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Part 4

(Disclaimer: This will be the fourth of a miniature series of blogs that will reference a less-than-loving past relationship. This is the story of my abusive relationship and how I wound up in and out of it over the course of three years. Please see Content Warning before reading if you are concerned about the nature of the story, as I will not be leaving out any details. All names, places, and identities will be altered for no other reason than to avoid conflict. Changed names, locations, and other things deemed necessary will be marked with *.)

Given the amount of time that has passed since I last encountered Jesse, sometimes it’s hard to recollect these events in order, nevertheless, they still happened. Writing this story in parts has helped me to gather my thoughts more effectively. And if I’m being honest, if I would have written this in one long post, it would be a candidate for a novel manuscript, which no one has time for. So welcome to part 4 of my testimony.

As I mentioned in part 3, I did shrug off our little food fight, almost as if nothing happened. How insecure does one have to be to think that the only guy who will ever love her is one that is willing to throw food at her and humiliate her? It’s beyond me, but we actually never technically broke up after it. We just spoke nothing of it from that day forward.

The holidays started to roll around. One morning, some of my family was making a trip to Ruford City together to get some last minute shopping done before the snow storm got worse. We car pooled with my aunt, mom, brother and dad. I asked if they wouldn’t mind dropping me off at Jesse’s house so I could say hi since I probably wouldn’t see him for the next few days, due to the snow. They dropped me off and I went inside. It had to have been noon, if not later. He was asleep, as always. He was never up before noon. So I watched TV, waiting for him to wake up. When he didn’t even stir at the sound of the TV, I kind of nudged him in a flirty way.

He woke up, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me. He immediately was moody. I don’t know if it was because I had woke him or what. But history tends to repeat itself, so we fought about something irrelevant. God only knows what sparked the fight. But I was mad that he didn’t care if he saw me or not before the big snow hit, so chances are I started this one. It was always ten times worse when I started fights. He got more mad and violent when I was the one who called him out on something, like sleeping his life away or doing nothing with his time but smoking pot and watching TV. But we had been together, now, for about 18 months. I was getting sick of his antics, slowly but surely. And I was becoming more bold, more confident in my ability to “handle” him.

We started yelling back and forth, and finally I got so mad that I told him I was done and that I was leaving. Apparently, I was only allowed to leave his house when he forced me to do it, because when I tried to leave, he was not having it. I had pulled out my phone to call my dad to pick me up as soon as he could. But before I could even hear one ring, my phone was snatched from my hand. I got a little nervous. Jesse’s dad wasn’t home. It was just Jesse and I there.

“No bitch. You’re not going anywhere!” Jesse laughed.

Getting a little more nervous, and hysterical, I yelled “Just give me my phone, Jesse. I’m not doing this. You don’t want to see me, I don’t want to fight, I’m getting the hell out of here. Just give me my phone, you’re being ridiculous!”

What happened next has never happened to me in my life, nor have I ever heard of this happening to anyone else before.

“No, f*ck that. You wanna walk out? Good luck,” he ran to the door, locked, and dead-bolted it. I stood there for a second, really scared now. I made for the back door, got two steps from where I was at, then felt my entire body slam into the floor with him on top of me. Have you ever had one of those dreams where you are trying to run, but you can’t? And if you don’t get away, something bad will happen? I was living that nightmare.

I kicked, screamed, and cried, hoping a neighbor, someone, anyone, would hear me. Then I remembered how terrible the weather was outside. There was no way out, no one was outside on a day like this.

“Get the f*ck off me! You’re being crazy!” I screamed.

“I’m not the crazy bitch that came banging down my door while I was sleeping, Corsi,” now he was dialing a number in his phone. I kind of hoped it was 911. At least they could get me out of there. He would tell them I was “banging down his door”, when really I just walked into my boyfriends house, but hey, whatever. I wanted out.

“Who are you calling right now?” I asked. I was genuinely curious.

“I’m calling *Audrey to come over here so she can beat your f*cking ass. You need it,” he was so calm.

I was a tough girl during these times. I had thick skin and I wasn’t afraid of anyone because chances were, they couldn’t be worse than what I dealt with on a weekly basis. Audrey didn’t worry me, she was just mean. She didn’t care about going to jail, she didn’t have limits, and she was always that girl who would take it “too far”. I didn’t care for her at all, but usually we got along because our boyfriends hung out together a lot. One day she randomly had a problem with me, said I was stuck up and stuff like that. When really, I just wasn’t anything like her, so I was really unimpressed by her pathetic stories and tales of the drugs she did and fights she got into. So she probably wouldn’t have minded getting her hands on me.

I laughed when he said he was calling her. “You’re not serious,” I said.

“Audrey? Hey, it’s Jesse. Come snatch this bitch, forreal…yeah, I have her here now. I’m serious. F*ck this bitch, come whoop her ass…I don’t give a shit who you bring. Come on,” he was still calm.

Meanwhile, he still had my phone, and I figured that since he had his hands full with trying to hire someone to beat me up, he wouldn’t be smart enough to multi-task long enough to keep me away from the door. I have no idea whether he was bluffing on the phone or not, but I wasn’t sticking around to find out. When I started walking towards the door, he didn’t notice at first. Then, when he did notice, he tried to stop me. He dropped the phone, grabbed me around the neck, and started trying to choke me with his forearms. I bit him, hard. He squeezed harder. Finally, I kicked him between the legs and he went down. As I was fidgeting with the dead-bolt (it was old and hard to unlock), I started to panic. He was about to get up, but I heard the noise of gravel outside. The first person that came to my mind was Audrey. But to my relief, it was my dad and the rest of my family. I was in the free and clear now.

“F*ck you, piece of shit,” pardon my potty mouth, but you don’t know how good those words tasted coming out of my mouth at the time. Tears, streamed down my face. I was still upset and sad that this is the life I had settled for, but like I said, I was becoming more bold. He got up from the floor.

“Where’s my phone? Give it to me. Now,” I yelled. He threw it at me, and it hit me in the face. I retrieved it and went to fidget with the dead-bolt again. He, ever so kindly, unlocked it, opened the door, and shoved me out on his icy front steps. No one in the car could see it, given the position of the front door.

My parents hated Jesse, but they also were not confrontational people. On top of that, they had no idea about the abuse I dealt with, because I lied to them about our relationship constantly. They hated Jesse because they could see in him the things that I was blind to. They thought he was trash, they knew he didn’t actually care about me, they didn’t think he was going anywhere fast, etc. They didn’t want that for their little girl, but who would? They saw me cry a lot, but they never asked, and I never told. Even if they would have asked, it would have been a broken record of a story, every time. In a later tale, they find out the truth about our relationship the hard way.

I got into the car, obviously upset. No one said a word. My phone went off.

“I never want to see you again. I’m calling the cops next time you pull that shit. Stay the f*ck away from me.”

I was use to this by now. It was a sad life I was living. I could do no right, because in his eyes I was always the bad guy, no matter what.

His temper had become increasingly worse as time went by, and I wasn’t sure why. Then one day I found out exactly why. The answer wasn’t pretty.

To be continued…

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