The pain begins to set in. Steeping.
Foot stepped on the sharded custard glass he hailed to the ground.
Back muscles beginning to tighten up and heave into dull aches
Standing there,
Facing the trunk of our Ford,
His wrists cuffed back-
It's an image I will never get out of my mind.
"Misdemeanor Domestic Violence".
The words jolted my heart, forcing tears immediately to surface.
No, I still can't believe it.
Refusing to press charges-
That wasn't an option. Not here in California apparently.
I won't know until tomorrow,
Any injuries or pain...
But my back seems to have taken the brunt of it.
I knew I probably should have said "yes" to a protective order...
But I seem to martyr on amicability.
I don't know why it bugs me so much,
But he packed the car with MY purse.
and took both sets of keys.
Even took the butane she needs to cook.
The cops showed up though.
I wonder if they even considered he was about to drive away drunk with a packed car, haha?!
Gotta laugh at some point I suppose.
He had never shoved me before. Let alone twice. Or the several after. Not like that, at least, if he ever had.
He had never gripped my jaw with his hands either.
At 40, it would be the first brawl I got into. Fists and all.
And as we took eachother down in the kitchen,
Everything happened in the fastest slow motion. I put up a fight he had never seen in me.
Of course that all slipped as immediately as it started, when he got me in hold,
And I couldn't breathe.
I guess the panic set in,
When he had me and I could not move.
And in that position, panicking made it harder to breathe.
It triggered my first domestic violence incident. Where I was choked
By yet another lover.
It didn't end there.
None of it did.
It Went on for at least an hour and a half.
Not even including the cops' arrest procedures.
Shoved me more. Body-checked me as his air and force of control.
Grappled me to the bed, and for two minutes refused to let go...
All the while I am screaming and demanding,
"Get the fuck off of me!! Get off! Get the fuck off of me!"....
Nothing.
I didn't even know it was possible to throw a mattress on somebody.
But he managed.
And all I could think...
When the cops relayed the news...
"Charged"....
All I could think is he will never forgive me for this. He will think I ratted him out.
That's what I thought.
That's what I cared about.
I didn't even leave room for myself
To care about what he did to me...
I guess because it's just off of normal for us.
And I think....
That's what worries me the most.
That I knew this was coming...
And I cared more about him being mad at me...
Than for my own safety. For my own well being.
I'm not sure that's quite right.
Before all this happened,
He had been drinking since he got up today.
And as he escalated the yelling at my mother...
I took him to the side and lovingly put my hands on his cheeks and went eye to eye with him to calm him down; to ground his focus.
Seething, and panting like a demonic entity....
Gritting his teeth and baring them at me...
He looked like a wild beast.
And with my hands still to his face I said,
"What can I do for you right now? What do you need?
.... but no...
It was too late.
He reached for more and more shots and the bottle broke and cut me when I pushed it out of reach of him. I told him he could not drink here anymore, and he had to leave.
Of which,
Of course,
He refused.
He often banters at me, "Call them! Call the cops!"...
But I have always said I would not do that.
I always took it to the chin instead, metaphorically of course....
But no....
It was not the first time he put hands on me-
Not even the first time the cops were called.
He had just never done it quite like that.
I am writing this....
So I never forget what he did.
Because I might.
Because these things happen too often nightly.
Because he tells me that life style is regular.
"Regular" he tells me. All the time.
But no....nothing regular here.
And nothing regular about this.
Not really.
I would almost be sad....
If I wasn't in permanent shock.
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