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“It’s none of your business,” I shouted back at him. He blocked the exit and cornered me in front of my bed and next to the dresser. I was trapped. Air emptied from my lungs and I could hardly breathe.
“It’s my fucking business when a guy looks at me like I’m stepping on his territory. And you belong to me. You got that?”
“Nobody owns me, Chris. Especially not you.” Despite my fear, a tiny spark of joy ignited in my heart at finally saying the words I had always wanted to say to him.
“Look. It wasn’t serious with that other girl, Frannie. I’m willing to admit it was a mistake, but I’m back now and any other bullshit you have going on is over.” He shouted those last words at me, using his usual tactics to frighten me. My body shuddered, but I tried to ignore it and speak clearly despite my physical reaction to him.
“No. What’s over is us, Chris. I should have ended it years earlier, but I was too afraid. Now get out of my way.”
“No. Not until you understand my side, what I went through.”
“I will never see it your way. Don’t you get it? I will never forgive you for what you did to me.”
“I never touched you!” he shouted. “Do you know what some other guys do to their girls? I never once laid a hand on you, even though I could have.”
What kind of monster said such a thing? Yes, he had never hit me, but I knew after all these years that his degrading words and actions had abused me, nonetheless. “Get out. You disgust me.”
“I disgust you?” He took two steps and stood right in front of my face. “You pathetic little bitch!”
Something inside me snapped at his words. I couldn’t take it anymore. My hands shook at my sides. I wouldn’t allow him to make me feel less than again. Enough!
I smacked him hard against his cheek. His eyes went wild as his face grew red. Fear seized my lungs and I couldn’t breathe. I wheezed in a breath right before he grabbed me and threw me on the bed. I kicked and punched and screamed, but he returned my earlier smack with one of his own. Crack!
My cheek burned and I wasn’t sure what stung more, his hand or my humiliation. He had never hit me before, but I had always feared it. I hated him.
I hated how he made me feel worthless. Hated him for putting me in this situation again.
I hated him for being stronger and using that against me. Hated that he could.
Closing my eyes, I screamed, “Damn you!” Every muscle in my body shook. “I hate you. I fucking hate you!” My throat burned from my violent outburst.
I struggled to push him off of me, but he held my arms above my head and straddled me. I knew he was stronger, but I also learned some self-defense in the years since walking away from Chris. Ramming my knee into his groin, I pushed my palm up against his chin. He fell beside the bed and I scrambled to get away from him. When he’s down, you run. I recalled my instructor’s voice drilling into us. I was nearly at the door when he grabbed my ankle. I pulled, but he gripped me tightly. Dropping to the ground, I used my other leg to kick him in the face. Go for the nose, it’s the easiest thing to break, the voice reminded me.
“Ow!” he hollered and held his nose as blood sprayed between his fingers.
A siren blared outside my window, and my adrenaline soared. I ran down the stairs and threw open the front door, panting, just as a police cruiser pulled into my driveway. Two officers raced up my front steps as I dropped to my knees.
“Ma’am, are you all right?” asked the female officer when she reached me. “Is there someone inside?”
Nodding, I pointed up the stairs behind me. The officers drew their guns and cautiously walked up the steps. Chris stood at the top of the stairs with his hands up, blood smeared across his face, dripping down onto his flannel shirt.
“Hands behind your head,” yelled the male officer. Chris dropped to his knees and brought his hands behind his head. He stared at me the whole time and I didn’t dare turn away. My body shook, this time in anger, as I staggered to stand. Holding onto the door, I walked to the stairs, my hands shaking beside me. “Don’t ever come near me again,” I hissed.
His brow furrowed, and his mouth tilted into a frown. “You called the cops, Frannie,” he sneered when the officer cuffed him.
“I should have called them a long time ago,” I whispered as they shoved him past me and through the front door.
“Ma’am, we’re going to need a statement. Can you drive to the station?” asked the female officer. As I shook my head, a black car came to a screeching halt in front of my house. It was Colton. The driver’s door flew open, and he jumped out.
Rushing past the police officer, he hollered across the lawn, “What happened? Are you hurt?” His eyes were wild, scanning my body, perhaps looking for an injury, right before he pulled me into his arms.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.
He cupped the back of my head while bending to speak softly in my ear. “I got your message but didn’t want to respond by text. I wanted to see your face and talk to you in person.”
“Sir, can you drive her to the station?” asked the officer.
“Yes, I can do that. I’ll follow you.” Turning to me, he asked, “Is that all right with you, Frances?”
