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Rated: 18+ · Chapter · Experience · #2111382
A brief chapter of my experience. The aim is to help others who can relate.
Project.

I don’t really know how to write this, but I figured, throughout my life, I’ve alwaaaayyyysss felt better writing stuff and getting it all out my system.

I’m still major struggling with something that happened years ago.

So, I will do this, and hope it helps.

You never know, it could help someone else who may have gone through something similar, and to be honest, it would make me proper happy if I knew I could help someone who could have been just as naive as I was.

I’m not even sure it was that bad, but from what I’ve learnt through the past few years, just because others have been through worse does not dampen anyone else’s experiences or make them any less important.

So, here’s a snapshot of my story. The good times (or what I believed to be good at the time) and the bad ones.

The beginning.

Dates and times are unknown for the most part, since most of the time around that year I was either stoned or drunk. (It’s so much easier to deal with angry alcoholics that way!)

I was asked to go for drinks with some people from work.

Top people.

Genuinely.

Some of thee best people I have ever met.

One drink turned into two (as most of these instances do) and for the first time in a long while I was starting to relax and feel less stressed about what was going on in my life.
I’d been having lots of arguments with my boyfriend and that was making me anxious and stressed.

So, I was all there, having a good time with my friends. Due to the distance between where I worked and where I lived, one of my colleagues offered a space on their sofa so I didn’t have to go so soon. At first I said yes! I was all about that plan, and if it meant I could stay out longer then why not? I hadn’t been out in months, and I was really enjoying myself.
But as the night wore on, I started to feel uneasy about my plan.

This should have been a trigger point in my head, looking back. Cause I knew, without a doubt, this would cause problems.

Despite constant texts to my boyfriend, assuring him I was okay, I hadn’t dared ask if I could stay at my friend’s house. I started to feel panicky and made excuses to leave. I remember saying something like ‘I have plans early in the morning!’ . My friends complained at this, but I just made my apologies and left anyway.

After this, I remember being in the (very expensive!) taxi, feeling happy.

I did love my boyfriend, and I was happy to be returning home to him.

He could be so sweet when he wanted to be. I realise now, that was probably an act. Yet another mind game in the minefield of manipulation.

When I got back, I walked in and smiled at him. He hadn’t locked me out, and in my head that was a plus. (The locking out thing is another story entirely! But maybe we will get to that some day!)

He looked me dead in the eye and said, “Why are you back?”

I just laughed, thinking he was joking.

“Erm, I live here! Haha!” I said, still slightly at ease.

I didn’t totally fear him at this point. He’d been mean before sure; thrown stuff at me during arguments, called me names, and sometimes he’d ignore me for weeks at a time. But he’d never been physically violent before.

He continued glaring at me, drinking and popping pills (Zopiclones and some antianxiety meds that he was prescribed).

I sat next to him and asked what he’d been doing, not really daring to tell him about my night yet or anything to do with me really. The atmosphere was still incredibly cold and uncomfortable, and I was worried I’d set a bad mood off.

“I was with my cousins,” he’d spat.

Now, for some context, Craig was a very weird individual. He liked to say things that were against the norm, to scare people who cared for him. He liked to make them think he was warped. He’d also said numerous times how beautiful his cousins were. (From anyone else, that wouldn’t be a weird thing to say, but Craig was a weird guy.)

He also made it very very clear that if given the chance, he would very much like to be ‘involved’ with them.

Looking back, this should have made me bolt for the fucking door. But by that point, I was already under this wave of manipulation. I didn’t really ever question him or his logic.

I remembered feeling this awed sense of idolism towards him. I always thought it was due to the age gap, me being 22 at the time, and him being 35. Age makes you wiser right?

So, I took everything he said in, and believed it as gospel. Who am I to question this guy? I’ve barely even lived. This guy has seen everything. (And what a joke that was.)

I actually looked up to the guy. It’s quite sad really, remembering that. Most people look up to celebrities, famous influences or even family members. I, however, was holding the brightest fucking candle going for an alcoholic, drug addict who lived off his parents and the benefit system. To be totally honest though, I was mentally only really 17, so that made my naivety higher.

