I have few memories of the year I was abused. So bear with me as I share my story in pieces.. as I begin to remember.
It was summer again. He's driving me home. I start saying that things aren't working out between us. I'm terrified of his reaction. He turns away from my house and starts driving in the other direction, and once we are far away, he stops. He locks the doors. He won't let me out. I'm panicking. I tell him I can't do this anymore, I'm crying from fear and he looks so angry. He refuses to let me leave him, he won't allow it. He's done this before. This time, I slowly take hold of my backpack. As quick as I can manage, I manually unlock my door and run out as fast as I can. Not fast enough. He's out of the car now, screaming for me to come back, and he grabs my arm hard. He tells me again that I can't leave him. Something overtakes my body, and I scream at him to let me go. I don't know where this strength came from, or who I am in this moment, and clearly neither does he. He looks at me wide eyed. I've never stood up to him like this, he doesn't know how to react. I turn around and run, turn back and he isn't following me. I run and run, but I know this is not the end. It was not.