Trigger warning: abuse
Please read with caution.
December
Fear is all I feel.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” I shriek at the police officer.
“Ma’am just stop resisting” The officer bellows, trying to grab my arm. I pull away.
Suddenly it’s twenty minutes ago and Alex’s hands are crushing my esophagus.
“I’m just gonna fucking kill you!”
He spits in my face. The sudden realization of what’s happening stuns me, and the police officer is putting handcuffs around my already bruised wrists.
“Why couldn’t you just shut up?” He sounds like Alex – bossy. “We weren’t here for you.” he says more sympathetically. Sighing, he leads me towards the car. I walk past the other cop car and see Alex glaring out at me, also in handcuffs.
September
It’s only about midnight, but I’m already well through my second bottle of wine. Alex is passed out already, almost immediately after fucking. I’m going through his phone again, even though I can barely read anything. This is how it’s been for the last two years: me fucking paranoid as hell. Alex always giving me a reason to be insecure. Me, too weak to walk away.
After years of hard work, tons of money, and a shit ton of tears, I finally graduated from college. Even though Alex has dragged me through the mud the last two years that we’ve been together, he’s supported me every step of the way. Financially, physically, and occasionally, emotionally.
When he cheated on me, everything about the dynamic of our relationship changed. I knew better than to stay, but I always have a hard time walking away from people I love. Most of the time, I’m scared of everything. Especially of being alone.
So now, it’s a work night on my second week of my new teaching job. It’s literally everything I’ve ever worked for, but here I am, looking through every single app and message on this fucking guy’s phone. I’m so fucking weak. So fucking pathetic. So wasted. I keep scrolling. There it is. Tinder downloaded, messages going through. Jesus fucking christ, why do I keep looking for things I know are going to destroy me? He’s got plans to see some chick after work tomorrow. I grab the bottle of wine and chug the rest of it down in one deep inhale.
“FUCK!” I yell at the top of my lungs.
Alex bolts up out of bed. “What? Lucy, Jesus. Are you still drinking?” He says, looking at me in nothing but a bra, panties, and holding the wine bottle. His look of superiority tips me over.
“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! You stupid piece of shit, why do you keep doing this?” I scream at him, brandishing his phone.
He suddenly realizes what it is going on, and jumps up out the bed. His six foot frame towering almost a whole foot over me.
“What the fuck! Did you go through my phone again you crazy bitch?” He yells, reaching for his phone.
I throw it across the room and drop the empty bottle. His eyes follow the phone as it smashes against the wall, and then he turns to look at me. He looks at me like I’m the one that is constantly doing something wrong, like I’m the one who has to bend to his will, like everything that has ever been wrong in the world is my fault.
I throw my hands against his chest and begin pounding them against him as hard as I can. At some point, I close my fists and keep going.
What am I doing? Who is this person? How did I get this way? This has never been me, never in all my darkness have I hurt this bad. Have I felt this stripped of who I am. Trapped. Violent.
After what seems like minutes, he grabs my wrists. His hands could crush my bones. “STOP!” He begins to force me backward. “Fuck you stupid cunt!” He slams me, hard against the wall. I feel the light switch dig into my back.
“I didn’t spend my entire childhood being abused and fucking molested by my stepdad to have some crazy bitch think she can put hands on me!” He yells in my face, his eyes flashing like I’ve never seen anyone look before. He’s just grabbing me and slamming me to the wall over and over again.
“Stop!” I hear myself saying after while. “I’m sorry!” What the fuck? For what? God, help me. I begin to try and kick him off of me. He looks at me again. He’s gone. I don’t know who this is.
He throws me away from the wall, and I stumble backward, my soccer player legs finding their balance again. He comes toward me, I back into the corner. He closes his fist, and punches me, dead in the temple. “Stay the fuck away from my shit, crazy bitch.” He says. He walks out. I lay, curled on the floor. I should leave but I don’t know where. He comes back and goes back to sleep.
I stay on the floor, crying. Around 5 am, I text my boss. Tell her I won’t be in.
I don’t know what to do.
October
The last four weeks have felt like the most confusing days in my entire existence. Actually, I’m not even quite sure that I actually exist. No one knows about what happened. Not even Kat, the only person in the entire world who I trust with my whole soul. This is killing me.
At work, I pretend to be who everyone wants me to be. Luckily, I have the type of personality that most people like, and because no one knows me, I don’t have to try too hard to throw them off my scent.
I’m drinking like a fish. Like booze is the only thing that can keep me from feeling the full weight of everything around me. Alex is still texting other girls, occasionally throwing me reminders of how no one would ever want me, even if I was strong enough to leave.
I’m fucking him like a rabbit because sex and booze are the only things that make me feel anything at all.
It’s a weekday again, even though I can’t keep track of what the hell is going on between all the lies I have to tell everyone, including myself. Just keep drinking, just keep smoking, this isn’t real.
We’re fighting about some stupid shit again because that’s all we know how to do. Despite the fact that he had done that to me, I’m still belligerent as hell, and will not back down from an argument.
I’m sitting at the edge of the bed. I don’t even know what he just said anymore but I say, “Whatever dude, at the end of the day I know that you’re nothing but a scared little boy. Fuck you.” I don’t know why I say it. I think I want to hurt him like he’s hurt me. I turn away. All of a sudden, he’s flying across the bed, tackling me to the ground. He gets on top of me and pins me to the ground. “I’m so fucking sick of you!” He screams. “Why are you so annoying? Why can’t you just shut the fuck up? Fuck you!” He slaps me. His fingers find my throat and clamp.
