The Plot to Get Out (A chapter to the memoir I’m writing)

((It has not been proof read at this time- this is a rough draft. Feel free to leave comments, or criticism.))

The funeral had passed and I was living with my new husband. I was married! I knew a few weeks after the mistake had been made that it was indeed a mistake. I knew then I didn’t truly love this guy. Thoughts raced through my mind everyday. I wondered how I was going to be able to stay with this guy until death do us part? I wanted to run so far away but I was not about to go back home to her. That was the last place I wanted to go especially at that time.

I had dropped out of school. I was supposed to graduate that June but I just couldn’t’ find it in me at that time to finish with my dad gone. I had always pictured what my life would be like. It looked like this:

I have my cap and gown on and family members are flashing cameras all over the place. My dad is smiling and he can’t stop. Dad and I are talking about what college I will decide to go to. We’re making promises of making phone calls at least every week. The home is filled with such happiness because I am graduating high school and starting a new chapter in my life, college. Conversation is revolving around holidays and making me promise to come in for those special times.

They call me down to receive my diploma and I skip with glee on the way down. When I get the diploma handed to me I hold it up and yell I finished because of you dad! I pick him out of the crowd with tears in my eyes and smile as I walk off the stage with diploma in hand.

I would go on to college and work towards becoming a psychologist full time and writing in my spare time. This is what my life looked like in 1995 and the first part of 1996. March of 1996 would change that completely.

I lived in a run down apartment across town from my parents’ home. I fought with the man I just married about him not keeping a job everyday. I fought with the man about the house being a disaster and him being a lazy son of a bitch while I worked all day to just pay our bills.

The bastard was thrown out of school a few months before we married. He was thrown out because he physically assaulted a guy that use to be a boyfriend of mine. I should have taken off at that HUGE red flag but I was a complete idiot.

I bitched a lot the first few weeks of marriage about him finishing school and doing something with his life. Me bitching didn’t last long though. I learned real quick how to keep my mouth shut or pay the consequences. The consequences of course being abuse. He had a various way of punishing me when he felt I needed it. Sometimes it would be physical. Sometimes it was sexual. Most of the time it would be verbal. He would put me down and would call me names. He would refuse me the right to mourn my dad’s death. Crybaby comes to mind as I start to feel enraged. What a piece of shit he was.

So the bad things started rather quickly for me. I was to full of pride though to run to my family. I thought it would weak and it would prove they were all right and I was wrong. I wanted to show them I knew what I was doing and life was good for me. I did just that. I created a world to live in while I was around them, which honestly was not often. There were many times he didn’t want me visiting my mom or anyone else in my family. He was afraid I would tell them about the drug dealing or abuse. He slowly cut people off from me and he done it in such a way I didn’t realize how reclusive I had become until after I decided to leave him about a year later.

I would put on this fake smile when I did visit family. I would tell them how happy I was and how good he was to me. I would drink coffee at the table with family members and smoke my cigarettes telling a complete lie about my life at that time. I was in agony though internally. I screamed in my head as I told these lies. I would be yelling, “TELL THEM THE TRUTH! TELL THEM YOU NEED TO GET OUT!” Of course those words would NEVER fall from my lips. This went on for almost a year.

At night when he would force me into sex the way I kept my mind together was a plot I would one day carry out. I would plot how I was going to get out of this nightmare. I would go over ways to avoid abuse the next morning. I would pray mostly. I prayed that God shed some light on the outlet for me. I begged him many nights to help me find the way to leave this guy.

The first apartment we lived was a house divided into two separate apartments. We lived in the back apartment and his parents moved to the front. The first goal was to get out of that place away from his crazy mother and his drug dealing step dad. I knew it wouldn’t be hard because the lazy son of a bitch would not hold a job for the life of himself.

We eventually moved to our second place, which was only a street over from where my mom lived. It was perfect! It was close enough to keep most of the abuse at bay and it worked well with the plot to leave him. His real dad was always trying to bail us out with rent. He did so for a few months and then one day he took me out to lunch while the bastard was supposed to be going for a job and I demanded he not give money to us for anything. I knew a few things regarding him giving us money. The first thing being we would never get evicted and that was part of my plot, to get evicted. The other thing was if he continued to bail his son out financially he would never keep a job.

He kept to his word. He didn’t give us any more money after that talk. It didn’t take long to get that eviction notice either. When it came I remember how furious he was that his dad refused to help out. This would be one of the last times he got physical with me.

He was full of rage and blamed everyone around him for this downfall. He took that anger out on me. The small bedroom was off of the living room and he threw me into the room where our bed set on the floor. It had not been put up. He was one of the laziest people I had ever met.

He had to be pushed when we dated to take showers, go to school, and to help do chores at his house. He turned into the devil after we married. He acted like a prince before we said I do. Talk about a case of Jekyl and Hyde!

We struggled in that bedroom for a short while. Mostly he pulled my hair and flung me around like a rag doll while he yelled obscenities. He kept asking where would we go. He tried to demand we would go back to live with his mom and step dad. I stayed silent while he went on his tirade. I knew it wasn’t the time. I had learned how to play the game he played.

