The Ray Rice thing happened.
It wasn't on my radar until yesterday, when my male co-worker brought it up to my GM, whose office is next to mine. The same male co-worker who said that Jameis Winston's alleged rape victim was asking for it. He said to my boss, "How could she marry him after that?"
I kept my mouth shut, as it's impossible to argue with him. When the Winston case came up in conversation between us, he told me to go fuck myself when I tried to defend the victim. I was defending the victim because I was one myself. Not of rape, but of physical and verbal abuse.
It was college. I was introduced to a guy while performing in the play Baby With the Bathwater. I should have seen the warning signs as he was attracted to the Crazy Nanny character I was playing. We went out. We started dating. He drank. I didn't.
One night, he had a few too many beers. I said something that made him mad. He threw my open makeup bag at me, scattering brushes all over. He screamed at me that he was sleeping on the couch that night. I went out after a while and tried to talk to him, He grabbed a glass of ice water from his coffee table and flung it in my face. I sputtered. I cried. I left. Soaking wet.
He called the next day. Apologized. Made it seem like it was an isolated incident. He just had a bit of a temper.
That temper flared a lot. We had a fight and I wouldn't answer his phone calls. I was in my apartment alone. He had a key. I had closed and locked the door to my room. He tried to kick it down, screaming at me to let him in. I had headphones on and pretended I couldn't hear him, while texting my roommate to help me. I don't know why I didn't call the police. I didn't want to be that woman.
He left and my roommate showed up with her boyfriend. I sobbed hysterically into her shoulder as I told her what had happened. She comforted me and told me to never speak to him again,
The next day he came over and knocked. We told him to go away. He left me flowers and a card apologizing. His parents called and told me they would pay for everything if I just didn't do anything.
I went back. I don't know why.
We moved in together. I thought it would be different.
It wasn't. He pushed me during a fight. I fell over my bed and landed on my arm. I pushed him out of the room, locked the door and huddled with our dog. He started beating on the door, telling me to let the dog out. It was his dog, let him out. I called my sister. I packed a bag. I couldn't take it any more. I opened the door, tore his glasses off of his face, and slapped him as hard as I could. While he was distracted, I left. I went to my sisters empty apartment and cried.
I went back. This time because the apartment complex wouldn't let me out of the lease unless I had a police report. We had separate lives, separate rooms. We were ok for a while. Then one day I decided to take a shower with my music on. He put a boombox in front of the bathroom door, and turned his music louder. I turned mine louder. The battle continued. Finally, I stormed out of the bathroom with my robe tightly tied around me. I unplugged the boombox, and tossed it to him telling him it was enough. The boombox cut his arm. He grabbed me. The robe opened. I hit him. He called the police. I called my friend to come get me. The next day I found a room in a friends apartment, and left with everything. My furniture went into storage. My life was in boxes. But I was free.
I worked at the college bookstore and he came in one day. His hands were bandaged, and he was crying. Begging me to come back. Telling me his life was miserable and that he wanted to kill himself. The dog I had to leave behind had mauled him. I told him to leave. I cried. The manager called me into her office and fired me. I had missed too many days dealing with the asshole, and had caused a scene. They were uncomfortable having me around.
I wish I had never gone back. I wish I had been stronger. I wish that I hadn't played his game. At the time I felt I deserved that kind of treatment, that I wasn't worthy of someone who could love me without hating me as well. I was broken. I'm not anymore. Fuck that guy. Fuck Ray Rice. Fuck the NFL who looked the other way until they were FORCED to fucking do something. Fuck that noise.
Just...fuck it.
No comments:
Post a Comment