I asked him if he’d had fun and he didn’t answer me for a long time.

“I didn’t get to cum.” He said after a while.

“Excuse me?” I’d said, thinking I’d heard him wrong.

“I DIDN’T GET TO CUM.” He shouted in my face.

“Craig, what are you talking about?”

“I had her bouncing up and down on my lap and then you came back so I had to kick her out.”

“Are you being serious?!” I shrieked, and at this I began to sob.

Drinking playing a big part in the emotional outburst. Not that the news wouldn’t have been shocking or deeply upsetting usually but, due to the alcohol, I found it hard to really wrap my head around what he was saying.

“I had to Danni. I mean look at you. Can you even fucking see your toes?! “He sneered.

Now, I’ve always been a bit of a chubby girl, and for a while I was totally cool with this. But a month or two into our relationship he’d told me I needed to lose weight. At the time, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal. He’d said it in a way that seemed caring and at the time I’d felt bad for him.

But, I’d lost 3 stone by this point! Dropping from a size 24 to a size 16. I’d been so proud of myself. Craig had said he was too, so I was in a fit of disbelief that he brought this up, especially considering I’d been doing so well.

“Why are you saying this, Craig?” I asked quietly.

“I am embarrassed of you. Get out of my house.”

“Look, it’s really late, and I don’t really have anywhere to go. I’ll go in the morning, and stay in the bedroom.”

To be honest, this wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Me and Craig hardly ever shared a bed.

He’d stay in one corner of the house all the time, (on the sofa next to the coffee table) and if he needed to sleep, he just laid down where he was. I’d sleep on a single mattress in one of the smaller bedrooms, usually alone.

“Do you ever fucking listen? I want you gone!” He shouted.

He came over then (hardly stumbling I might add!) and grabs my hair.

“I bet you fucking love this anyway, you whore. Get out of my house.”

He proceeds to drag me towards the stairs.

“Get off me!” I shout, stopping him myself just before we got to the top of the stairs, and ultimately before it went too far. I pushed him away from me and he ended up falling over and going absolutely crazy.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU CAN ONLY DO THAT BECAUSE YOU’RE FUCKING HUGE! THAT’S THE ONLY REASON YOU CAN OVERPOWER ME!”

He stood up, ran over to his coffee table, popped 3 or 4 more pills and then (to this day I had no idea why or how they were there) went to a drawer and pulled out 3 scalpels.

“Look at what you’re making me do, Danni!” He said, as he was slicing open his arms and face.

My heart broke for him then. Despite what had just happened, not even 5 minutes ago, I was worried. Maybe I had just stressed him out and he’d snapped.

“Look Craig, I’m really sorry, I didn’t realise I’d upset you, I-…”

I started to move closer to him, my arms outstretched to hug him, and reassure him that everything was okay.

“NO!” He shouted coldly, and then started towards me with the scalpels.

Details from that point are sketchy. Considering the heightened emotions and high volumes of alcohol were involved.

All I can fully remember is throwing the scalpels out the window, and him falling asleep not long after in a drunken stupor.

Needless to say, I didn’t really sleep that night.

The next day he awoke, seemingly riddled with guilt.

He swore to me nothing like that would ever happen again (lie no1), that he loved me (lie no2) and that he was just upset over other issues in his life, and that he missed me when I was gone (lie no3).

He also admitted that he’d lied about the cousins. (This I could see was a possible truth. I can’t imagine, even if interest was expressed on Craig’s side that they would partake in any activity of the kind with him.)

I looked into his bright green eyes that were filled with emotion and told him I loved him too, that I believed him and that I’d help him, through absolutely anything.

“We’re solid babe.” He’d said smiling.

“I love you.” I said back.

If he needed me, I would be there for him, and it seemed like now more than ever he needed my help.

I’d go through hell for this man, and little did I know at the time, I would indeed have a snippet of that come my way.

This was the start of a very evil relationship, and it would shape my life for the next few years.



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