A short story on intimate partner violence
In recognition of Domestic Violence Awareness Month
Photo by Daniel Spase
By Shannae Heywood
Please be advised that this story may be a trigger for those who have endured trauma.
Fear is just a friend that is simply misunderstood. What requires strength is courage and you have it within yourself. This piece is dedicated to you or anyone you know that is currently, used to, or has passed away, due to being in a domestic violence relationship.
Have you ever felt afraid?
Well… that’s how I felt ever since I got with Michael. See, what some may not understand is that I love him. Our relationship is not to be understood by anyone but us. My family is fake as f*** though, because they used to love Michael in the beginning now they hate him. Might as well hate me too.
it wasn’t always like this.
Approximately six months ago, I met Michael through a mutual friend of ours. The moment I seen him, our eyes connected like magnets. He looked like an untamed beast with a long jet black beard. His smile was as bright as my future. His persona was infectious but not harmful. I was feeling him. We exchanged numbers and started dating.
Michael filled the void in my heart like a body without a soul. He was the missing part to complete my puzzle. Everything all changed after those first six months.
He started to become possessive and controlling. One day, when I told him that I was going out with my friends he said to me, “You don’t need to hang out with them babe. I’m all the friend you’ll need.” It’s nice to see a man get jealous over me. It showed me that he cared. I said, “okay” because it wasn’t a big deal. My friends will understand.
More and more he controlled how I dressed, who I hung out with etc. I didn’t think of it as anything because maybe I needed to be mindful of my friends and how I dressed. At the end of the day he is my man and my best friend. He knows best.
It didn’t matter at all to me. I thought it was cute.
At least not until one night. Michael came home drunk as a dog. I could hear him stumbling in the house and glassware shattering. I got scared and curled up in bed. The rage and annoyance in his face was different that night. He grabbed me tightly by my throat as I grasped for air.
My vision started to become blurry. Bang! My head got slammed and rammed into the concrete wall. The vibration caused the paintings to fall to the floor. Blood quickly gushed from my head as it flowed down like a river. I was in and out of consciousness as I drifted off into a utopian fantasy. A hard slap across my face put an end to my imagination. It didn’t hurt or at least I couldn’t feel it. I could just feel the impact of it as my head swung to left.
“You see what you made me do!” he screamed. “Get up and clean yourself up,” he said. “We are going to the ER, and you better tell them that you slipped and hit your head. If you say anything stupid, I will kill you.” At that given moment I felt like I was already dead, and it was all my fault.
The bruises were justification for me that it was more than I bargained for.
Shades of black and blue have become the colors that reflect who I am now. Lies converted into painful truths in disguise was the norm.
“leave him they say.” i wish it was all that simple.
Perchance, I deserve all of what’s happening to me. Everyone has shown disdain towards me. What is there to do, but deal with it on my own. I’m being held captive within myself. Do you know what it’s like to get everything taking from you? Your rights, voice, and insidiously your heart.
As I lay down on the bed, drowning in my tears, I prayed and hoped to God that Michael didn’t hear me as my body sinked in the mattress. Suddenly, two hundred and twenty pounds of strength and feasibly aggression fell on top of me. I cried an unbearable agony for help. I laid there feeling defeated and weak. I curled myself up in a ball; hoping my skin would miraculously appear as an armadillo.
Imagination is one hell of a thing. Mentally, I was ready to leave, but physically I wasn't. “I’ll be right back,” I said. “Don't do anything stupid because you will regret it,” he said. Sweating terribly with distorted thoughts, I frantically searched for my phone that he has hidden from me. Damn, I gotta hurry up before he gets back. Yes, I found it!
I smiled in relief. “Hey Mum, it's me. Can you pick me up around the corner from the building? Hurry, fast!” I said nervously. I grabbed what I could as quickly as possible. I have never ran so fast in my life as I broke the chains from the master of deception. This is my time for liberation.
I'm free as a bird but light as a feather. I finally did it. I kept saying it to myself.
Suddenly, I felt a hand vigorously pull on my hair. The smell of the tropics in my hair as I ran was quickly vanishing. I came to a halt as I felt the cold tip of a gun piercing through my temporal lobe, the pressure was intense with force. At this moment I knew what time it was…
They say pain is inevitable but suffering is optional. Usually in the end, the villain dies and the survivor is triumphant.
The feeling of escaping is like a catch twenty-two. It’s like you walked into a hornet’s nest with blinders on. Sweet lies slowly became traumatic nothings. No one knows the emptiness felt inside.
That is who I became, but maybe there is hope. The desire of wanting to be reborn is still an option.
For anonymous, confidential help available 24/7, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE) . or 1-800-787-3224 (TTY) now, or log on to: http://ncadv.org
About The Writer
Shannae Heywood is a writer and educator from the Bronx, NY. She gets her inspiration and creativity from teaching, mentoring, and everyday struggles. She is currently obtaining her Master’s Degree at Hunter College.
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