I waited for this violent event to end. When it was over I went to get a cold rag to place on my face where he struck me once. I poured him a cup of ice tea I had made and brought it to him as he sat on the couch my mom had bought for us.

I snuggled up to him and said I was sorry for the things that have happened. I talked in a sweet tone and rubbed him on the back of the neck. In my head I was screaming though. I was screaming things I wish I had the bravery to say to him at that time. I was calling him obscene names and telling him I hated him and wish he would die. I was so cowardly that those things stayed inside my head and would not leave my mouth until it was time to act. When it came time to leave I would finally say those things to him.

As I snuggled against him and softly spoke as I apologized for him flinging me around, pulling my hair and slapping my face I said to him that my mom would let us move in with her temporarily while we got things together. He didn’t like the idea of course at first so I had to add perks. I had to relate to the lazy side of the man and the psycho side of the man.

I explained to him that there would be nothing he would have to do except keep a part time job. No yard work, no housework of course, and he would have extra money to go out with friends with if we didn’t pay rent. The only thing we had to worry about was groceries I told him. That appealed to his lazy side. To appeal to his psychotic side this is what I told him.
Mom is gone most of the time and we’ll be alone. We will have the bedroom in the back of the house away from her room and my brother’s room. My brother is gone all the time running the roads with his friends so he won’t be around either. I assured him that family didn’t visit my mom much because of her “craziness”. I told him that things would be better for us sexually and emotionally if we lived there. Of course that was a complete lie. I knew it would give me the upper hand. I knew it gave me some power back because of the safety I would feel.

I convinced him into moving to my moms. I was close to my freedom. I could feel it in my bones. It brought happiness to me that I had not felt in years. I knew convincing him to move to my moms that things were surely going to change for the better. Better for me of course and one step closer of getting out of this nightmare relationship.

We moved in and everything was not as I told him. Family came to visit almost daily and I was so glad. The abuse was tamed quite considerably. He wasn’t able to do the things he once did to me and the abuse he was able to get away with was the sexual abuse.

He would still force me to have sex with him. He would force me to give him blowjobs. He would say things to me in attempts to make me feel guilty about not doing those things. “You are my wife and you should do what you are supposed to do.” That is one phrase that still rings in my ears, as I think of that awful bastard. I was so ashamed of these things that I kept quiet and just did the things he demanded. It is like when one is molested. You don’t tell anyone out of shame and fear of what might happen if the truth got out.

I believe I survived through these things simply because I knew one day soon I would be able to get out and be away from his crazy ass. That day would come sooner then even I expected.

It was a mild summer day. He had decided to go visit him parents across town. He tried to convince me to go with him but with my mom and aunt there I was easily able to get out of that. I avoided that crazy woman and his step dad as much as possible once we moved into my moms. This was the day I thought as I hugged him goodbye. I was so anxious to get it over with I almost pushed him out the door to leave. After he left my mom and aunt went to some rummage sales.

He left and I waited about twenty minutes to be sure he was definitely leaving to go to his moms. I remember grabbing bags from under the kitchen sink in a hurry to put his stuff in. I threw all of his belongings in bags and in boxes I had emptied. I easily had it packed in a half hour. My younger brother had come home while I was rabidly running around the house putting all of his things into boxes and bags. I had to make sure I got all of his things out of the house. My brother asked what was I doing and I just remember telling him to just help me. We carried all of his belongings out to the porch that connected to my mom’s kitchen. I stood there looking at all his things wanting badly to set it on fire but I kept myself from acting on that urge.

I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the phone. I dialed him mom’s number and got him on the phone. While on the phone I chickened out and came up with some bullshit excuse as to why I was calling. I hung up and we carried his stuff back into the house. We put it all in the bedroom and I didn’t unpack it. I came up with some excuse as to why it was packed when he returned so that he wouldn’t know what I had done.

I was furious with myself. I was so full of anger about chickening out. I was full of fear that another opportune time would not turn up for me to get him out of my life. He returned that night and I told him I packed stuff up because I thought that we’d find our own place soon since I had been working so hard.

The next day he was supposed to be going back to his moms. I was worried he would make me go. I told him I couldn’t go because I promised to clean moms house since we’ve been there rent-free for two months. My mom was already gone for the day. It was just he and I. He was furious that I didn’t want to go see his mom. He kept asking if I hated her. He kept asking if my family had turned me against her. She was paranoid like this and it rubbed off on him.

I tried to be calm and I stuck to my story. He tried to grab at me over the coffee table that sat in front of my moms couch and I jumped back to avoid his grasp. I started yelling things at him that I had wanted to say to him for a long time. I told him his mom was crazy, paranoid and a drug addict. This made his rage so bad he tried to step onto the table to reach me. I maneuvered so that he could not reach me with his grasp. Unfortunately the room was small enough he was successful. He slung me back and I had landed in the recliner. He was on top of me with his hand around my throat. I was so afraid he was going to choke me to death. I remember grasping for air and my arms were flailing all about in hopes to break his grasp on my neck. I seen in his eyes he was high on something. He was high and it wasn’t on pot.

