When he grabbed me and put his arms around me in a huge embrace. I felt like never letting him go.
I was safe. It felt good. It felt nice. It felt so safe
I never wanted him to let me go.
I felt loved. Very much loved.
His eyes would change. His pupils would become the size of pin heads.
I was trapped.
I felt scared.
I felt like I was hated.
I felt I had done him wrong.
After his eyes changed. He would start the abuse . Blaming me.
He was a jealous man.
He was controlling. Funny. Always ten steps ahead.
Never boring. I loved being in his presence. He made perfect company.
We didn't talk much.
We didn't have to.
I knew what he was thinking, as he did me.
As he hurled abuse at me . I would start planning my escape.
He would let me go.
He just couldn't control his anger.
Like an addict. Once you make up your mind you have to have them. You succomb to the cravings. He couldn't stop himself.
If I didn't get to safety. I would be dead.
He wouldn't stop. A man filled with rage. All directed at me.
I would hide. Somewhere where he could not find me.
Living in cages.
Living in protection to not get hurt and my baby not get killed.
The urge to shoot up was strong and that's the reason I went back.
I mostly cried. He got angry.
I left him
I longed for change. Different states.
He came to see me three years later.
He sat at the end of my bed and cried a bucket load of tears. Dripping down his face like unstoppable rain.
Then I knew he was sorry.