Monday, 28 December 2009

May 2006 The forced hand

The Captain goes to the pub after work to watch the football, since the return of my two eldest children, (their abduction of six years is another story) he has been bitter and resentful he cannot forgive me for ruining our little dream by wanting the return of my two eldest children, then aged 7 and 9. I had refused to even negotiate them not returning. I would have crawled to Birmingham New Street from Sussex to get them.

It's a relief to me, with him out of the house, the three kids start to play again, we can get through the evening routine, of baths and stories without any frayed nerves or looking over your shoulder. At 8.30 all three will be settled into bed I can lose my self in my Internet shops, ordering beads from all over the world and evaluating my antiquarian books... talking to other book dealers on a variety of forums, work is my escape. Even when out of work as a telesales rep , I work...

I glance at the clock on my taskbar, it is 11.11 - he is due back, I reluctantly walk away from my cyber cocoon, to my other comfort a very large glass of red wine. I lick my lips as I watch my consolation pour into the tumbler, a stiffener to brace myself for his return.

I sit on the sofa, that has a clear view of the front door, I will need to be vigilant, and on guard, I know what the possible options are, he will come home pissed and irritable looking for a fight or he will come home pissed and fall asleep on the sofa. I have an ongoing problem with violent people I will not comply or collude. Thousands of women all over the UK, at this time are in an identical scenario, i don't feel connected with them at all.

I hear the key in the door
He closes it loudly
He is swearing under his breath, his team has lost, this is not looking good, a javelin of angst pierces my diaphragm. I breathe in deeply and breath out slowly.

He swerves in the hallway and his shoulder bumps the wall.
Almost as if surprised to see me in the room, he laughs out loud like I am a joke. He is sitting in the chair rambling about my inadequacies, tedious warped nonsense, intended to increase his narcissistic nature and to in effect undermine my self worth. I am trying very hard not to get mouthy or sarcastic, as I cannot risk the children hearing raised voices.

I ask him politely if we can discuss these issues in the morning when he is less tired as I need to sleep and he is clearly tired. Conflict resolution is the term people with nice lives call it. I feel very wound up, he has been insulting me for several minutes, I am not good at being a doormat.

I stand up to leave, "Goodnight"
He spits the word "Cunt"
As I walk away I say quietly
"Like you could get any"

Foolish to taunt drunk hurting people... and head up the stairs with fleet light steps. I can hear him pacing down stairs, enraged.

Foot steps his,
BEd room door opens
I am sitting on the edge of the mattress faing the door
still dressed
"Take that back"
"You're half a man"

The Captain flies across the room and for a split second as his body lands on my mind I think he is going to try and rape me, but he is far too drunk, he grabs me by the throat and pins me down, I realise, as i cannot inhale that he could accidentally kill me in his rage,... a reprieve... he releaves the pressure for a split second and with the velocity of one gasp of air I clench my left fist and punch him in an upward sweep on the bridge of his nose. Their is a loud cracking sound.

He groans and rolls off me, holding his face, he insults me and staggers down stairs. I sit up to my original position, I'm sweating profusly, my knuckle hurts. Tears pour down my face, silent, listening for any motion from the children's rooms. I feel utterly abandoned and wish some one would walk into the room and simply pu their arm around me and rest their head against mine. Tell me what to do. I know I should go to the Women's refuge but do not want to leave my house that I own and the village Police Station shuts at 10am. My mobile is down stairs, i cannot face another attack or more drama. Weary to the core, the blackness is devoid of answers, for now. Just the Darkest of nights.

In the morning before the kids awake, smoking roll-ups in my lush and green garden is a refuge, The Captain leaves early for work, with luck he well make tracks without seeking me out.
He comes through the patio doors and looks sits beisde me on the bench, he light a cigarette, inhaling very deeply, his bloodshot deep green eyes are filled with tears, he is contrite, and all the love I had ever felt for him in our five good years is now a vacuem.
"I'm sorry Tillie, I was pissed, I was bang out of order, I am stressed out right now."
"I think you broke my nose Tillie"
Trying to be sweet and funny Tipping his head to one side he says
"Did you ever consider taking up ladies boxing you've some left hook on you" He fleetingly grins- seeking my forgiveness.

Like violence is transistory, acceptable, easily quipped away.

"I don't believe in hitting women Babe" I whisper.
Standing to leave, ho looks at me puzzled, The Captain says
"There's just no winning with women like you."

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