As my head is pulled out of the water, I splutter and gasp for breath. My arms grip onto the side of the bath and I continue to cough. My eyes fly open, stinging from the air. My vision is blurry, and I feel light-headed.
I need to get out of this bath tub.
I try to pull my body up, but I feel weak. The shock of what just happened has made my blood run cold.
When I eventually get my eyes to focus, I look to Michael who is towering over me, a grim expression on his face.
Minutes pass and I am still trying to regulate my breathing. My throat feels sore and is screaming at me to get a drink, but I daren’t move.
Michael may have hit me before, but this is a whole new playing field.
“Christ,” Michael says as he kneels down beside the bath, making me jump backwards, sending more water sloshing everywhere.
I don’t want him near me.
I don’t want him to touch me.
“Lucy, I’m so fucking sorry,” he says as he places his hands on the side of the bath tub.
I sit, trembling. The water no longer feels warm and inviting. My teeth chatter as I continue to push myself back.
“I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry.” His eyes may look genuine, but I’ve seen that look before. It’s the look he gives me when he knows that he has gone too far. It’s the look he does when he knows that he has got to up his game in the sorry stakes.
“Get away from me,” I whisper, my throat hoarse.
“No,” he replies with a shake of his head. “I’m not leaving you.”
“I don’t want you near me.”
“But, I love you, and I didn’t mean to. I just get so mad sometimes that I do stupid shit.” His excuse is just that, an excuse. It’s not a reason for why he treats me like this. It’s not good enough.
“Please go away,” I whisper, my eyes wide, my heart beating a million miles a minute.
I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to listen. When I listen to him, he works his way into my mind. He plays games with me, and I can’t let him continue to do that. I can’t let him think that I am okay with this.
He reaches across the bath tub and my hands fly up in front of my face, and I let out a cry of alarm. He freezes, his hand just in front of me before he withdraws it and hangs his head in shame.
Quietly, he gets up and leaves the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
My heart continues to hammer in my chest as I expect him to come crashing back in here. A few minutes pass before I am able to get myself out of the bath tub. The first thing I do is lock the bathroom door. I grab a towel and wrap it around my body before sitting on the bathroom floor. I bring my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. Tears spill down my cheeks. I’m angry, sad, disappointed, pained, frightened. My faith in relationships has taken a serious knock since I’ve been with Michael.
I have spent months turning a blind eye or giving into him and believing his excuse for why he behaves in the way that he does. I have given him the benefit of the doubt because I thought that he loved me, but I can see now that he doesn’t love me in the way that he should.
His love for me is terrifying.
He wants me all to himself, and he wants me to obey him.
He wants to control me, and I have let him do just that for most of our relationship without realising it.
This moment has given me a wake-up call.
This moment has flipped a switch inside of me.
I will forever remember this moment as the moment that I decided to leave Michael.
I need to get out.
I need to save myself.
