Tonight, I needed to run to the store. My husband had been gone most of the day “grocery shopping” because I am not allowed money or to leave our home, except in the most extreme circumstances.
Because he wanted to drop off something to his nephew, a nephew who has spent the last three-months in Silver Hill, and because he wanted to drink tequila with his nephew, or talk about growing techniques for his nephew’s marijuana business, he was flustered that I had picked ten-minutes before the close of the store to leave our house — a house I have not left in days.
I threw on my jacket and off to the car I went.
Behind me, he came — demanding. He always demands.
He told me that I would be accountable to him.
He then called me a whore and told me I looked a whore, because I had thrown a jacket over my shorts. He said I looked deranged. He then said he couldn’t trust me with our children and he needed to “make arrangements”.
He then punched the air near my nose — with force and said, “Bam” and “bam” again. He punched the air three times and I thought he would hit my nose.
He then told me I had wrinkles.
He then wouldn’t let me leave.
He then demanded more things, demanded to “know” more things and threatened me with more things.
He stopped when our son came into the drive to tell me to leave so that “dad doesn’t get triggered”.
I texted him I was pressing charges tomorrow. If I am dead before then, you’ll know why. I think I’m much too tired to put up the fight.
