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01 | 𝔑𝔬 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔪𝔞 - AUGUST 12th, 1989
𝐈𝐓 was hard.. getting used to him not being here, breathing down my neck every hour, every minute, every second of the damn day.
Constantly felt on edge.. waiting, anticipating, expecting to hear the roar of an engine down the street. Letting me know he was home, he'd park that old Cadillac in the driveway to stomp his way through that door and slam it closed..
As if his voice wasn't noticeable enough.
It would always echo in annoyance..it never mattered what kind of mood he was in. He was always pissed off.
His presence left me feeling uncomfortable at times. My heart would beat ten times quicker than before. Anticipating the feeling of his body pressed against mine, specifically my backside. His hands would grip my waist, steadying me in place so I feel his lips at the base of my neck followed by the uneven grown goatee scratching at my flesh. He never failed to smell like car oil, beer and cigarettes all in one, it was a signature scent I grew to hate till this day.
There was never love in his voice, never tender nor care to his actions, his behavior was ruthless, always on ten in anger. He would look at me glaringly, brows knitted, and lips worn thin...the kind of look that would try to intimidate me into doing whatever he had asked or expected of me.
I would only scoff and push him away, telling him I did what I could without slight irritation in my voice. I was a mother of three kids, Cherish didn't count cause she didn't want to be coddled for, which I understood and didn't pressure her to be, however, I was here if she needed me. The girls helped when they could, but I mainly did all the cleaning and cooking and making sure groceries were in that fridge and handling all the bills.
I felt like a full time mother and father.. while all he did was work, come home and sit on that raggedy ass couch doing nothing but drink, smoke and eat and sleep till it was time for him to go back to work again.
And although he felt like I should be grateful, worshiping the ground he walked on, thanking him for the clothes on my back, the roof over my head and the food on the table一 I wouldn't show it.
He'd get irritated some more, become domestic and grab me by my upper arms and pin me to the wall. My jaw would be within his reach, forcing me to lock eyes with him so I'd understand how serious he was. I would grow quiet, and weak, my eyes would get teary eyed but didn't dare shed a tear. His voice would get devilishly low and tell me whatever that made him feel good inside. His words were brutal, and I knew that, but each time they cut deeper than a knife.
I wouldn't allow this man to see me cry, to see my walls break just so he'd get some satisfaction.
And although he internally frightened me, I wouldn't let it show.
