Spirit Broken

I sat in my car in the parking lot of my work.  The car was running.  I think the radio was on.  My window was partially down and a cigarette drooped from my fingertips with a growing ash that needed flicked.  I sat there frozen in time.  I didn’t move.  I just sat there.  Like an old picture movie, scenes of what had just taken place an hour and a half ago started flashing through my mind.  The rage.  The anger.  Every gut wrenching act of violence that had been aimed towards me was now recapping in my mind.  I looked in my rear view mirror and noticed the smeared blood that started at my lip and was swept back towards my cheek.  I looked into my green eyes.  They were glossy and blood shot.  They were empty and sad.  I was exhausted from the struggle and my arm muscles were aching from fighting back.  I think my ribs were bruised or damaged because even little breaths hurt.

I thought back on what had happened trying to picture what had set him off.  I remember getting ready for work.  I just finished blow drying my hair and doing my makeup, adding a small amount of blush to my cheekbones.  I heard his car pull up outside and I know I was excited to see him.  I didn’t know anything was wrong.  My smile faded when he came through the door and didn’t look at me, walking straight past me to go into the kitchen.  I heard him open the freezer and twist the ice tray to break some ice cubes loose and then I heard him drop them into a plastic cup.  I walked around the corner in time to see him start pouring Black Velvet whiskey into the cup.  After about three shots of the whiskey, he added Pepsi from a two liter bottle and then set the Pepsi back down on the counter.  He took a big, long drink of his drink and he glared at me.  “How many times did Troy call today?” he asked with an accusing tone.

 Troy was my little girl’s dad who was very obnoxious and intrusive, but a great dad, all the same.  This was the first time I had let him have our daughter for longer than overnight and he was very good about calling and letting me call so I felt comfortable with it. I said, “I just got off the phone with him.  Rae Lee is having a lot of fun.”  He smirked, and took another long drink, finishing the rest of the whiskey and Pepsi. 

He poured another one, with even more whiskey.  He said, “I know you still love him. I know you talk to him all day.”  And maybe I could have changed the course of the events that were to come if I would have been more empathetic to his feelings of jealousy at this very moment.  Instead, I rolled my eyes and said, “Whatever.  I’m going to work.”  Then I turned to walk away, but as I was almost to the door, he said “Hey!” and when I turned to face him, he threw the entire contents of his large, plastic cup in my face. 

The cold mixture shocked me at first and I gasped.  My hair and clothes were drenched and I saw random ice cubes lying all over the carpet.  I stared at him with what must have looked like that of a small child who just got told that Santa Clause doesn’t exist.  He threw the empty cup at me and it bounced off my chest.  It didn’t hurt, of course, just added insult to injury.  I am a proud person and I don’t like to be bullied.  I was very much offended.  I watched him turn back into the kitchen while I stood there, and he returned with that half full two liter bottle of Pepsi.  I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck as his face twisted into an unrecognizable snarl.  He started walking towards me.  I was trying to stay calm and took a couple steps backwards.

In a flash he was in my face, pushing me into my bedroom.  He started dumping the contents all over me, slamming the mouth of the bottle into my lip and face.  While it was painful, the humiliation of the situation was worse.  Pepsi was going up my nose and I couldn’t breathe.  I fought back hard.  I always thought I was a strong person and could take care of myself, but his strength came from a dark place where there was no compassion available to be disbursed.  When the bottle was empty, he threw it down on my face, got up, and watched me.  I closed my eyes for a moment, and struggled to catch my breath.  When I opened my eyes, I saw Pepsi dripping from my bedroom ceiling and covering my walls.  The bedspread was soaked.  I tasted blood and my nose was burning from the soda.

He walked away and returned with a bath towel and started to wipe the walls and cleaning up the mess.  I didn’t understand, but I didn’t ask.  I wanted him to leave but was too afraid to speak.  Afraid and angry.  I looked at the clock and it was five minutes to five.  I had to be at work at five.  Finding my purse on the couch, I called the girl I was supposed to be relieving.  I didn’t recognize my own voice when I spoke.  I told her I was going to be late, but that I would hurry, and when she asked why, I just hung up.  He came out of the bedroom then, mumbled some kind of sorry, and tossed the towel on the coffee table. 

I ripped off my shirt, gritting my teeth and clenching my jaw as a couple angry tears trickled down my face.  I threw the shirt on the floor and stomped into the bathroom.  I stuffed my phone under a pair of jeans that had been lying on the floor before he came around the corner, just in case I needed to call for help.  I could feel his eyes on my back as I kneeled down in front of the bathtub and reached a shaky hand out to turn on the water.  When it was warm enough, I bent over the edge of the tub, submerging my whiskey and Pepsi soaked hair.  I scrubbed with shampoo then conditioner in record time then wrapped a towel around my head.  I glared at him as I stood up.  He had a regretful look on his face, but I was mad.  I reapplied my makeup and dried my hair quickly with the towel.  He hesitated like he was going to apologize, and then turned to walk out. 

