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A metallic taste hits my tongue meaning my lip is bleeding. If the pain didn’t indicate it, the taste does. Joel’s abuse is constant, I’m surprised my skin hasn’t adapted to it and created an extra protective layer. This is all my fault, because I want out.
For two years I have been at the violent hands of the man I once called my lover. Joel Carrell was the man I fell in love with at sixteen, the one I gave my body, heart and soul to. But, when my heart settled, the cute things that once made me feel special turned dark and violent.
The way he told me I was his, and only his, went from being seducing to captivating. Not the kind that makes you feel whole or desired, but the kind that makes you sick or afraid—the kind that holds you captive like a prisoner. The kind that makes you feel I’m going to lose my life at the hands of the man I once loved.
I try to grasp my bearings and reach for the coffee table in front of me. I feel it with the tops of my fingers as I grab it and try to push myself up. I’ve almost made it to my feet when I feel the familiar harsh blow of a steel toed boot making contact with my ribs. I start bleeding more and this time I don’t taste blood from just my lip, but also from my throat.
Joel’s kick is unyielding, causing me to cough loudly with chunks of blood spouting out onto the white fluffy rug. The one we bought together, the one I got a black eye over, because when we brought it home to his apartment and laid it down, I wasn’t sure it went with the decor. Maybe I’m a glutton for pain since I can’t seem to silence my stubborn mouth.
“Please stop. I won’t leave you, we can go to Seattle together,” I cry out, my voice muffled from the large amount of blood coming out of my nearly swollen shut lips.
I had planned to leave him. I gave into temptation and spent hours wrapped in Kingston, daydreaming of my freedom. I should have listened to Kingston when he told me to wait until he came over to help me tomorrow. But I didn’t want to risk him getting hurt, I wanted to keep my best friend safe. Another reason I deserve this.
“I love it when you beg, bitch.” Another kick followed by my hair being pulled tightly in his fist. I scream again, the burn slowly yet painfully spreading down my spine.
“You smell like another man, you were with him, weren’t you whore!” he yells. I watch in slow motion as he rears his fist back then brings it down hard, slamming into my face right under my eye. The pain roars like a beast causing my legs to buckle. As he delivers another punch to my gut, his eyes dark and lifeless, I think to myself when will this be over?
I keep praying that this next blow will be the end, that my life will be taken so I don’t have to feel another one—the agony that palpable, the pain that vicious, my heart that broken.
“I was with Shayla and Kingston,” I lie, bringing my arms up to my face to protect myself from his descending fist. My lie being a half truth, I was really with Kingston. I left to go see him at work, where we left and spent hours...together... in bed... making love.
I made love to another man and now I’m being punished. Kingston begged me to leave Joel and move without him, to be with him. His words sounded like a slice of heaven. There was surety in his every promise.
“You weren’t. I drove by and Shayla and Trey were outside on the porch...where were you, Lana?” Thrusting me down onto the rug he finally releases my hair. I catch myself, facedown, and weep into the rug. I take deep breaths, gaining back my hushed voice.
“I don’t want you around that cunt Shayla or those two fucks. I see the way they look at you. I should call right now and have my boy take them all out.” My eyes stay down, but they bulge. He has my friends being watched.
“Joel, baby. I’m sorry. I won’t leave. I promise, let’s forget this... please,” I croak out my plea, ‘baby’ coming out like blood dripping from a fresh knife.
“No, see, I think I may have forgiven you too many times. You’re mine, Lana, only mine. No man will ever take what’s mine.”
I see the devil looming over me, burning deep within him and in this moment I know I’m done. I think of my friends, my family, my best friend—I see his face and I close my eyes, begging for him to feel my heart beat all the way from here. It will forever be his.
Kick!
His boot strikes me one time.
“You weak bitch.”
Kick!
“Disgusting.”
Kick!
“Fucking filth!”
Kick!
His last kick ends any chance I had of escaping. Black dots dance almost intricately in my eyes, the room tunneling in, my body losing consciousness.
“I’m sorry, please,” I tell him, plead to him, all while begging in my head for this to be the last one, for this to end. I should have left all those years ago, like any woman in this situation should. But it’s never that easy.
Joel had men following those I love, dangerous men who would kill with the flick of a wrist or nod of the head. My parents never
knew about this, only my friends did. My beautiful friends. Shayla, I see her soft smile in my mind. Trey and his funny jokes. And my King. Kingston’s green eyes danced with little flares of promise while he held me against his bare skin tonight. Never will I forgive myself for dragging them down with my burdens, take me now God.
“Yeah, well not sorry enough. I wanted to believe you, baby, I did.” He kneels down to my almost lifeless form, getting right in my ear. I smell the liquor on his breath, feel the heat of his venomous words against my face.
