Editors note: October is Domestic violence month and in recognition of that, Beverly Brown an aspiring writer who lives in Presque Isle, has written a fictional story about the topic. Brown is a wife and mother of one and is in the process of publishing her first book. She has taken writing classes online through the Institute of Children’s Literature, instructed by author Kevin McColley. She just recently finished a course through the Long Ridge Writers Group, where author Kris Franklin was her one-on-one instructor. She hopes she can affect readers’ lives through her writing.
Special to the Star-Herald
Jason slams the front door as he comes home from work. “Courtney!” He hollered from the living room.
I could tell by his holler that he didn’t have a good day at work. I was in the kitchen cooking supper, waiting anxiously for him to get home, to tell him my good news. We were going to have a baby! We have been married for a couple of years, but he picked up drinking eight months ago. He’s sworn to me over and over that he would quit, and each time I believed him.
I walked out to where he was. He sat on the couch wearing his beat up jacket that I had bought him for our first anniversary. He had his feet up on the coffee table with an angry look on his face.
“I told you the other day when I had you take the car to the garage, to tell Danny that the brakes need to be fixed. I just about lost the brakes coming home. Why can’t you ever do anything right, Courtney? Your not good for nothing!”
His breath reeked of alcohol. He always yelled and put me down when he was drinking. Depending on his day, he would even beat me, but I always felt like I deserved it.
“I’m sorry, Jason. I’ve just been so busy and it slipped my mind.”
I tried not to stutter as the words rolled from my mouth. I was scared.
He stood up abruptly from where he sat, and kicked the coffee table over. He pushed me into the wall out of the way as he headed for the door. He slammed the door even harder then when he had come home. I knew it would just be a matter of time before he came back in and apologized for his erratic behavior.
I went back into the kitchen as tears poured down my face. I was no longer excited about the news I wanted to share with him. I decided once and for all I was leaving him. I grabbed my suitcase from the closet and looked down at the ring that was on my finger. I reminisced about our wedding day and how happy we once were. I would give anything to have that back. He always had a temper and was always so mad when he drank. I took the ring off and laid it on the dresser. I began to pack the stuff that meant the most to me, and I would come back to get the rest another time.
As I was just about finished packing, I heard him walk in the door. I sat the suitcase back in the closet so he wouldn’t catch on to what I was doing.
As he entered our bedroom, I could feel the lump in my throat getting bigger. He noticed the ring lying on the dresser. He began to question me why it wasn’t on my finger. I sat there quietly and didn’t say a word. His voice got louder as he demanded for an answer. He pulled me off the bed and threw me against the wall. He got up in my face and put his hands around my neck.
“Please Jason, don’t do this!” I panicked. “You don’t want to do this! It doesn’t have to be this way! You need to get help Jason! Please, I’ll go with you. I’ll do anything, just please, don’t hurt me anymore!” I pleaded.
Jason went on ignoring what I had to say as though it were meaningless to listen too. He slapped me across the face and told me to shut up. I felt his anger in every slap. My body was numb. He picked up the picture of us on our wedding day that sat on our dresser. He threw it across the room as glass shattered everywhere. I began to cry harder and with every breath, I prayed it wasn’t my last. My heart was racing, as I was scared for my baby. He was out of control. I kept trying to look for ways to escape the room, but he blocked the doorway. He continued to beat me as I grew weaker and weaker and couldn’t fight back. I had blood pouring out of my mouth and bruises all over my body. I was scared for my life. I was scared for my baby’s life. I was scared of him.
He left the room, as I fell to my knees crying. I managed to reach for the phone to call for an ambulance. I told them that I was beaten badly. My body was shaking and my heart was skipping beats. I wanted him to pay for what he had done to me.
When the ambulance arrived, they quickly loaded me into the vehicle. The police arrived shortly after. Jason was nowhere to be found. They rushed me to the hospital, only for me to find out that I had lost my baby.
With each tear that rolled down my face, I felt hopeless and guilty. I felt like my life was over. I lost so much by staying with him. I lost who I was and I lost my baby. I held onto my stomach and closed my eyes, and I prayed.
Message from the author: Domestic Violence can be stopped. If you, or someone you know, is in danger, please seek help immediately. No one should end up in this situation, and lose everything that matters most. No one should be a victim! Call at the first sight of suspicion, because you could save a life. The 24-hour hotline number for the Battered Womens Project is 769-8251 or toll-free at 1-800-439-2323.
