I was so desperate for the kind of attention and love Twice offered that I continuously ignored red flags. When I would wake up in the middle of the night to find him sitting next to the bed hunched over my phone, I questioned his motives. He’d look at me with darkness in his eyes and twist his mouth into a scowl before turning back to his snooping. When I repeated my questions, he turned to begin accusing me of some betrayal or indiscretion. Who was this guy on my Facebook, and why did he like my picture? Why did I have so many male Facebook friends and contacts? I’d get defensive because I didn’t understand what was happening. I was innocent of any wrongdoing, yet I felt I had done something to betray his trust. I would plead for him to believe me when I said I’d never done anything wrong. I was faithful and devoted to only him. Sometimes, this would appease him. My tears would encourage him to relent and forgive me.
As time wore on, these instances became more frequent and violent. If he’d gone very long without sleeping or eating, his fuse was much shorter. I was naïve and unaware of his substance abuse issues in the beginning. I’m not quite sure when I learned of his addiction to meth. His family members had mentioned it periodically, and I began to recognize the signs. A gaunt look to his eyes, “tweaking”, and lack of sleep were all indicators. Once, I found the orange cap to a needle in the floorboard of my truck. My heart pounded when my mind flashed to the times I’d encountered the same caps when I’d lived with my mom. I knew then he’d been using meth. In my anger, I slammed the door to my truck and found Twice passed out on his mother’s couch.
The fight that followed was the first of many that left me battered both physically and emotionally. Shouting and accusations were exchanged before Twice gripped my upper arms with a strength that indicated a level of anger I’d never encountered in our relationship. His features were twisted by malice, and his hypnotic blue eyes glinted as he pressed his face to mine. He hissed that I was a nosey whore with no business prying into his life. He was a grown man, and he wore the pants. Following more cruel insults, he flung me to the floor and stomped angrily from the house.
I gasped for breath, winded both from my fall and the shock, and stared desolately at the empty space he left behind. Emotions warred within me as thoughts swirled through my mind. Anger and despair fought to overcome me as I curled into a ball on the floor. I sobbed as I held my legs tightly to prevent myself from falling apart. Time ceased to exist as I fell into that familiar pit of misery. I couldn’t tell what affected me more, the thought that I’d lost the love of my life or the hurt he’d just inflicted with both his words and his brute strength. I rubbed my arms where his fingers had encircled me and squeezed. They had already begun to bruise. My hip was sore from its sudden connection with the hardwood floor. My chest ached from both the hyperventilation and the emotional pain that had settled there.
I must’ve slept because I woke to find it dark outside. My eyes were swollen and red, and my body was sore. My heart raced as I scrambled to look out the window to see if my truck was in the driveway. I found the driveway empty and cursed when I realized he’d also taken my phone. My only option was to sit and reflect on what had just occurred. I contemplated my next steps. I didn’t really have anywhere to go, as I’d burned so many bridges with my relationship to Twice. I had no money, and I needed my phone and truck. I don’t mean that I wanted to leave, but I didn’t even feel that I had other options.
I could not even think of our relationship ending. I needed him more than I needed breath or sustenance. He was my anchor to this world, and I relied on him for everything. I treated him like a king before everything fell apart. I would make him breakfast before waking him for work. While he ate, I’d lay out his clothes and pack his lunch. He’d always come home to a hot meal. After he’d shower and change, I was there, eager to please, waiting to rub his sore feet and shoulders. Naturally, once he spent less time at home and more time out chasing dope, these habits became more infrequent. Somehow, I still loved him with every fiber of my being. The layer of blissful ignorance and magic had been stripped from my vision, but I was left with the raw, passionate feelings that had taken on an almost obsessive quality. While he was craving his next fix, I was craving him. I’m not sure which was worse.
These fights inevitably became more violent throughout our relationship. I got sick of being the victim and would try to fight back. This proved to be a dangerous tactic as he was much bigger and stronger than I was. He’d hold me down with the weight of his body and grasp my neck tightly to reassert his dominance. He wanted to be sure that I was aware of who was truly in power. I’d always eventually give in, but the more I did, the angrier I became.