While this probably only lasted a few moments it felt like a liftetime. Things that he had done to me before had suddenly flooded my mind. The flashbacks brought about a rage inside myself and by the mercy of God I was given enough strength on pure addrenilin to break his grasp and push him off of me throwing him a slight distance from me. I crawled backwards out of the recliner flipping it as I quickly got a good stance.

I had thoughts of killing him. I pictured myself stabbing him right there in the middle of my moms living room. I dashed to the kitchen and grabbed the largest knife I could. I swung it around violently as he headed towards the kitchen following me. I yelled, “I will kill you, you fat bastard. THIS IS OVER MOTHERFUCKER! YOU WILL NOT TOUCH ME AGAIN IN ANY WAY!”

With the knife I ran around the kitchen table chasing him into the living room. I felt such power over him. I won’t lie. It felt good. It felt good to see him for once scared of me. We went around the coffee table a few times and he ended up on the end that was closest to the kitchen. I told him if he didn’t leave I would kill him. I was dead serious. I would have done it. For a split second I didn’t think he was going to leave so I lunged for him with the knife and he jumped back. He seen with the lunge I was indeed serious. He turned to leave and something inside of me took over. I rushed towards him chasing him out of the house yelling that I was going to kill him.

He didn’t even look back. He ran straight to his car. I had got caught on a throw rug that was on the floor and I tripped. I fell but got up quickly to be sure he was leaving. Maybe I was getting up to chase him more in hopes of reaching him to stab him. I was not in my right mind in these moments. The abuse I had endured had pushed me to my limit.

I reached the kitchen door and stepped outside onto the porch. He stood there on the driver side of the car with the door open. He stood there over the door looking at me. I was a woman full of rage and if looks could have killed, he would have fallen to his death. He got into his car and drove off.

A calm came over me when I realized he was gone. I entered back into my moms house keeping the knife tight in my hand. I was calm but afraid to put that weapon down. While walking through the kitchen I realized my shirt had been ripped in the struggle. In the calm I felt I came to a realization of what had just happened. I had freed myself momentarily. I picked the recliner up and anxiety took over. The calm was gone. I was so frightened he would come back. What if I had not the energy to fight him off this time? There was no one there to help me. I put the knife in the sink and ran out the house.

I didn’t even close the door behind me. I didn’t change my clothes. I just ran. The first place I knew to go was my aunt’s house. It was close. I could cut through my mom’s backyard and be there in two minutes or less. That is what I did. I got there and my cousins were there. I explained to them what had happened. I was terrified he would come back. I told them I kicked him out. One of my cousins found me a new shirt to put on.

After I changed my shirt I told them I was going back because I couldn’t remember if I left the house open and told them my younger brother would be home probably.

I return to my moms and no one is there yet. I go grab a bag of the bastards stuff to put outside and my brother shows up with another one of my cousins. I don’t tell them the physical alteration that went down but I ask them to help me put this stuff outside. I told them it was over.

I called over to the bastard’s moms again. I said one thing to him and hung up.

“You have twenty minutes to come get your shit or I’m setting it on fire!”

A few minutes later the phone rang. My brother answered and it was the bastard. He was hoping to sweet talk me like he had done all the other times after he would do something crazy to me. It wouldn’t work this time. No way. My brother didn’t know what was going on tried to reach out the phone to me. I simply yelled loud enough to ensure the bastard heard me.

“Time is wasting. You got 15 minutes now to come get your shit or it gets set of fire!”

I told my brother to hang up and he did. My cousin and brother were puzzled as to what came over me. They looked dazed. I decided to tell them some of the story. I told them I was tired and didn’t want to be with him anymore. I told them I was tired of his shit.

The bastard showed up about twenty minutes later to pick his stuff up with one of his friends. At this time my mom had returned home. She was wondering what was going on. He begged her to plead with me to make up with him. Unfortunately she did just that. She tried to convince me to fix things. Forgive him and work things out. She told me that the bastard was sorry and he was crying.

This made me so angry. I looked at my mom and said firmly, “NO! IT IS OVER! TELL HIM TO LEAVE I DO NOT WANT TO SEE OR TALK TO HIM!”

I was in my brother’s room at this time with my cousin. I was telling him that I was so tired of the shit I had to go through with that bastard. I even asked my cousin to go out to the kitchen to make him leave. He did. He went out to tell him to leave. He left after begging for a while. He would return though in ways that frightened me out of state.

(To be continued in the next chapter….)

About JustOrdinary

Hello my name is Rachel…around here I’m best known as Just Ordinary. I created this blog page to share pieces of my life with you, the reader, also to share my projects, and writings. This blog page I have created is a collection of realty and fiction. Not everything I write pertains to me or my life.

Posted on Wednesday, October 24, 2007, in journal, Journal Pages, life, Short Stories, writing. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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