Living With the Choices We Make (Domestic Violence / Abuse) ✔️

28 - No Way Out

28 - No Way Out  

Brent allowed me to stay on the floor while he returned to the kitchen. At some point, I calmed down, crawling to the treadmill and pulling myself up. The pain was pulsing through me as I got on my feet and I had to hold on tightly to the bar to steady myself. I felt dizzy, my back stinging and nausea constricting my throat. I stumbled back into the kitchen, blinded by the bright light. He was still reading that damn book on the Kindle.

"Can I go to bed?" I whispered.

I was dying of thirst and would have killed for some water but was afraid to demand anything. The throbbing ache was getting worse and even the slightest twitch sent pain waves through my body. I wanted to rest so badly but was scared to lie down at the same time, yet the prospect to just being alone in the dark – hopefully far away from him – was the most soothing.

He looked up, his eyes still as black as the night. I took that as a 'no' and lowered myself back onto the chair, wincing when my body touched the backrest. The nerve-racking wait continued.

This time, it didn't take long before another message buzzed in. "Good night, kiddo. Hang in there. Talk tomorrow."

Another count of the letters, another trip to the exercise room, another beating. This time, I broke down after the twenty third lash, sobbing uncontrollably and trembling so hard that Brent must have felt pity for me. He scooped me up in his arms and deposited me on the bed upstairs. But he wasn't finished with me yet. He raped me again, violating my behind and ignoring my pleas and cries until he was done and I was barely clinging to consciousness.

I didn't sleep most of the night, my whole body agonizing every time I moved and the tears continuing to roll. My nose became stuffy and I was barely able to breath but I was so sore that getting up to blow my nose seemed like an unmasterable effort.

Brent slept in the guest room after locking the door and the window, barring any escape. I was trapped – his prisoner until he would decide I had suffered enough or he ended up killing me. I wasn't sure what I would have preferred but the uncertainty of it all pushed me close to the edge.

The darkness and silence was pressing and I was scared to make any type of noise and infuriate him. I bit hard into the pillow to suppress my frequent sobs and tried not to moan in pain. My teeth were clattering and my heart pounding and though I knew it was impossible for him to hear these things through the wall, it didn't lessen my terror. The feeling of the gun on my temple and the clicking of the empty chamber stuck to the back of my mind.

At some point in the early morning hours, I must have drifted off to sleep but Brent woke me from my dreamless slumber with a slap on my cheek.

"Get up, bitch. I'm hungry."

My head was pounding from all the crying and the dehydration, my throat raw and my whole body in total agony. I was barely able to keep myself upright on my feet but I managed to drag myself into the kitchen. He wanted pancakes and scrambled eggs and I started to cook, sharp pains stabbing at me every so often.

The food smelled delicious and my body was craving for nourishment, yet I was so sick at the same time that I was afraid I would throw up any minute. My throat was dry and every swallow poor agony - I would have relished anything to still my burning thirst. Even that tomato juice I despised so much but was one of Brent's favorites looked appealing when I pulled it from the fridge.

Yet relief was not in sight – after I finished cooking and served everything to him on a nicely decorated plate, he sent me upstairs.

"You stink. Take a shower."