With a knife close to my neck he said, “I own you. Dare to scream. Just dare”. There I was, standing between the wall and his body. I was hardly breathing, dazed and confused. “I bet you are all wet now, I bet you’re loving this”, he whispered still holding that damn knife closer and closer to my neck.
The door was open and I could hear people in the other room. I could hear movement and a part of me kept wishing that someone would decide to get up for a cuppa, for a fag, for a break of some kind. But no one got up, no one had a break and there I was… alone with that monster who was an expert in emotional abuse. As for the other part of me? Well, it was too embarrassed to want anyone see someone who came across as such a strong and dominant woman being a victim of such abuse. I was ashamed.
Two years have gone by and I still cannot forget this. Two whole years have gone by and this memory is vivid as if it had happened yesterday. I can still remember and write about his red and white shirt, his jeans and black shoes. I can still talk about his cologne which although the name fails me, I can smell it from a distance and I do shiver whenever someone walks past me smelling like that.
For the past few days I found myself drinking and struggling to cope. But I have no one to talk to about this because no one knows this was happening. I struggle to trust anyone enough to tell them and I am exploding inside every day. I’m losing myself and I am terrified. I am losing it. This time of the year is just too hard.