I pick at the food on my plate. I don’t feel much like eating. My best friend is sitting next to me, talking about what? Only God knows. I feel so alone, and hollow. She pats me on the back every now and then and tells me its going to be all right. Somewhere, deep down inside I know it will be; eventually.


I should be happy to be free. I should be jumping up and down and celebrating. I hate him. But then again, I loved him. What else could have kept me for so long? Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was fear.

I should have ended it the first time he touched me, when he grabbed my arm roughly. He scared me then. He didn’t leave any bruises, but I was too frightened to walk away. He didn’t start out hitting me either. At first, like I said, they were little grabs or clenching fists. It progressed, like a disease. I was too caught up with “being in love” to notice. But then again, maybe I didn’t want to notice.

I remember the first time he hit me. He had accused me of flirting with one of my male co-workers. Of course, I didn’t, I was a faithful person. I had never turned to the cheating side of town. It had never even occurred to me; other than being constantly accused of it. I stood my ground and defended myself. He wouldn’t have any of it. When he started calling me foul names, I tried to walk away. He then grabbed my arm, spun me around, and punched me square in the nose.

I remember the shock and fear boiling together in my confused mind. Had he really just hit me? Was the first thought that ran through my mind. I pushed away from him and staggered to stand up. The anger in his eyes softened to guilt when he realized what he had done. My nose was bloodied and I was in an immense amount of pain. He dropped to his knees and begged for my forgiveness.

When we arrived at the hospital, I told the nurses I had banged my face on the corner of the counter when I was bending down to get something. Although skeptical, they accepted my story. As they brought me back, I glanced over my solder. He mouthed thank you to me. As it turns out, he had shattered my nose. It took a long time to recover and hundreds of apologies.

It was good after that, for about two months. I was almost happy. But soon, the jealousy slithered back into his head and the violence to his fists. I knew what was happening and I couldn’t stop it. I can’t tell you how many days I smeared over the evidence with makeup. I went over finger-sized bruises on my neck and blackened eyes. I knew he was out of control.

The thing was I couldn’t just pack my things and leave. I was really broke and I would probably starve if I did. My parents lived halfway across the country; it felt more like halfway across the world. I had no other family near me. I was trapped and I really needed to get away. His damage wasn’t only physical. I began to think things like I probably deserve this or I can’t do any better than this, I’m causing it. None of those things were true. It was him and him alone. There was nothing I could do to change him.

I began to search for a new job, a new start. That’s where I met my best friend. She interviewed me for a job. She called me “Desperate and willing” To this day, I still don’t know if that was a compliment or an insult. She told me that she would hire me, but I wouldn’t be making as much money as I had hoped for at first. But if I played my cards well and was a good employee I could work my way up. I started the next day.

It wasn’t easy work, but it got me out of the house more. I started saving a lot of my paycheck in a bank account he didn’t know about. As usual, he was convinced there was a co-worker I was after. The bruising and beating continued. I decided to stop caking on the makeup, if he was gonna do it he was gonna have to see it. I don’t think he even noticed.

After five months, I got the promotion I was praying for. It was finally enough to be able to be able to survive on my own. I packed my things that night and disappeared from him the next morning. He came looking at my job but I hid in the back. He called all my friends and they told him they didn’t know where I was. He called the police, but after I had; they told him they couldn’t help. I was gone.

I don’t know why I’m sad. I guess it’s kinda like a bitter-sweet feeling. Like when you get a puppy, but you have to take him away from his momma, but you’re going to do it weather it hurts the momma or not. You know it’d be better to take him than leave him because you’ll give him a good life. I guess what I’m saying is don’t put up with abuse. You are strong and you can do it. Never forget that.