My Silence Will Not Protect Me

It protected my abuser, and still does!

A female outcry, deep roars, and banging noises pull me out on the balcony. A brawny man in a bicep-hugging shirt is chasing my petite downstairs neighbor.

Sssssssshhhhhhhh!

she cries from beneath her curtains. The ogre continues to scream.

Anxiously perched over the railing with my phone in hand, I wonder where the other neighbors are. Am I the only one noticing this?

Raging, he disappears momentarily, before returning, clutching what looks like a broken furniture leg. Holding it up, she lets him in.

Sssssssshhhhhhhh!

she repeats.

Sealed behind triple-pane windows, I have no way of telling if she’s ok.
I’m scared to knock, so I dial 112 when I remember that I have her roommate’s number.

Better start there.

Better not draw too much attention.

Roommate confirms that everyone’s safe and everything’s ok — before apologizing profusely.

I’m relieved, but not convinced. I’ve seen this scenario before — I’ve been at the center of it more times than I can count.