest.

“Excuse me?” My eyes shot over to two women who sat near the entrance. The girl who spoke was dressed in a nice blouse, adorned with a leather jacket. She had her purse near her hand on the table.

The girl in front of her, I couldn’t see her face, but she had on a plaid skirt that seemed a little too high for her and a black crop top. The lady sighed. “You owe me an apology.” Despite being dressed like a high schooler, the girl sounded much older.

“For what?” Shamefully, I began eavesdropping. Despite the room being packed and noisy, I could hear their conversation quite clearly.

“First of all, you yelled at me.” The girl held up a hand and started counting. “Second, you said I jump from guy to guy and third, you punched me.” I cringed at the last part, subconsciously touching my cheek.

The other girl narrowed her eyes but other than that, she simply scoffed. “I’m not apologizing.” The two looked ready to charge at one another until a guy walked up to them. When the mature looking one saw him, her face lit up.

I watched as the woman stood up and approached the guy. He gave her pink carnations. I looked away at that point, feeling jealous of the genuine love I saw. That kind of love can’t be fake - while Phil’s ‘love’ for me was based on lies.

I sighed, “It’s not fair.” The fact that it was pink carnations he gave her just made me more depressed. Pink carnations symbolize motherly love. It is said that when Mary saw her son, Christ Jesus carrying the cross, pink carnations were the flower blooming around that time. She wept as she watched her son die…wanting to protect Him.

Thus why the flower means ‘protective motherly love.’

However, Mary got her child back. Jesus rose from the grave - mine didn’t. My baby stayed dead and it’s all my fault. If I had protected her, she’ll be in my arms now and we'll have our own lives together.

Tears pricked my eyes but I wiped them away. I don’t have a right to cry; not when it’s my fault she died.

“I’m back.” Chad patted my back. “Now let’s land you this job.” I nodded but doubted that this place would take a scum like me. I followed him anyway.