The Fight

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

46

Curled in that ball in the bathroom. That’s where I sat crying wanting someone, anyone to burst in the front door to save me within that moment. I never thought I’d be one to accept violence into my home. I’m a fighter with a punch I’d only know once, to my future unfriendly gentleman who’d decide to be the fourth person to call me ‘fat.’ I’d simply had enough. Enough turmoil in my own world, I should only be courteous enough to accept so much from others. So, that night I’d stand there eyeing him for a moment, when ‘blam!’ I don’t know what came over me, but I ran like a little girl afterward scared of the police being called. I laughed as I pulled up to the front door and to the safety net of my home. The police would never be called that night, and on this night things were happening so fast yet so slowly I wouldn’t have time to think about calling them either.

“Maybe the neighbors will hear him yelling and call someone,” I’d thought. I needed help. This situation was new to me, before this all my husband would do would be to come at me really fast and then hurriedly stop, like he would be flinching he was really going to come up to me. Then pull himself back with the same amount of speed. I knew he had a temper. I continually make all of these excuses for him, not realizing I am actually becoming one of those women. One of the ones thrust suddenly into the world of domestic violence and exhibiting all of the signs. If he were showing signs why didn’t I see it, when I know looking back that I did? I still give justifications as to why I stayed. In a world back at home I could’ve been, with all of my friends but still feeling the loneliness we all feel without having someone to love. I think that scared me more, was that loneliness. But as I see now, I was lonelier than I ever could’ve imagined out there with him in a city I knew nothing about. I wasn’t between a rock and a hard place, I was just between a rock and a rock. And rocks aren’t fun. I wanted to be somewhere where I wanted to be, I just couldn’t foresee how to get to the unseen.

“No, no, NO!” I’d scream again as I could feel him burst open the bathroom door. The more he opened it, the more it crunched me into the wall where I was curled up. I tried putting my hand to the door, mustered all of my strength into that one arm to hold it shut, but his anger was fierce and when you mix it with determination you’ve got a lethal combo. I though his yelling at the door before hand might be all of it. Maybe if he knew I was upset, he’d stop, I’d think. But for some reason it was fuel to the fire. “What are you crying in there? Crying like a little baby, Andrea.” “Your just a baby.” “BOOM, BOOM, BOOM,” his pounding fists and they’re echo made me wince. And when he’d make me wince before this day, like when he’d fake coming at me, would leave me so angry that he’d be threatening, I always would come back at him and do the same. He knew I was a fighter and I don’t know what angered him more. That I was in here sobbing, or when I’d fight back. I’ve always believed that no one gets to take you. No one gets the privilege of taking who you are, but I’d lost that when I let the guy that got me pregnant come and go warping my mind as he pleased. Is this a male thing? I’d wonder. I hope it’s not a people thing, because that is when I want out.

 

Advertisements