It’s Not My Fault

I met him at a local pub.

I preferred his friend.

He asked for my number, which I didn’t want to give.

At first.

.

He was tall, dark and handsome, but loud.

He wouldn’t give up, trying to charm me.

So I gave him my number.

Flattered.

.

We arranged a date.

It was a mild September evening.

He made me laugh, we had chemistry.

A lot of chemistry.

.

Too soon, I moved in with him.

His Father had just died.

He was sad, and my heart ached for him.

He needed me, and I loved him more.

.

He started to have outbursts.

He cried, he raged. He was so afraid of failing.

Once he locked himself in the bedroom.

I could hear him muttering to himself.

.

“I’m all by myself. Nobody loves me”

Over and over again.

.

I was scared, I called his friends.

They stood outside the door, unsure.

But they were there,

and it was enough.

.

After a while, I became the source of his anger.

His dinner wasn’t ready, his shirt wasn’t perfectly laundered.

He shouted right in my face,

He burnt my lip with his cigarette.

.

Afterwards, he was always so contrite.

He cried, he pleaded, I softened.

We became engaged, although even then I knew,

that we would never marry.

.

The punches began, the locking me in the bedroom.

I threatened to leave, he threatened to kill me.

I lived on constant alert.

.

Then one day we argued,

he took a knife and stabbed me with it.

In the arm, leg and stomach.

.

Then he took me to casualty,

begging me not to tell.

I didn’t – I lied to the nurse.

She looked at me, unbelieving.

I knew that she knew.

.

I forgave him yet again.

This was crazy, I know that now.

But he had made me crazy,

and I had let him.

.

Life went on, up and down.

I learnt how not to enrage him,

how to appease him.

.

Then we had a child,

a beautiful and perfect daughter.

He was so proud,

I thought it would change him.

.

She was eight weeks old when it happened.

He had fallen asleep on the sofa,

and blamed me for not waking him.

I asked him to be quiet, because of the baby.

So he shouted, right up close to her terrified, infant face.

.

“It’s NOT MY FAULT!!”

.

He was very fond of saying that.

.

As soon as he left for work the next day,

We left him.

.

Forever.

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4 thoughts on “It’s Not My Fault

  1. Good. Adios. Well-done, you! People should always stick up for themselves/speak up for themselves. Hopefully your story will encourage others to do the same if they find themselves in a similar situation. I hope you don’t mind that I tweeted your blog post. Hugs!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Of course I don’t mind, 1katkatv2! Thank you. These things need to be shared, and talked about more. Then maybe, just maybe, it won’t happen so often. :/

      Prosetryme ❤

      Like

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