I throw my entire weight forward, fighting him off. I try to run away, but he grabs me by the hair and pulls me back. This time he begins biting my back. Squeezing my bones. I know he’s trying to break them. I know it hurts, but somehow I can’t register it. I elbow him off of me and run. He grabs my favorite mug, the one Kat bought me in Eureka, and throws it at my head. I dodge it and it shatters into pieces, like every last bit of me that remains.
He chases me into the hallway, catching one more solid punch at my back before I make it into the bathroom. I lock the door. I hear him leave. I stay there all night.
At around 6, I call my boss. I tell her I can’t make it.
I don’t know what to do.
December
We’re at a holiday party together. I’m still living in this haze. If I pretend nothing is wrong, I’ll be okay. Still, no one knows. Most of the time, I try to act like it actually isn’t real and that I’ve made it all up.
I’m still just going through the motions, drinking to the point where it might be more effective to just hook me up to an IV.
They commend me for doing a good job at work. I’m such a fucking liar. Fucking pretender piece of shit. God I hate myself.
At the party, I’m wearing a black leather mini skirt, fishnet tights, black pumps, and a black cropped sweater. I did my hair so it looks nice and wavy, and my face is fully made up. I look sexy. Again, a fucking pretender piece of shit.
Throughout the night, Alex is putting his arm on my leg, around my waist, just hands everywhere. I try not to cringe. Guys keep looking me up and down, but I’ve come to believe Alex. You don’t want me, I think to myself.
Beer somehow just keeps entering my body. It’s almost incredible how quickly I can drown. We call an Uber. He’s all over me, but I push him off once we get in the car. We randomly begin to talk about what it would be like to start a business. I make a statement about bank loans that he doesn’t approve of. Here we go.
We bicker for a couple of minutes, and when we’re about 10 blocks away from our apartment, he suddenly slaps me across the face as I’m telling him that this conversation is stupid anyway.
The Uber driver slams on his brakes, and yells in Arabic at Alex. “Get the fuck out of the car!” He says right after. Alex looks pissed, but gets out anyway. The driver turns to me, “Do you want me to call the police?” He says, clearly mortified and wanting to help.
I’m cradling my face, scared. “No.” I say. “Just take me home, please. We’re almost there.” He looks unsure, but does what I ask. I have no idea why I can’t just find my voice and say something.
People see me as this intelligent, fierce force to be reckoned with. Fucking pretender piece of shit that I am. Weak, is more like it.
I walk upstairs. I know I have about ten minutes before he makes it back, and I know I should run, but I don’t know where. To my parents? Their star child, show up on their doorstep bruised, abused, and wasted? No.
I’m too drunk to drive anyway. I need to change. I take my shoes off. I hear the door open. Fuck. He comes in, and I yell at him to stay away from me.
He rushes me, thirsty for blood, to cause hurt. He throws me to the ground and begins punching me. Any physical place he can touch. I try to cover my face, but that just opens my chest to receive the blows. He gets up and starts kicking me in the ribs. I just cry as he kicks me over and over. I don’t know how long it lasts.
I summon the strength to try and crawl away. He grabs me from behind and puts me in a chokehold. I somehow break free, but his mouth is biting my arm. This time, even through all of the adrenaline, I can feel how much it hurts. How much all of it hurts. The acting like everything is fine, the lying to everyone, the fucking pretending.
My hands claw his neck, and he lets go of my arm. Somehow, he still pins me to the floor. He puts his hands on my neck. This time he’s really squeezing hard. This time he really might do it.
“I’m just gonna fucking kill you!”
He spits in my face.
I’m gasping for air, getting dizzy. Somehow, my hands find a shoe on the floor. I pick it up and toss it against his head. I make an athletic dive for my phone and run to the bathroom. I call the police. He runs out of the apartment. I hear the police get here really quickly. Alex just waits for them with his hands up as they approached him, guns drawn.
I go outside, barefoot. The police officer begins to ask me questions, I’m dizzy. I’m wasted. I feel all sorts of pain from so many places, but mostly I feel empty. This isn’t real. He asks to go inside. I tell him no, because I know that they will treat it like a crime scene, and I don’t know how to process that. He begins to comment on all of the bruises that are already appearing on my face and neck.
“Did he try and choke you?” he asks aggressively. “Because if he did, that’s additional charges”.
I shrug. Where is my voice? My arm reaches to cover the blood that’s beginning to spill from where he bit me.
“Is it okay for me to take pictures?” He asks, and reaches for me. I flinch.
No, absolutely not. It begins to dawn on me exactly what will happen after this. That I will have to testify in court, that these bruises will need to be documented, that I will need to speak up about this. I’m not ready.
“Never mind, just let him go” I say to the cop. He looks at me, clearly beat up, make up disheveled, barefoot. He’s incredulous, but clearly this isn’t his first time. He hands me a card that reads Domestic Abuse Hotline. What the fuck is this? I’m not a victim.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that ma’am. Once you call, we have to make a mandatory arrest. Especially when the victim is clearly showing signs of abuse.” He looks at me, and tries to reach out and console me.
Suddenly, I’m yelling at him, calling him names, crying and saying incoherent things. I refuse to go back inside. Another officer appears, and they try to manhandle me into my apartment, so I try to get their fucking hands off of me.
I’m tired of the hands on me.
I’m yelling and screaming. One of the cops finally lets go and says, “Fuck this! She’s not gonna fucking listen, then book her for being drunk in public!” he yells, and walks away.
The cop looks at me. He doesn’t want to arrest me, but an order is an order. Even if it means arresting and manhandling the woman who was just abused by her boyfriend.
They let me out of jail at 4:30 am. I go back to the apartment.
What am I supposed to do?