Hours, Minutes, Days

Seven Minutes

TW! Violence to women, violence and sexual violence.

I have two options, both of which are risky.

The first option is to play into his desire, then kick him where it counts and run out of the bedroom and out of the apartment. I don't think I can outrun him and it is still painfully early in the morning. The neighbors won't be awake to offer help.

The other option is to grab my cell phone off of the dresser and then run into the bathroom, calling the cops and praying that they can get here before George breaks through the door. I think, I hope, his desire for vengeance and his violent tendencies will cause him to make a mistake.

Unfortunately, the choices that you have to make quickly don't always turn out the way you have planned. They don't always work out at all. In fact, the result of last-minute decisions can be disastrous. I know the chance of my survival is slim, but I will fight until my last breath if it means that my baby will live.

I decide to reach for the cell phone and run to the bathroom. I don't know why I don't think of the kitchen, of finding a knife and fighting back, but at the moment I do not.

So I move quickly, grab the phone, and run into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I frantically dial 9-1-1. "Help! He is going to kill me!" screaming into the phone and tears running down my face, I am hysterical with fear. The operator is talking calmly and trying to get information, but I can't understand what she is saying.  The words do not reach my ears.  All that I can hear is him pounding and pounding on the door.

George is breaking through the door. I can see that he is making rapid progress. The entry is already coming loose from its hinges. I leave the phone connected to the operator so she can trace my location and get to me. I hear her say someone will be there in seven minutes.

Seven minutes is an eternity.

In Seven minutes I may not be alive.

In seven minutes, my baby...I can not think like that.

 I have 420 seconds to keep myself alive.

I throw the phone on the floor hoping that I can keep him away from me long enough for the police to do their job. I begin counting the seconds in my head.

1 second... 2 seconds... 3 seconds...

He is pounding through the door, screaming incoherent thoughts and obscenities. His voice is filled with rage and hatred. He will break through soon and then there is nothing to stop him from getting to me.  Nothing except my ability to distract him.  I don't know if that will be enough.

I scan the room, there is a high window, but I would never be able to fit through it. Still trying to find anything with which to defend myself, I realize that the bathroom holds loofahs and soaps, nothing dangerous. Then I see the mirror. If I can break it, maybe I can get a big enough piece to cut him or at least cause him to pause.

61 seconds...62 seconds... 63 seconds...

Six more minutes until hope walks through the door.

"You don't have to do this, " I yell at him, "The police are on their way. You can leave now. You won't be caught. You can live to have your revenge another day."I am pleading, though I know he won't buy into it.

"Do you think the police scare me?" He screams back. "Do you think anything scares me? I am going to kill you now because you deserve it. You are a whore that needs to be taught a lesson. It is a shame that we can't play a little first. I sure would have loved to show you a good time before I dispatch of you."