I’ve never known a kindness that hasn’t come with a cost. Even love itself comes with a price tag. In life you can trust no one but yourself. To say that my life has not been easy is an understatement. For the past four years my life has been pure hell. Always looking over my shoulder. Always afraid of what lurks behind a closed door. Always afraid of when he will find me. It wasn’t always like this. Once I had one of those lives that everyone wants. Two loving parents, one annoying little sister, 2.5 car garage, and a dog on the front step. I loved my life. I was one of those kids that was nerdy inside and out. Music and books used to be my thing. I had been okay in school. Nothing over the top amazing, but I got by in all my classes. I hadn’t been much of a sports person, but man did I love baseball. My dad and I used to go over to my grandparent’s house every weekend and watch the game with my grandfather. My grandmother would fuss over me and always make too much to eat. I miss those days. Then the accident happened. One night, I was home alone, I hadn’t wanted to go over to my grandparents house for dinner that day. I hadn’t been feeling well. Instead my dad, mom, and sister went. They were on the way home when it happened. A semi truck driver feel asleep at the wheel and side swiped them. The car had flipped several times before it came to a stop. Or at least thats what the cops told me. At 18 was not only an orphan but I had lost my sister. We may have been 3 years apart, but man were we two peas in a pod. My entire life changed in those two minutes. One truck driver fell asleep, and my entire world was ripped from me. After the funerals, I lived with my grandparents for a time. I sold my parents house, I couldn’t cover the costs of the burials otherwise. The insurance money was locked till I was 21, and the lawyers weren’t too hopeful for a payout from the truck driver. Stupid bastard had killed my family and he wasn’t going to pay except for a few months in jail. It just wasn’t fair. I lived with my grandparents for almost a year. By that time I had found a job, nothing too fancy, and moved out. I dropped back into school, since it was too much for me after the accident. That is where I met him. He had been charming and kind when we first met. So understanding of my need for space, yet was always there when I needed to talk about what happened. He was supportive of my dreams, and was ready to help when I asked for it. In other words, he was perfect. It took me 8 months to trust him. SInce my family had died, I hadn’t wanted to trust anyone. What if they disappeared like they had? But once I trusted him, I trusted him with my whole heart. I didn’t notice the changes in him at first. It was just slight changes in his demeanor that I though nothing of. He became quicker to anger. More aggressive when he wanted sex. Meaner when I did something that he didn’t like. It took me months to finally realize that everything that I had once loved about him was gone. No longer was he kind and caring. Now he was mean and harsh. Instead of supporting me in my dreams, he did nothing but tear them down. He had more comments about my clothing choices. I wasn’t to show any skin that he didn’t want someone looking at. All the cloths that I had were no longer acceptable. My shorts too short. My favorite tops too low cut. He also started harping on my cleaning. If there were any dishes in the sink, I was being lazy. The cloths weren’t folded and put away, I was a slob. Lord help me if the bed wasn’t made. That always started a fight. Then there was the fighting itself. It was horrible. I could never stick up for myself. I was always the one at fault. Even if he had truly been the one to break something, spill something, forget to write something down. It was ALWAYS my fault. At first he only used him words to hurt me. I was worthless. I was a failure. Then it escalated. Soon he was pushing me into walls. Grabbing my upper arms so hard that it left bruises. After listening to him say I was worthless and pathetic for so long, I began to believe him. Who could love someone like me? According to him, I never did anything right. It must be true then right? It wasn’t until he started hitting me that it finally clicked in my brain that something was wrong. You don’t hit someone that you love. You don’t leave bruises across their face. And you most definitely don’t bust open their lip in a drunken rage. I forgot to mention that part. Yes he drank. He drank almost every night. Even though I was the only one working for months at a time, he was the one who got to drink at the end of the day. Because playing video games and taking naps was the hard job. While I was on my feet for sometimes ten hours at a time. He was the one who deserved a drink. He never felt like helping out around the house. No that was a woman’s work. So after a long day at the department store where I worked, I came home and cleaned up him mess every night. Any ways, it just clicked one night. This wasn’t how I wanted to live. I didn’t want to put up with the fighting and yelling anymore. I most certainly didn’t want to be his punching bag anymore. That wasn’t the life that my parents would have wanted me to have. I finally decided to leave when he started talking about my inheritance account. By the time that he brought it up, we had been together for almost two years. Just under really. Since my parents had died right after I turned 18, my inheritance account stayed locked for a full three years.
One night he just mentioned “how much easier our lives would be when I finally got that damn money”.
And then I didn’t something that I knew I shouldn’t of. I opened my mouth.
“You mean I’ll be getting my money”.
That set him off faster then a firecracker on the fourth of July. He started yelling
“Your money. You ungrateful bitch. After everything I’ve done for you!”
