Right takes me home. Left takes me to his. To face him outright, the strong me who feels able to bang his door down, grab his collar and with gritted teeth tell him that he’s not beaten me down.
That I don’t love him and I won’t protect him by keeping quiet anymore.
That I wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire. That he’s a rapist and that is all he will ever be, no matter how much he tries to leave it behind, and I’ll dedicate my soul and will to ensuring that he never does what he did to me to another woman who is stupid enough to fall for him.
Just like me.
I’ve drunk enough. I feel brave; for the first time in months I feel fire in my belly. He should not be allowed to get away with rape, with hitting and burning me while my daughter was present. My beautiful daughter who has had to witness me, her Mother, in such a sorry state.
What lesson is that for her? To fall victim to love? To excuse someone’s downright wrong and abusive behaviour, why?
She should be strong, stronger than me.
He claimed to love my daughter; that makes me feel sick. She’s as much of a victim of his as me.
He’ll get his.
Mark my words, and what’s more, he’s as weak as hell.