Does Forgiving You Mean I Have to Let You Hurt Me Again?

Two weeks had passed before I heard from Eric.  My Husband. Yes, I said two weeks!  The phone rang as I was going about my Saturday morning house cleaning.  Welcoming the break I placed the mop in the corner of the kitchen and hurriedly snatched the phone from the receiver.
“Hey Baby.”  Eric said in his sweetest, most seductive voice.  Blood rushed to my head so fast I thought I would stroke out.  I closed my eyes and slowly backed to the couch, looking for support as my heart immediately started to race.            
 “What do you want Eric?  I said in a voice betraying my true emotions.  I tried to sound strong and confident, although I was already fighting back the tears.  As if someone had just erected a movie screen in front of me, I closed my eyes and watched a replay of all of the pain and anguish that I had endured over the past two weeks at the cold hearted hands of my husband.                                       
“Hey Baby.”  He said again.                                  
“I heard you the first time Eric! I snapped.  “What do you want?”  My voice is at a not so well controlled scream by now.                          
“Ronnie, please don’t be upset.”  I almost laughed out loud.  Upset.  Is he kidding?  This man must be on crack!
“Ronnie” He continued.  “I just needed some time to get myself together.  I’ve really been going through some things and I just had to get away to clear my head.  I love you so much.  You know that don’t you?”  He asked.  At this point I fought back the urge to say to him how love should have brought him home last night, but I felt that was a little too dramatic, not to mentioned borrowed from the movie Boomerang.
“Ronnie, please forgive me, please talk to me.  I need you!”  He begged.
I couldn’t even answer him because then he would know that I was crying.
“Ronnie?”  Silence.  “OK baby, you don’t have to talk to me now, just listen.”                               

“No Eric, you listen!”  I screamed, totally losing it. “Forgive You!  You want me to forgive you Eric?”  Huh? I almost choke on laughter.                     
“Well tell me, what exactly does that mean?”  Does forgiving you mean that I should welcome you back into my life with open arms?
Does forgiving you mean I have to let you continue to hurt me over and over again?                                   
“Ronnie please.”  Eric interjected. 
“Shut up Eric, I’m talking now!” I was on a roll.
“Does forgiving you mean that I should act like nothing happened?  Does forgiving you mean that I have to trust you again?”
He didn’t even try to respond.  He couldn’t.  What could he say?
“Does forgiving you mean you won’t do this to me again?”  Now it’s his turn to offer silence.
“Does forgiving you mean this pain will stop?”  I lose it now and break down into tears.  I’m so tired of crying.                                                          
“Baby I never meant to hurt you.  I do love you and I want my family back.”  Eric is pleading now.
“Look baby, the Army is transferring me to Germany and when I get there and get set up I want you to come.”
I give him complete silence as I choke on my tears.  I’m crying harder now.  The silent tears have become a raging river.  I’m inconsolable at this point.  I think I might even faint.  Why am I still listening to him?
“Baby I promise you things will be different.  I’m a changed man now and this will be a new start for us, for our love, for our marriage.”  He pauses, hoping I will say something.  I can’t.  He continues.      
“Baby it’s o.k., you don’t have to give me an answer right now.  I’ll call you next week when I get to Germany.  Remember Ronnie, you are the love of my life and my wife, and the bible says that you are suppose to submit yourself to me, to your husband.”                                                              
Oh heck no!  Did he just try to quote a scripture?  This man has a lot of nerve!                         
 “I love you baby” was his final words, spoken in a whisper as soft as a lover's kiss.

I sat holding the phone long after Eric had hung up.  I cried.  I sobbed.  I cried again.  I cried because he had hurt me so bad, so deeply.  I cried because he had the nerve to call me weeks after walking out on me to remind me that he loved me and that I was his wife.  What?  I cried because I could not bring myself to say all of the mean, nasty things to him that I had rehearsed for whenever he did get up the nerve to call.  But
mainly I cried because I already knew that I would go to Germany with him.  I cried because I was a prisoner, a prisoner imprisoned without walls, without visible locked doors, without keys.  I was imprisoned by my low self-esteem, imprisoned by my fear of loneliness, imprisoned by my desire to be
loved.  The truth is, I was imprisoned by unrequited love for this man.  No matter how much I ached to be free, I WAS NOT
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