Once I’d realized I could do nothing to change his mind or encourage sobriety, I decided to give in and at least try to keep Twice out of trouble. He began to take me with him to the various places he’d been visiting in secret. From Seminary to Sumrall to the depths of Purvis I’d tag along in the hopes that my acceptance of Twice’s “habit” would bring us closer together. I’d thrown caution to the wind and ignored the little voice that pleaded for me to wake the Hell up. As long as I was afforded the love and attention I craved, I could imagine nothing was wrong with the current circumstances. I was rarely allowed to accompany Twice into the homes we visited. He claimed his concern for my safety and wellbeing were adequate reasons for his command that I remain in the vehicle. There were nights that I’d sit for hours in the worn passenger seat of my truck while Twice did whatever it was that he did. At times, I’d grow impatient enough to honk the horn or rev the loud engine to get his attention. The results varied depending on the extent of his affair with the crystal substance that had ensnared him. If he was still riding his high and hadn’t gone too long without sleep, he’d rush to me, apologetic and caring. If his mind had grown foggy with the sleep deprivation, my actions would trigger him and bring a fit of irritation that would soon evolve into rage.
I never knew which side of Twice I would experience. Time would grant me wisdom and knowledge that could assist me with these matters, but at the time, I was still so naïve. My experiences with my mom and her addiction were inconsistent with what I had with Twice. My attempts at learning the triggers and signs seemed futile, but I wasn’t ready to give up. I learned to hold my tongue and resist my temper. Little by little, I became a shell of the person I’d been when I met Twice. I didn’t wear makeup for fear he’d accuse me of cheating. I rarely washed or styled my hair due in part to that same reason and because depression had sunk its dark claws into me. I’d sleep through the long days to pass the time as well as give me the strength to last through the nights with Twice.
I became twitchy and would flinch at the slightest sound. I’d once been so full of fire and determination, but hopeless attempts to fully claim the heart and soul of this man had left me broken. The physical and emotional abuse gradually chipped away at me until I had weakened considerably. My will was no longer my own. I’d unconsciously sacrificed it along with my heart when I chose to remain under the thumb of my true love and abuser.
Naturally, I didn’t see Twice as an abuser. It took me years to come to this startling realization. I thought an abuser must regularly beat a woman, leaving her with black eyes and bloody lips. Though our fights had gotten mutually violent, he’d never actually punched me. He’d only slapped me, choked me, or pinned me down. I only truly feared him when he’d been drinking. While meth made him paranoid and would bring out his meanness after a few days, alcohol would release his evil almost instantaneously. He’d relinquish control to the monster within after a few beers or some liquor.
I can clearly remember, and feel, one particular instance when we lived on the coast with his dad. It was the fourth of July, a little over a week before my mom passed, actually. We were at the Broadwater, a slab where the President Casino had stood before Hurricane Katrina. It was a good spot for fishing and watching fireworks over the water. His father and brother were drinking, so he joined them and the friends they’d invited.
After a few beers, Twice got silly and loving. He murmured sweet words in my ear while he held me close. A couple beers later, he became irritable and paranoid. His eyes searched the small crowd before settling on me. I offered a small smile but faltered when I recognized his expression. His face had darkened and wrinkled with disgust. He approached me, grabbed my wrist in a viselike grip, and pulled me away from the group I’d been talking to. Thoughts raced through my mind as I struggled to keep up with his pace and think of what I’d done to incur his wrath. I stumbled a few times over the darkened, sand-filled pits in the concrete. He stopped suddenly at my truck, opened the passenger side door, and shoved me into the seat. I rubbed my wrist where a mark had already formed. He slammed the door after he slid into the seat next to me.
After heaving a few breaths- for patience, it seemed-he turned his head slowly and focused a glare on me. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach as I recognized the look on his face. I’d glimpsed it before in the worst of our fights, but this time was different. He’d been sweet and loving all day, and this look was darker than I’d previously encountered. There was an evil present that I’d never seen in him. In a low voice, he asked what the fuck I thought I was doing out there. I shook my head, wide eyed and confused as I stuttered. I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t think of what I’d done to anger him. I was having an innocent conversation about a show I’d watched recently with his dad’s girlfriend.
