Running Screaming

Abuse

I should have sent it coming. I should not have been so surprised. The night it happened, I should have left. And yet I didn't. I came home from a long shift at my new job at a call center. I had bought my mom a dog and needed only to ship it to Florida for her. She was in a small kennel in my living room. But the first thing I heard when I came home was her screaming, the noise akin to a dying goose as I rushed into the living room to let her outside on a leash.

I had the tie out attached to the bottom of my stairs in my apartment and was gone only a second before coming back inside, Only to be met with a highly drunk and angry Andy, screaming at me at the top of his lungs. "I said stop fuckin screaming you useless bitch!" He screams at me, slamming my head into the wall behind me so hard I gasped for breath, stars erupting in my vision. But it didn't stop there. He grapped me, slamming me into the corner of the built in closet in the kitchen.

I thought I felt something crack and I let out a scream, knowing where I was at a business was downstairs, but everyone had left long ago for the day and no one could hear me. He was on me like a wild man, swinging at me. I tried my hardest to fend him off, my only saving grace having to fight my Stepfather, Todd off multiple times as a teenager when he used to abuse me because he was angry or under the influence. Whether it be drugs or alcohol I never could tell. He did both anyways.

Andy had me by my hair, dragging my neck around so sharp I thought it could break. "STOP! YOU'RE HURTING ME!" I cried, feeling sick to my stomach. That sickness turned to pain as he socked my stomach as hard as he could, shoving me against my front door. I was already covered in scratches and bruises. My skin was sore. Tears were rolling down my cheeks as I did the only thing I could and punched him as hard as I could in the face, effectively breaking the blood vessels in his nose. He immediately went down, covering the floor in blood.

Both his nose and his lips were busted, leaving a painted trail of Crimson across my kitchen floor. He still got back up swinging, knocking me into the step that smashed like a 10 ton truck into my back, knocking the bloody hell out of me. I couldn't breathe, my lungs seizing up for a moment. Holy shit but it hurt! I felt myself temporarily black out, not being conscious enough to feel him slide me to the floor and climb on top of me, pinching my nose shut as he but a hand over my mouth, sealing my air supply.

I began to suffocate while my mind was still foggy. The lack of air began to scream at me and my lungs seized. I couldn't escape. I couldn't even scream. My hands flew up, clawing at anything, anything I could to get him off of me. I could feel his flesh give as I clawed, twisted and fought to get free.

'Is this how I'm going to die?'

'But Amara, isn't that what you wanted?'

'NO! Not like this!'

'Breathe Amara, Breathe!'

'I'm tired. Just let me rest. Let me close my eyes.'

'NO!'

'Fight Amara! FIGHT!'

The thoughts flooded through me. I felt the pain seeping into my body is I failed and kicked, fighting to get free. The moment his hand let go of my mouth, I leaned forward and bit his arm, latching on while he pounded me over the head to let go. He stumbled, climbing to his feet probably to hit me again, but it gave me enough time to escape, running down the stairs like the hounds of hell were after me. But of course he gave chase. I ran around the block, scooping the puppy up in my arms and slamming and locking my front door.

Not even 5 seconds later, he was pounding on it. But I wasn't opening the door. I called Jason explaining I needed help before waiting for Andy to calm down before I let him back in. He was still very drunk and as I took in the scratches and bruises, I realized that I could hide them with a long sleeve tee and cover up. It was November, the day of his birthday. He used that day to legally get drunk and I suffered the after effects. I was just his scape goat. I deserved it.

I had to deserve it. Why else would I go through this? Did I piss off a voodoo queen in my last life? Did I mass murder a bunch of innocents or something? No probably not something that bad. But it had to be something, right? Some reason in this world, fate had found me a cruel, unloving reality. And I struggled to believe that out there was still some good. Wanting to believe that, I unlocked the door, pulling Andy inside who was crying, probably feeling the pain settling in, just like I was now that the adrenaline was gone.

But just like every time, I put him before myself. I cleaned out his cuts, bruises and the blood, wiping it off with a damp warm washcloth. I could tell he was in pain. So was I. I could feel an aching low in my abdomen, the hot pooling of liquid inside my pants. It felt wet, but I didn't have time to think about myself as a knock sounded on my front door. I opened it, Jason taking in my red face, arms and neck, the blood all across my kitchen and walls and my disheveled hair.

"What happened here?" He asked in concern, his brown eyes glowing with confusion. "Andy beat me and I wiped the floor with his ass. I need help getting this cleaned up, can you find me a mop?" I asked, my body shuddering from the now intense cramping in my stomach that had been building over the past 10 minutes. He nods, and I head for the bathroom, feeling sick to my stomach. The moment that I managed to enter the bathroom, I shut the door, collapsing to my knees and falling to the floor, crawling to the toilet.

I pulled down my pants and was greeted with blood. Lots of blood. And in that blood lay a small, purple and pink sac with a small humanoid form in it. I had been 6 weeks pregnant and hadn't known it, the stress and depression making me unaware I had missed a period. I had been on the depo shot. The shot had failed. And now, I was in the bathroom, a numb feeling creeping over me as I tried to get my body cleaned up and erase the evidence. I never told a soul everything that happened that day. But now I'm telling you.

I changed my clothes, put on a pad and went to the kitchen to help Jason clean up the blood of the man who had just murdered my unborn child. The child I had had no idea I was even carrying in the first place.  But I knew what a placenta looked like. And when I had seen it... I knew. I KNEW. In my heart, a piece of me cracked. I was scattering pieces everywhere. I should have left that Day. I should have just opened the front door, walked out and called the cops on him.

I should have presented the evidence that he had hurt me. That he should have been locked away. But I didn't leave. I stayed. My brain was fuzzy and I wanted to sleep. I had a concussion as I found out days later. There was a kicker... When someone hurts you so much, why do you hold on? Why don't you let go. This was all right before my child was a year old... she was probably nine months old. Memories are fickle and escape us or get jumbled. But I remember this memory like it was yesterday.

Just once, I wish I had listened when people told me to leave Andy. I wish they had made me escape. But I was Naive. I thought he could change. I thought if I stuck around, people would accept the fact that I wasn't going anywhere. They would just be accepting and let me see her. That I could be part of her life. That my life would mean something. But I was wrong. So wrong about everything. It was that stupidity that kept me around. It kept me in an abusive relationship. And it only got worse from here. Much worse.