When I heard him go out the front door, I ran in to the living room and slammed the door and locked it.  And as fast as I could slam that door I heard him yell, “You think you can keep me out?”  That’s when the door came swinging open, with pieces of the door frame flying to the floor.  Now I was scared.  I tried to stay calm as I turned my back to him and walked back into the bathroom, with him right on my heels.  I finished brushing my hair and pulling it up into a quick pony tail while he started yelling and calling me names.  When I looked up at him, I saw a look in his eyes that was startling.  At that point he reached over and grabbed a brand new large bottle of shampoo that was sitting on the counter.  Before I had time to react, he swung it at my face, connecting with my cheek and knocking me to the floor.  I was stunned and a little dizzy.  I pulled myself up on the toilet, but before I could speak he grabbed me, lifted me up, and threw me into the bathtub.  I landed awkwardly with my ribs on the edge of the tub, immediately feeling an agonizing burn in my side.

 I couldn’t breathe and was starting to panic.  I tried to scramble over the edge of the tub and reach my phone I had hidden, but he grabbed me again and threw me back into the tub. This time the back of my head smashed into the unforgiving porcelain of the tub.  I tried to get up a few more times with no success. At one point he pulled the curtain rod down on top of me.  I remember the very point in time that I stopped fighting back.  The point at which I realized there was no way I was going to be able to end this ordeal.  It was the point that I felt my spirit break.

I didn’t try to get up again.  I lay there in the bathtub looking up at him, this man I thought I loved. The man I thought loved me.   I waited and waited.  It seemed like about ten minutes went by.  I was humiliated, lying there in a bathtub with a shower curtain over me, no shirt, bleeding face, not able to get up until he decided to let me.  My pride was irreversibly damaged, and hot tears traced down my cheeks, but I wasn’t actually crying.  He looked undeservingly sad and I hated him for it.  I stared at his eyes, not letting myself look away.  He was so ugly to me right then.  He turned and walked away, and when he was in the living room, I slowly got up on shaky legs.  I didn’t think I could walk without falling, so I crawled to my phone, but I couldn’t make myself call 911.  I listened closely and couldn’t hear him moving so I thought he had left.

I finally stood up and decided to call his sister, who I had become close friends with, but as I hit the first button, he shot around the corner and tackled me to the ground.  I felt a rush of panic again, but a second wind with it, and I curled in a ball and held that phone with all my strength as he twisted my arms trying to pull it from my grasp.  With my free hand, I swung and connected with the side of his head, but that just made him angrier.  He overpowered me and took the phone, grinding it into my face in one last degrading action, and tossing it on the floor beside me.  He took off out the door then, and I didn’t move until I heard his tires peeling out in the driveway.

I went to the mirror.  My lip was enormous and bleeding, my cheek was bright red and swollen, and my hair was a mess.  I fixed my hair and grabbed my purse before running out the door, afraid he might return before I was gone.  I went to work.  The girl I work with was at her car when I pulled up.  She walked over, and I looked down as I saw that look of pity on her face.  All she said was, “You aren’t working tonight.  We got it covered.  Go home.”  I looked up at her and said, “Thank you.”  She told me to call her later and we would talk.  She said she was going to go drop her kids off, and then she would be back to work the shift.  I watched her drive away and I just sat in my car, in the parking lot of my work, with that cigarette lit, but not really smoking it.

I stayed that night with my sister.  She took me to my house to get some clothes and try to get the broken door to wedge closed for the night.  The next morning I made the call to the local domestic violence center, which was a very difficult thing for me to do. I felt ashamed and guilty.  In a way, I almost felt partially responsible because I had allowed this man into my home and around my daughter.  I filed a restraining order which included a process of paperwork and a visit to the judge.  One of the hardest things to deal with was that even though I felt so much resentment towards him, I was more confused and hurt.  I still don’t understand why he would be capable of inflicting so much physical and emotional pain on me.  A few weeks after the incident, I took him back.  I had been told he was going to counseling and had been put on medication.  I can see now that I was seeking approval from him that he was not capable of giving.  It ended again with the same kind of brutality and cruelty. 

Today I have absolutely no contact with him, and my daughter and I are both healthy and happy.  I am grateful that my daughter was never exposed to any of the abuse and violence that took place.  There are times when I find myself thinking about that relationship and reliving the fear and humiliation all over again.   That’s when I have to hold my head up and realize my worth is greater than any damage another human being can inflict.  I have a responsibility to my daughter to set a good example and build a happy, stable life for her.  She will see me as an independent, successful, and good person.