[continuation of part II]

“God, you get under my skin. No one has ever made me this crazy but you. It’s over, Kit. Shut up, stop crying. You made this happened… Stop calling, Kit. Leave me the **** alone….Fine, I’ll give you another chance. But you do something stupid again, it’s over. For real this time.”

Joseph would always forgive me after hanging up on me several times, leaving me in tears and on the brink of insanity. Than suddenly, he wanted to marry me. On Thanksgiving, he chose to propose to me and in front of his entire family. They grinned with anticipation, waiting for him to pop the question. They didn’t know we had a fight the night before, berating me for my “psychotic” behavior. Because I hugged and touched another man’s hair. At that moment, I sat there, frozen. I didn’t know what to say. The response that flashed in my mind was no but I was unable to utter the word. His family was there, how could I say no in front of them? I was too frightened to tell anyone the truth, that he would treat me so poorly that I wouldn’t eat or sleep. It was impossible. After a few seconds, I answered yes. I held him close so no one can see the sadness in my eyes.

It soon evolved to physical. All I wanted was to spend time with him. He just wanted to play his game, using my computer. We both had been busy with work that we didn’t spend a lot of time together (even though at that point, we were living together). Mustering up any courage I had left, I closed the computer. Tear rolled down my face as I knew what was coming. I only asked him to spend time with me. It wasn’t Joseph anymore. He pulled my wrist and shoved me onto the bed. He growled, the glow of the television dancing upon him; his eyes looked black as he glared at me. He made sure he didn’t leave a mark. I hoped to seek some sort of help from his mother, who later told her husband about the incident. He called him after I got home, I stood behind him when his cell phone rang. Instead of explaining that putting his hands on a woman is wrong, he told him about not to let the incident be spread around and not to get caught. He’s a police officer. Apparently, all of the men from his father’s side of his family knew that how to “reprimand” their women. Joseph’s grandmother mentioned to me once that her husband would hit and that to tell her if he tries anything. I should’ve taken that as a sign but chose to ignore it. There were two generations of abusers, he was the third.

There’s more to my story, I assure you. However, it’s not a happy ending. On the night we ended our engagement, I faced a situation I never imagined I would have.

Our last night together was a night I’ll never forget. He grabbed my right breast before he flipped me to my back. As I struggled underneath him, I cried, “It won’t be the same! Please! Don’t do this, it won’t be same!” It had fallen onto deaf ears. I thought if that day ever came, I’d know what to do. I’d never allow it to happen. He awoke by my crying, hours after he broke our engagement. All because I questioned his pride, because I told him that he didn’t love me but he kept me around because he wasn’t man enough to tell me the truth. With an indifferent expression, he said, “Fine. It’s over.” I grew pale, half expecting him to just tell me he loved me and he wanted to be with me.

He forced himself between my legs, attempting to pull my black polka dotted pants. He was soulless, eyes black as he stared at my frightened face. He didn’t care. It was the monster I refused to see. It was only when I dug my nails into his shoulders that “Joseph” let me go. He stormed away, furious. My mind and soul so dependent on him that I followed, begging him to not be mad.

“I’ll give you what you want. I’m sorry for digging my nails into your skin, I’m sorry! I’ll give you what you want! Please! If that’s what will make you happy, I’ll give it to you,” I held on to his arm, pulled him to turn around and made him look at me. He didn’t mean it. He’s just mad at me. We’ll get back together once I have sex with him. We’ll get back together, we always do. Joseph ignored me still, laid back into the bed and turned on the TV. I only had one choice. He’ll love me again if I do this for him. I got onto the bed and on my knees; I proceeded to pull down his pajama pants, and begin what he wanted in the first place. For the first time I felt like a whore. No, I was less than that. They’re appreciated, they’re paid to pleasure men be it illegally or not. I was told the next morning, “When are you taking out your stuff?”

[To be continued...]