Then came the beating. He punched me, kicked me, slapped my face. All while screaming how worthless I was and how ungrateful I am. He left me on the kitchen floor that night. Just left me there, bleeding and alone. I’m sure he cracked a few of my ribs. I’ll never know. I never went to the hospital to see if they were broken or not. But that night was different. That night I plotted my escape. All of our money went into a joint account that he controlled. There wasn’t a penny that entered or left that account that he didn’t know about. There was no way I could take anything out without him knowing. I didn’t even have a bank card. I mean I had one, but he kept it for me. So I “wouldn’t spend anything I wasn’t supposed to”. I had to find a way to get some money so that I could leave. Thankfully I had a little bit of time. My inheritance account was still locked for another four months. And until then, there was no way for me to add another person’s name to the account. That at least was in my favor. But anyways, as I laid there on my kitchen floor I thought of a few things. One how to get blood out of the tile grout. That would be the first thing he would comment about in the morning. Second, my escape. I had a small part time waitressing job in addition to my department store job. Not that good of tips, but enough to keep him in booze. If I picked up a few more shifts at the dinner, and kept some of the tips set aside for myself. I might be able to save just a little bit. It would be tricky though. He always checked my cloths and purse for extra money. But I would find a way. I had to leave. Now you might ask why I stayed with him so long if he was always treating me like this. Well the answer is kinda simple. I loved him. Or at least I thought I did. And then there was the fact that I had no one. Absolutely no one but him. See my grandparents had died about a year ago. Always doing things together, grandpa died or lung cancer, and grandma followed just a month later of a broken heart. They had been together for almost 70 years. I wish I could find a love like that. The next morning, just like I thought, first thing he did was comment about my blood on the kitchen floor. No apology for what he had done. Just a “clean the damn blood off the floor. I’m going to the bar”. With that he was gone. I had a shift in three hours. Just enough time to clean the floor and get enough make up on my face to cover the bruises. No one commented on my long sleeves or heavy make up anymore. They had learned long ago that I didn’t talk to anyone about anything. However, I did talk to my manager. I asked for a few more shifts a week. Not too many. Didn’t want him to get suspicious of what I was doing. But maybe one or two to make a small difference. And that was how it went. I picked up two or three extra shifts at the dinner each week. Only this time I kept some of the tips for myself. I took an old coffee tin from the trash and buried it behind that dinner. Every shift I put as much as I could in there. Coins, a few dollars, nothing that would be too missed. He got mad at me for not bringing in as many tips.
“Costs me more to drive you there then you earn. Keep this up and I won’t be taking you to work no more”.
Yea that’s right. He drives me to work every day. Because I can’t have a car. I’m too “unreliable”. Whatever he says goes. I just kept my head down and stayed quiet. But in my head I was counting down the days till my birthday. He thought we were going to be going to the bank to get his name put on the account. Oh man was he looking forward to that. The closer my birthday got, the happier his mood was. But what he didn’t know was that I was gonna be long gone before my birthday even came round. About two weeks before my birthday, it was finally time for me to put my plan into motion. My old coffee tin had a little over $600 in it. Not alot, but enough to get me a train ticket and a hotel until my birthday arrived. I had to wait for the right time. That was the tricky part. He didn’t go out very often. So I had to be ready whenever that time came. It was a Thursday night. I was finishing up dinner when he came out of our room dressed to the nines. Expensive jeans, nice shirt, lots of bling, and too much cologne.
“I’m going out.”
“Aren’t you going to eat dinner?”
Wrong choice. He slapped me across the face so fast.
“Speak when spoken too. I said I’m going out”.
With that he walked out and slammed the door behind him. I knew now was the time to act. I watched him get into his car and drive off. The next moment I was in the bedroom putting my stuff together. I had to move fast, just in case he came back. I took out my Vera Bradley suitcases. They were the last nice thing that he had bought me as an “I’m sorry” gift before he stopped caring all together. I didn’t waste time folding anything all nice and neat. I opened drawers and through things in the bags. I would sort through them all later. All that mattered to me at the moment was getting out. I took almost none of my books. Only my few favorites. Movies, artwork, all of it I left behind. The only thing that I couldn’t leave were my family pictures and stupid little things that my parents and sister had given me. Drawings from my sister. She had wanted to be an artist. My dad’s cook book. Handed down through the generations. And my mom’s necklace. Given to her by my dad when I was born. Those things I couldn’t leave behind. After everything was packed, I left. I didn’t clean the kitchen. I didn’t straighten up my mess in the bedroom or bathroom. I just simply left. Two suitcases, a backpack with my laptop, and my purse. That’s all that I took with me. I walked to the dinner. I was careful to stay away from all the street lights, just in case he drove by. At the dinner I unburied my coffee tin and put all the money in my purse. Next I walked to the train station that was two miles from the apartment. I wonder when he will notice that I’m gone. I couldn’t think about that then. I had to get on a train going anywhere but here. At that time I lived in Kentucky. So I picked the farthest destination that was leaving immediately. Chicago it was. It left in ten minutes and made few stops. I bought a one way ticket and I was gone. That was almost four years ago. And I’m still running. He is always looking for me. I got a call from him about a week after I left. I had turned my cell phone off for the entire week. Finally I needed to make a few calls to the back because of my inheritance account. As soon as it was on, a call came through.
“You think you can run from me? You’ll be sorry you left bitch. That money will be mine. I’ll find you no matter....”
I had hung up the phone, turned it off, and threw it away.
