“What’s wrong? You don’t like to be choked?” I laid there in a mild state of panic, fear embezzling the moment as I’m taken back to the girl I was several years ago.
I remember the day his mother apologised on behalf of the family. I told her nicely to save her apology for the woman he would end up marrying. I was young, fresh out of High School and knew no better. He was my first love, came from a good family, was well educated and popular around Sydney. The first six months together were nothing less than happy and filled with adoration for one another. The following ten would shape the rest of my life and the men I brought in it.
The first time is the only time I remember in great detail, the rest of my bruises all became too frequent and a blur, the same stain on my skin only another location. We sat side by side on the cream leather couch in his parent’s living room, watching Saturday night television. Suddenly, he demanded I sit on the floor. Confused, I asked why. He told me that I wasn’t worthy of the couch and to ‘get my ass on the floor.’ I sat there and stared at the screen paralysed, what the hell was going on? A million different thoughts ran through my mind. Should I stay? Should I go? What’s he going to do next? Surely it couldn’t get any worse, he loved me after all, we were in love.
“It’s okay, you’re allowed to sit next to me again,” he said, toying with my emotional state. Obviously I wanted to be in his loving arms so I sat back on the couch.
My love then grabbed my left arm and began twisting my skin in opposite directions with his hands, giving me a Chinese burn. Every second of pain that passed, he loathed and the more I resisted and asked him to stop, the harder he twisted. When he eventually let go, my love sadistically smiled at the ‘work of art’ he’d created on my arm. Shocked and confused, I slowly began emotionally numbing myself from this moment onward.
He then raised his left hand, clenched his knuckles and punched me on the left side of my chest. It was hard enough to bruise me for a week and then fade into my long term memory.
“What? Are you just going to hit me from now on?” I asked as I massaged my left breast with my right hand, suppressing tears from leaving my eyes. By now I was in a severe state of shock. Why was he doing this to me? Moments before I was this strong girl with big ambitions of conquering the world but instantaneously I couldn’t even see tomorrow.
“Yeah, why not?” he replied, sniggering to himself. His apathy tore my heart, “Didn’t I tell you to sit on the floor?” We were back here now.
I gave into the devil and carefully slid myself slowly on the floor and sat beside his feet feeling isolated, lonely and fell into a deeper confusion. Feeling the heat from his eyes looking down on me as I stared straight ahead, I felt his smile, his wicked sense of accomplishment. I’d never seen him so proud of himself. The energy of his pride sunk deep into my emotional system morphing into fear. On the inside I was trembling. I knew I had to leave him but I loved him too much. I remembered the happier days before all this. This had to be a one off incident, there was no way he could hurt me like that again, he loved me too, you know?
“Adriana…” I turned to the left and looked him straight in the eyes, “Do you still love me?” he asked. I told him that I did because that was the truth, he just responded with ‘good.’ That night, I felt a piece of me die. I was so ashamed, I’d become one of those girls.
To read the rest of this story in full and explicit detail click here.