It had happened one too many times. I couldn't find it in my heart to forgive him this time. Although I had forgiven the first, second, third, and even fourth time he had done this to me, I had had enough. I could no longer take the yelling and screaming, or the fear that I would end up seriously hurt. I went with my mother, a true hippie, to buy my ticket to South America that would leave three days later. She decided she would come with me too- we were best friends and enjoyed traveling together. After that, we went to the bar to try and release some of my stress. My mother declared herself the designated driver. I was impressed; it was extremely rare for my mother to go to the bar and not have one drink. After a few drinks, I decided to go to the restroom before we left. I came out to find my mother taking shots with a young man- making an absolute fool of herself. I dragged her away and out to the car. "You promised me you would be the designated driver!" I whined.
"I know," she laughed, "I am the designated driver."
"But you're drunk!"
"Exactly," she said with a grin, "I'm the designated drunk driver. Now get in."
I laughed and reluctantly got in the car. I knew he would be upset if I got home too late.
She dropped me off a block away from the house, knowing he would be angry if he was aware I had been spending time with her. He hated my mother. He was a redneck and she was a hippie, that was just the way it was. I hadn't cared about that when I fell in love with him, but now it was as if I hated everything about him.
He hadn't always been like this. He used to be kind to me- he was sweet and caring.
But one night on his way home from the bar, he had a head on collision with a 17 year old girl. He walked away without a scratch, but he had damaged his brain. This was something we did not find out until later. The part that was damaged was the part that controlled his emotions, and now it was like they were all blurred into one. The result of this was anger. He was always angry. Not only had he become a terrible angry person, but he had also grown extremely jealous and protective. He had to know exactly where I was every minute of every day, or he'd lose it. I had put up with it for what felt like centuries, mainly out of fear. But I was done now. I was leaving him.
I entered the dark house to find him sitting in a chair facing the door, waiting. He turned on the light next to the chair and gave me an evil glare. "Where have you been?" he asked.
"I was working late." I said shakily as I approached him and gave him a kiss. "Sorry honey."
Without another word I went straight upstairs, got in bed, and hid under the covers- hoping he would believe my story and leave me alone.
The next morning I woke up early to go and get my passport, eager to leave the following day. He was snoring loudly next to me as drool poured out of his mouth. I tiptoed out the door to meet my mother down the street.
Later that night, I came home to find him sitting in his chair, in the darkness once again. He turned on the light next to the chair once I shut the door. There was a glass of beer in one of his hands, a rifle in the other. "Where have you been?" he asked.
I panicked trying to think of an excuse. "I had to work late." I said, crossing my fingers.
"Is that so?" he asked, a smile beginning to spread on his face.
I began to shake, looking only at the gun in his hand. He noticed, and put the gun down. Then he stood up and walked towards me, his smile widening with every step. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the receipt for my ticket I had bought the day before. Tears began to run down my face as his face turned bright red- like it always did before he
snapped. Then I realized how cowardly I was being. I had turned into this person, who was always so afraid and insecure. That was not who I was, and I realized I was going to leave this person I had turned into just like I was leaving him.
I began to laugh. It was a real, full laugh. "That's right!" I yelled, teasingly. "I'm leaving you! There's nothing you can do to stop me!" I marched right passed him and went to the closet under the stairs where my bag was hidden.
He stood there for a moment, not knowing how to react. Then he slowly turned to face me. His face was flaming red like I had never seen before. He charged at me full speed. I ducked out of the way and ran into the yard screaming as loudly as I could. He chased me around the lawn and back into the house. Tripping on the rug, I fell to the floor and hit my head on the table. I turned to see him raising the chair above my head, ready to strike. I held my breath, bracing myself. Suddenly the front door flew open.
Two young men from down the street stood in the doorway. "Put down the chair!" One of them shouted.
My husband turned to them and charged. But he was no match for them. They were both giants, about seven feet tall. They didn't fight back, they just pushed him to the floor. He lay there in shock. One of the men looked at me and told me to go with them. I followed his orders, even though I was terrified. I rolled my suitcase past my husband and out the door. He stared up at me, still in shock. I laughed again, "Karma's a bitch, aint it?"
The two men took me to my mothers house. I sat in her living room for a half hour, waiting for her to come home. Beginning to grow bored, I walked around and looked at the hundreds of pictures she had framed on her walls. That's when I noticed a small amount of smoke coming out from the crack underneath her bedroom door. I rolled my eyes and opened it. After the cloud of smoke cleared, I found her lying on her bed. "You ruined my hot box!" she yelled.
I laughed. "I'm sorry mother," I said, "I feel so terrible."
We left early the next morning. The air was cold and crisp, and I could smell the rain from the night before. However there was not a cloud in the sky- it was a perfect azure blue. This was an ideal day for a starting over.
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