Enough

         I felt his eyes burning holes into me as I posed for the photo. His eyes were tinged green. Jealously. To me the photo meant nothing, simply a way to remember a time from the past. To him it meant more. The man standing at my side was tall, muscular. Out of the corner of my eye I was aware of his sleek black hair pulled back with gel and combed neatly. A huge pendant hung on a thick gold chain around his neck. A few chest hairs were visible on account of his v-neck top.
         The man across from me, smouldering with intense jealously, was my long time lover and agent, Johnny. I'd met Johnny while I was waitressing in my local town bar. He'd waltzed in apparently without a care in the world, sat down at a table by himself and appeared to be surveying the world around him.
         I remember thinking he didn't look like he should be in this small town bar. His aura exuded an air of importance. Self importance. He clearly thought he was too good to be there. But he was sitting in my section and I waited on him just like I would anyone else. Although I'd taken an instant dislike to him he was good to me, nice.
         He offered me work, said I could make it big if I was with him. For a while I laughed off his offers, I didn't believe him. After all I was a country girl, what could the big city possibly want with me?
         But he was right, I made it. I found myself standing with the most famous person in the world, getting my photograph taken for the daily. I was fascinated by him, curious, but nothing else. So I had no idea why Johnny was so insanely jealous. But I knew it would have consequences. It always did.
         Later that night those consequences came back to bite me in the *ss.
         I refused to cry out even as the pain of the back of his hand threw my head back with tremendous force. My cheek already felt bruised, tender. Yet he didn't stop. He beat me relentlessly, the sound of his fist colliding with my face all that could be heard throughout the house. The sound was sickening, I thought that my cheek would shatter. I was on the floor, lying on my back, helpless to protect myself as he leaned over me, pummeling like he was in the gym. I didn't think he was ever going to stop.
         Then finally, it was over. I felt his weight move from my battered body. But he still lingered over me. His head in front of the light, silhouetting his twisted face so I could not see him.
         "You, are a whore," he spat at me. His voice vile and angry, his words stiff as they escaped his dry, cracked lips. I cowered before him, my body shaking. I felt breathless, abused. I could only look up at him, my mouth was too dry to speak. My cheek was swelling. I'd have a black eye.
         Whirling on his feet he marched away, his anger still prevalent.
         Without warning the flood gates opened and I found myself sobbing, broken hearted. I was an emotional wreck, unable to comprehend why the man I loved could be so brutal and violent towards me. My tears fell to the tiled floor below me, pooling in my hair, soaking the curls. I knew my mascara would be running. I knew I would be a state. But I didn't care/ I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until my eyes were so dry that there were no tears left.
         After what seemed like hours, I picked myself up off the floor. Scrabbling to my feet with difficulty I slowly moved upstairs, up the winding marble staircase to my en-suite bathroom. I began to run a bath in the huge tub which was the central feature of the room.
         As the hot water ran into the porcelain tub I stared at the dishevelled mess that was my face in the mirror. My cheek was red and puffy, a yellow bruise forming already. It grew darker by the minute. My eye was black, the eyelid swollen so much I could barely see through the small slit. My mouth was bloody, a cut at the side of my mouth still seeping blood.
         As the mirror began to fog over I shed my clothes, allowing them to fall from my body without a care. I left them in the pile they fell, not something I would normally do. I made sure the door was locked before I allowed myself to step into the hot, steaming water. I felt my skin burn, my feet groan in protest, but I didn't care. It felt good. I sunk lower and lower until my whole body was immersed, the water caressing my bruised, tender body. Closing my eyes I lay back, feeling the cold porcelein under my neck, my hair falling around me, some in the water, some outside of the tub.

         I must have fell asleep. When I woke the water was tepid and I noticed I had goosebumps. I jumped out of the bath wrapping a luxurious towel around my curves and moved to my bedroom where I found a nightgown already laid out on my bed. Johnny was back. He was nowhere to be seen. I picked up the gown, noticing that it still had it's tags. He'd bought me a present. An I'm-sorry-gift.
         I dropped it into the wastepaper bin. I didn't want his guilt gifts. If I put that gown on he would asume all was forgiven. But not this time. I felt tired, exhausted. Emotionally drained. I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't want to tolerate any more of his abuse, his lies and deceit, his violence.
         I'm worth more than that,I thought to myself.
         That night I went to bed, making sure I locked both doors to my room so he couldn't get in. I think I must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing I knew I was being rudely awoken with Johnny braying on my room door.
         "Katrina, let me in!" his voice bellowed. I could tell he was drunk. I didn't reply. His hands kept breaking against the flimsy wooden door, I saw it shake in the frame.
         "Katrina, open the door now!" he was trying to command. I pulled back the covers and moved towards the door, even though I had no intention of opening it.
         "Go to bed Johnny, you're drunk." I cautiously spoke.
         "I'm not drunk you fat whore!" his voice was full of anger. His feet joined the tirade against the door.
         "You let me in or I'll break this door down."
         I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house down. The old nursery story came to mind.
         The pounding stopped momentarily. I could hear his heavy, ragged breathing on the other side of the door. He cursed under his breath.
         With a howl of rage he rushed on the door. I jumped back, startled as the door rocked on it's hinges, the thump reverberating. I felt lucky the door hadn't fell on me. I moved a few steps backwards as I heard him move to crash…
         Blow…
         …against the door again. This time the door did give in. It crashed forward, the edge of the wood slamming the end of my toes. I jumped back with fright. When I looked up Johnny still stood in the doorway. He was huge, menacing. His fury rattling through him, sparking in the air.
         I watched as he moved forward purposefully. He stalked me as I moved back, moving slow but deliberately. I felt a sense of panic overwhelm me as my back hit the wall. He could see it.
         I felt helpless, powerless. This was it. This was where my life would end. He lunged forward, outstretched arms reaching for my throat. Instinct kicking in I rolled to the left, hearing him thump noisily into the wall behind me. I was on the bed but knew it wouldn't be long until he was after me again. I kept on moving until I slid off the other side of the bed.
         For a second I stood still, my chest heaving ragged breaths. I stared at him as he turned to me. Blood gushged from a huge gash in his forehead. He was a monster, his eyes wide with rage, blood coating his clothes, dripping to the plush carpet at his feet. He grinned at me.
         He's crazy,I thought.
         He began to prowl across the bed, his knees rucking up the bed covers, dragging the soft satin with him as he laid his plans. His eyes were still glowing with malice.
         I knew in that instant it was him or me. There was no man left in him. He was an animal. Feral. Intent on one thing. To kill.
         I sensed something changed, knew that he was going to move, to take his kill. He slid back a few inches on his haunches, all the while his eyes locked on mine. A deep growl escaped his hideous lips as he lunged forward, propelling his body at me.
         With a decisive action I dived away from him, to my left. I kept my eyes on him and watched as he sailed right past me, his huge frame crashing through the window with a huge smash. Shards of glass fell inwards onto the carpet, I saw in glittering in the moonlight.
         For a few seconds I remained where I was, out of breath and shaking. I was still terrified.
         Johnny crashed through the window trying to kill me.
         After a couple of minutes I crawled over to the window, ignoring the sharp blades of glass as they lacerated the skin on my hands and wrists. There he was, lying on the paving outside of the home we shared, his head a mushy mess of blood and goo.
         Vomit rose in my stomach and I heaved, throwing up. It burned the back of my throat, my eyes watering.
         In the distance I could hear the sound of a siren wailing against the dead of the night. With a sigh I pushed myself up and forced my weak legs to make the journey downstairs to let the officers in.
         A small feeling of relief overwhelmed me as I realised it was over. Done. Finished. I was safe.