They hand me a card with a list of domestic violence resources, and say they’ll be in touch the next day with more information.
I return to the apartment,alone, and it’s eerily silent. I feel like a ghost, drifting through a surreal, nightmarish version of my life.
The apartment is wrecked—mattresses overturned, drawers emptied, shards of glass glittering on the floor. It’s a physical manifestation of the chaos Timmy unleashed.
I walk to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror, stunned. A blood vessel in my eye is popped, and it rages crimson. It’s hideous, and it stings slightly, but I also feel numb.
I have bruises and scratches all over my hands, defensive from trying to prevent him from sodomizing me with the antlers, and from trying to push him away.
There’s a big, multicolored bruise on my hip from where he slammed me to the ground, or maybe from when he dragged the antlers and the hammer across my body.
I grab my phone again, texting his boss:
Me:
I called them.
He promised he’d never hurt me.
His boss:
Make sure they arrest him so he learns a lesson.
Me:
They arrested him.
He promised he’d never put hands on me.
He burst my eye blood vessel earlier and then tried to kill me with an antler.
His boss:
Send him for a night in jail. He needs to sober up.
Me:
He needs to stop being abusive. Said he’d never do it.
Her reply is sharp, cutting:
His boss:
He’s not going to stop. He’s done this to a girlfriend before.
My breath catches.He’s done this before?My heart sinks as the weight of her words settles over me. He lied—just like he seems to have lied about so many other things. Telling me he’d never put hands on me. He swore up and down that he’d never hurt a woman.
The way he showed complete contempt for Darren hurting his ex, that he looked down on any man who would ever hurt a woman in any way.
That he was some kind of hero, the type of guy that saved people from men just like him.
Me:
He has?
His boss:
Yeah. He’s a mess.