Make your own free website on Tripod.com
Siren song
The closet
Home
Drowning
The closet
A reason for living
A new life
Questions
Bishops' page
Writing on the wall
the unknown
Mailbag
Contact Me
Resource page
national center for missing and exploited children
sign my guestbook!

Bootprints

John worked for his uncle pouring concrete, he was paid quite well, yet always seemed to run through every penny in a matter of days. He would often into the bathroom for twenty or thirty minutes at a time and emerge acting really strange, his fingers would twitch, and he couldnt speak. Having been homeless I'd spent considerable time around cocaine addicts, I knew he was smoking crack, yet every time i came close to asking him he vehemently denied it. John does'nt look like a crack addict, he's absolutely gorgeous, and very particular about his appearance. Seeing him for the first time, most would have no clue as to the depths of his alchohol and drug use, but living with him is an entirely different animal all together.
   We managed to procure a small apartment in the worst part of town. One room, one door, eighty dollars a week. There was a very small space between the bed and the door, if he was standing in that space, the exit was quite literally blocked. I often found myself on the wrong side of him and the door.
   It always started on sunday morning around three or four a.m. His money would run out, the party would end. He'd  put twenty dollars in my pocket on friday afternoon with promises not to ask for it later, but sunday morning would come, and he always wanted it. If I thought we should save it for something crazy like food, a fight would ensue. The pattern became very predictable. first he'd beg, then came lame excuses as to what he needed it for, then the fact that it was his money in the first place, then threats to destroy the apartment, actually jumping up and down like a toddler throwing a tantrum, screaming, then silence and what I came to call 'the look'. He'd clench his top teeth over his bottom lip, eyes wild with anger, and I knew what was next, though I could never be sure what form it would take. Sometimes he'd grasp my throat with one hand, and slam me into the closet, choking me until I almost passed out, this was a most effective means of finally getting what he wanted.
   I can't recall what the fight was about, but I left for a few hours, when I came back I was locked out of the front gate, he had the one and only key. I finally got back in around four in the morning, and he was mad, but there was no "look" no jumping up and down, he was almost too calm. I was sitting on the bed, and he began accusing me of cheating on him, I stood up to leave again, but he was blocking the door, wanting to avoid physical confrontation, I decided to sit back down and reason with him. He told me in a calm and most matter of fact way that he was going to wrap me up in the blanket, and set me on fire, then he cut the light out, it was pitch black, I hung my head and waited to meet my fate. He jumped on me, pinning me to the bed, though I could'nt see I could feel him trying to pull the blanket over me. Something in me fought, I remember screaming, and wrestling wildly with him, when suddenly it was over. He turned the light on, looked at me and asked me what was wrong with me, why was I screaming and acting crazy. I retorted that he'd just tried to kill me, he said he was just trying to calm me down when he jumped on me, strange since I was sitting quietly only moments before. We were only two months into our relationship. The next incident would leave boot prints on me for two weeks, The night after that would change my life forever.
 To be continued...
  
  

Enter supporting content here