He touched me. He said he loved me. He said he
wouldn’t let me go. I trusted him.
The only thing I could hear was the pen pressing
against the paper, moving at a fast speed and the fan moving on every pause I
made, trying to refresh my memory of what I tried my best to forget. I lied
down staring out of the window, feeling accomplished and yet stripped from
happiness. He looked at his watch, “Time is ticking Ameli, and we don’t have
all day.” I closed my eyes.
We were lying on the bed, staring into each other’s
eyes, smiling, his fingers twirling my hair. He leaned over and kissed my
forehead and told me I was beautiful. He gently put his arms around me. Ouch. It hurts. His hands slowly, moving
to every part of my body but he avoided one area. He didn’t dare touch it. My bruises.
I caught him cheating on me. He came home with
lipstick stains on his cheek. Why? I
went broke down to my knees, begging and screaming. I don’t understand. I yelled, “Tell me! Tell me why!” He looked at
me and threw his left over condoms at my face.
He kissed me on the cheek the next morning, “Good
morning honey” I was flushed with anger , “Don’t act like nothing happened.” He
dropped his sandwich, pointing his finger at me, “Listen you little bitch, you
better not mention this to anyone or that will be the last thing you say. You
got me?” Tears threatened to spill over.
I couldn’t smile anymore. It wasn’t the same. What happened to the guy I married? One of the
afternoons I fell asleep on the couch, I heard the door banging but it wasn’t
an ordinary knock. I got up and just stared at the door, wondering if the
banging would stop. And it did, I heard the locks unlock. He came in the house
kissing another girl. What was I supposed
to do? “Greg, what are you doing?” He stopped kissing the girl and ran into
the kitchen, he took a knife and threw it at me, “Shut up! Go make us dinner!”
He was filled with rage; he started throwing things at me, anything that was in
his way, he took it as a weapon. Stools, vases, lamps, plates.
I curled my body like a cooked prawn, burying my
face in my pillows, afraid to look up, afraid to see his expression, afraid to
see his rage as I heard the door slam, I knew it was now safe to open my eyes.
At the moment, I couldn’t even think straight, should
I go and get help? He wouldn’t be pleased if I did. He would have wanted me to
keep it a secret. I had to do it myself. Can
you feel my love? I searched for the first aid kit while picking up the
furniture my husband threw.
What was I doing with my life? I needed to let
everything out; I needed to scream at the top of my lungs for the whole world
to know how much I was suffering. I wanted to leave. I couldn’t leave. Help me.
He drove me to work the next day, I stared out of
the window wondering when the world will stop. I used to feel a glow just by
thinking of him when I was at my lowest, his smile was always so warm and being
in his arms would never fail to bring me back up to my feet. Now? I fear the
thought of him, I fear going home. The
one place I could be myself. While I
was getting out of the car, he seized me by the arm. I held my breath. Fear
rose in me as fast as the speed of light. Not
here. Not now. Please. I fell back on my seat, he gave me a kiss on the
cheek, “I don’t ever want to lose you” and he pushed me out of the car. I fell
on the pavement knowing all hope in me was gone. Who can save me now?
As days passed by, he continued abusing me, pushing
me aside, throwing furniture at me, bringing girls home, pretending like
nothing happened. Do I still love him? If
I didn’t I wouldn’t have kept quiet now would I?
I sat down on my armchair drinking wine, listening
to Regina Spektor and thinking. Thinking!
Thinking! Thinking? I couldn’t hear my thoughts, she’s so loud, he’s so
loud; their moaning. They’re in the next room so what am I still doing in this
house? Do I still love him? NO. At the moment, I knew what I had to do. I
opened the door, with the wine glass still in my hand. The look on their faces,
I saw fear. YES! Fear. That’s what I’ve
been waiting for. I closed the door behind me, locking it.
I opened my eyes, I got up from my chair and stared
hard at my psychologist. “Dr, I did something bad.”
Friesinburger