Standing in front of you I knew, I knew that if I said the wrong word, made the wrong sound I was in trouble. My arms instinctively provided some small protection from the baby; I was 5 weeks away from giving birth.
The monster stood staring back, with such hatred in his eyes, growing at me. I was the prey.
“Fuck off out my sight and take the fucking brats with you” he had screamed, spitting at me as he spoke.
I was sent to bed because I was naughty, I had not cooked what he had wanted for tea and I could not stop the children from making a noise.
The white lather of froth had formed in the corner of his mouth, his eyes widened and I knew to act quickly.
I gather up our 3 year old and 9 month old baby and made for the stairs. Placing the baby in her cot, I switched on the baby monitor and took the 3 year old to her bedroom. She had bunk beds, I lay on the bottom bunk with her.
Placing her nearest the wall faced the door. Watching and waiting. I could not sleep. It was barely past tea time, yet knew better than to argue.
I would stay here, motionless and silent until I was given the next command.
Sometimes I would be allowed to get back up, to eat, to shower, to use the toilet. Other times I would stay there till the following morning when I knew he would be starting work and the coast was clear.
I waited but no footsteps were heard.
I tried to hold it in but I needed to urinate. Too afraid to disobey him I took the little yellow plastic tea pot that my daughter had on her play kitchen and urinated in that. I then lifted it up out of the way and hid it.
Crawling back into bed my body became heavy as I sobbed, I must have drifted into sleep.
I awoke with pain. My stomach was hard and hurting.
My first thought was early labour.
I was scared. I needed the toilet; perhaps if I could sneak to the toilet he would not hear me.
I reached the top of stairs but he was stood watching me.
“Where the fuck you going?” he questioned
Three or maybe four hours had passed since I was sent to bed.
I dared to walk towards him, crying and holding my stomach, pleading with him to let me get a drink at least. I felt sick and dizzy.
I stood in the living room shaking and pleading with him. He laughed at me.
Turing the tap to make a glass of water I felt my hands tremble.
I returned to find him stood waiting for me
I waiting for his hands or fists to strike me but instead his anger was released in the form of words.
His words stung and hurt but at least my baby was unhurt.
I desperately crossed my legs while I stood wishing he would hurry up and dismiss me.
I could hold it no longer and the urine trickled down my leg. I stood in my own puddle.
He looked at me with disgust and told me to “fuck off “.
That night he came to get me from the bunk bed and told me I could sleep in our bed, he took pity on me and I was allowed back into our room.
He had rough sex with me that night, I did not consent, nor did I dare refuse.
I gave birth to our son the following day.
