'The Secret Story'

 

I never heard his truck pull up...never heard his door shut. But what I did hear was the front door opening with a bang that made me jump. He was standing there at the end of the studio couch and yelling at me to get the %$#@  upstairs where I belonged...he did not want me to be sleeping on the studio couch. Lately, we had been having relationship problems and I was spending some nights on the studio couch instead of in bed with him. I guess that tonight it was going to be a problem. 

I was still confused, sick, dizzy...disoriented and trying to figure out what was going on. I rubbed my eyes and focused on Brute standing there....with a very angry look on his face...pursing his lips and glaring down at me. I noticed that he brought his friend with him...the local drug dealer...he had been a friend of my brother's at one time. He was bad news and into all kinds of trouble all the time. I didn't know him well, but I did know of his reputation. Biggs was his name. He was of medium build and had 'John Lennon' glasses. His hair was dirty blonde, shoulder length, and rather stringy looking. He was just standing there beside of Brute and not saying a word. I remember his thumbs resting in his pockets as he just stood there....looking at me. Brute was going to show Biggs that he was the man of the house....that he was the boss, in control. 

Brute began to speak louder to me and I didn't understand why he was mad at me...what did I do? He was yelling for me to get the %$#@  up off that couch and get upstairs. I didn't want to take my covers off of me...I had my legs off and I'm modest about that...no one sees me with my legs off. Plus, the only other thing I was wearing was a shirt and a pair of panties. Before I could think or move or finish waking up, he lunged at me, grabbed me by the throat, picked me up, and hit me right in the mouth. My face went numb. Blood splattered everywhere. He punched me again in the face, this time it was my jaw, and I heard it crack. It was the left side of my face. 

With that punch I went flying over to the large wooden cradle that was in the corner.  I began to urinate myself....I lost control of my bladder from fear.  He was back at me....swinging his arms wildly....some misses, some hits. He pulled me back onto the studio couch by my hair...I could feel it being ripped out. Then he ripped my shirt off of me, then my panties, threw me back on the bed and asked Biggs if he wanted to %$#@  me. I was terrified that I would be raped. What would they do to me? What if both of them raped and beat me....or killed me? I couldn't believe what Brute was doing....he was the most jealous man I knew....what was he doing??

I kept thinking, amidst all this rage, how could Biggs just stand there and watch this 6' 3" man beat me like this? I was totally defenseless....no legs on, no clothes on, sick, confused, and bleeding everywhere. Parts of me where numb, parts of me were in terrible pain. I can remember trying to look at Biggs...beg him with my eyes to please help me. I was desperate to communicate with him without Brute knowing about it.....Biggs just stood there, emotionless, watching. He neither approved or disapproved...he was totally 'indifferent'. 

The next few moments were a blur to me. But then I remember being picked up by the hair again...by the back of my hair near the base of my neck...and he was dragging me on the floor towards the steps...and up the steps he went, dragging me behind him. My hair was coming out and the steps were bruising me everywhere. At times he yanked me up a few steps at a time, inflicting more injuries. He was exceptionally cruel while doing this. I remember him talking and yelling, but I don't remember what he was saying to me. 

When he reached the top of the steps, he picked me up over his head and held me in place, facing the full flight of steps...and he told me very calmly that he was going to throw me down the steps. I just knew he would do it. I knew he was going to kill me. He turned quickly and we entered the bedroom. From the doorway, he pitched me across the room and I hit the backboard to the bed and then landed on the bed. I had the breath knocked  out of me. I was gasping for my breath....and he approached me again. What was he going to do now? 

He reached over and grabbed the extension phone and jerked it from it's place. Then he threw himself on top of me, full body weight, phone pressing into my chest, and screamed a deafening scream, right into my ear, that if I tried to call anyone, or if I tried to leave, he was going to kill me. I had no reason to think he was bluffing. 

He then got up, threw the phone across the room, and told me he was taking Biggs back home. Biggs lived only about a mile or so up the road....he would be back very shortly. Brute walked across the room...he was out of breath...sweating...breathing hard...and looking at me. I couldn't look at him. I looked away...I had never seen him like this before, not this way.  I was afraid to move, and I knew better than to cry. Anything I did could set him off. He just stood there catching his breath. Then in a slow, deliberate voice, he repeated his threats to me....shouted at me to look at him...and then repeated it very slowly, again. 

He walked out of the room...went down the steps, and I heard the door slam as he left. I heard their voices, but couldn't understand what they were saying.  I heard the truck start up and listened for them  to leave. They did.

 My head was spinning....still feeling the effects of the alcohol that I drank earlier....still feeling sick to my stomach, and hurting in some places, strangely numb in others. I had blood all over me, and I was wet from my own urine. I was beginning to feel sick again, but there was nothing in my stomach...and I gagged anyway. The smell of my own urine and blood was sickening. My nose was so swollen and full of drying blood that I couldn't breath through it....I assumed it was broke, again.

My eyes were already swollen and my head felt like it was packed with cotton. I couldn't get my balance when I tried to sit up, I couldn't seem to get my body to do what I wanted it to do....so disoriented....so weak.  I could look down and see how swollen my own left jaw was and I couldn't seem to open my mouth very far. I was now moving on 'automatic pilot'.....just moving, trying to gather myself. I didn't know what I as trying to do, except move around and try to think. I remember that my mouth felt rather numb and I put my fingers in my mouth to see if I was missing any teeth...I wasn't. It has always amazed me that with all the many times I've ever been busted in the mouth, I still have all my own teeth. 

There was a large cut on my leg, and I don't remember how it was cut. I couldn't see how bad the injury was....my own hair and dried blood was covering most of the wound. Pulled-out hair was stuck all over me. Later on I was to discover that my hair had been ripped out a full three inches up the back of my head. I couldn't wear my hair up for the longest time after that night. I had to wait for it to grow back in. It's still not quite right back there along the hair-line..

I had to leave. In spite of his threats, I didn't want to see what he was going to do to me once he came back, and he would be alone this time. If he could beat me this bad IN FRONT of his friend, what would he be capable of when no one was here? 

 

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