“I saw the way you fucking looked at him. Don’t fucking lie to me, you stupid whore,” he growled. My brows furrowed as my confusion deepened. My stomach was knotted tightly, and my heart pounded in my ears.
He scoffed in disbelief and shook his head. He abruptly opened his door to get out. “Stay the fuck there,” he warned ominously before making his way to the cooler. As he sifted through the melting ice, I made a quick decision. I shut and locked both doors. He had the key, but I could keep the lock pushed down if he tried anything. Tremors shook my body as I wondered how long this might last.
I shrank back into my seat as Twice pulled the door handle and discovered I’d locked him out of the truck. When he pulled the keys from his pocket with an incredulous look on his face, I reached for the lock and held it down with all of my strength. Twice made several attempts to open the door to no avail. His ire had consumed him, and I was truly afraid by this point. When he abandoned his efforts and stalked away, I released the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. My fingers were clammy and sore from my panicked hold on the lock. I watched warily as I tried to anticipate his next move. Mere moments passed before he marched triumphantly toward me with a dangerous gleam in his shadowed eyes. He held in his calloused hands a long metal pipe. His head tilted to the side as if to gauge my reaction, he gestured to the door handle. I had resumed my grip on the lock and shook my head vigorously. Tears tracked hotly down my cheeks, and sharp pangs wound through my chest and settled heavily in my belly. I briefly considered giving in before a sudden metallic bang jolted me. Twice paused before bringing the pipe back like a baseball bat and swung hard against my door. My fear forgotten, I shouted, “What the fuck are you doing to my truck?”
He grinned evilly in response. Somehow, he’d begun to enjoy this sick game he’d created. Only the thought of the damage that pipe could do to me kept me firmly seated in the safety of my abused vehicle. Matthew, the drunken, red-faced father of my attacker, swayed as he stepped near enough that I could hear his slurred words.
“Girl, just get out of the truck and get it over with. He ain’t gonna do nothin’ to hurt you,” he said with a chuckle. He shook his head with an oblivious grin as he wandered off.
I wrinkled my nose in distaste and imagined running my truck over both of them before going over the edge of the concrete slab. My skin prickled and ice filled my veins as fury took the place of my fear. Thankfully, for the sake of my safety, Twice gave up his assault and departed before I made the choice to open my door. I’d decided I would get a mark of my own in, my own safety be damned.
A few hours and drinks later, Twice had seemingly forgotten the whole debacle as he slung his arm across my shoulders and leaned his hulking mass against my much smaller frame. I grunted as I took some of his weight and assisted him to the truck. He sobered just enough to realize I intended for him to ride passenger as I drove us home. He clumsily pushed away from my and snagged the keys. I could only allow him to endanger us and everyone else on the road home. I stood no chance against this being that held my love captive. I could only pray that when the alcohol had dissipated the monster would release its grip on Twice.
Sleep eluded me as I lay pinned beneath Twice on our mattress in the floor of his dad's living room that night. He snored loudly, and his body emanated a sticky heat that nearly suffocated me. I remained frozen in place, hoping that morning would arrive quickly. A sober, well rested Twice would be a welcome relief.
We had many fights and arguments of varying degrees, but these instances in which I truly feared for my life were rare. I can already hear some of your thoughts.
“Well, why didn’t you just leave?”
“You deserved anything you got by sticking around.”
I can only say, quite pathetically, that it’s not that simple. I wish I could say I was under a spell. Perhaps I was, though of my own casting. I loved him. I foolishly believed that each instance was going to be the last. I had strong hopes of the almost perfect man I’d fallen in love with returning. I’d had a taste of a fairytale romance, or so I thought, and I craved more.
Trust me, I’ve kicked myself many times through the years. Do I regret my relationship with Twice? No. Regardless of what I’ve been through, I’ve learned and gained so much in the process. I sometimes wish things had been different, but I’m quick to remind myself that I am who I am because of everything I’ve encountered. My journey has not been the easiest, but I’d do it all again.
This tale will continue in the next post. Thank you all, again, for sticking with me this far.
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