I felt the bile rise in my throat when I heard him stumble through the back door, it slammed with such force that the picture fell from the wall. I smelt the alcohol on his breath as he crouched down before me as I sat in the chair, trying to hold my composure together.
“What the fuck you looking at?” he spat
I refused to make eye contact, those eyes staring back at me were dark and glazed and I knew that meant trouble. I tried to stand, uttering something about making him a coffee. He pushed me back into the chair. The dog we had knew this routine and this was all too much for him, he was a bullmastiff, not a small dog, yet still a puppy. He ran and tugged at the back of his shirt. Was he playing or was he saying get of my mummy, I don’t know.
The yelps, the screeching and the thud as his boot repeatedly pounded into the dog he had pinned against the wall were sickening.
I grabbed at him, half swinging off his back. I delved my fingers into his eyes and gauged at his face with my nails, he was going to kill our family pet right there and then.
He stopped and turned his attention to me, I could not run, I was frozen to the spot in fear.
As our children lay in bed sleeping our kitchen became a boxing ring, with two contenders fighting for the title, his was for control, I was fighting for my life, again.
He grabbed the tea towel from the kitchen side and swirled it to make a long rope shape and I knew what he was going to do before he did it. He grabbed me by the hair and wrapped that tea towel around my throat and pulled it tight. The blood drained from my face as did the fight, I wanted to fight no more. Maybe it was easier to let him win and then I would finally be free.
Drifting off into an unconscious state my mind awakened and my children’s faces flashed before my eyes, I had to fight. It’s surreal how much strength we have as a mother when we are fighting for our children, I managed to break free and in the struggle he fell. He lay legs spread wide upon his back, he was drunk and struggled to get to his feet.
I knew the moment he was standing I had worse to come.
I saw it and grabbed it, I had no premonition, I didn’t want to hurt him, I just wanted him to stop hurting me. I found myself clutching the large heavy glass ashtray and it was above my head ready to smash down upon his head.
In that instance I panicked, I could have killed him right there and then.
I ran
Banging on the door I awoke a neighbour and after he tried to break her door down and threaten her teenage sons she demanded I phoned the police or she would. All the time my three young children slept in their beds. I prevented involving the police as much as I could and from past experiences they were never any help.
But the police were called that night and despite explaining what my husband had done, not only to be but to my neighbours door and threats made to her children, the simple words of …
“Hes going to go to bed and sleep it off, things will be better in the morning; we don’t get involved with domestics”
Of course the minute the door was closed and the officers were out of site, the punishment for phoning them would be dealt.
I didn’t have much to thank or respect the police for. I had no faith or trust in them any more and this is something that I still feel some 6 years later. The people who could have helped me let me down so many times. Had they have handcuffed my abuser and taken him away those nights, maybe I would have become stronger in knowledge that what he was doing to me was wrong. But even the police told me it was normal in so many words, just a domestic, lets keep it behind closed doors.
