Somewhere underneath the rage and hate, Steve must be a good man. At least I would like to think so. I find it so hard to think that a man could transform to something so hideous.
I still remember when we first met in the Mexican restaurant down town. This was after a blind date 3 months back. Steve struck me as someone with wit and a terrific sense of humor. And those traits do it for me more than physical features. I have never been a sucker for muscles or abs resembling sculpted stone. I have always been drawn to the human mind, like a moth to a flame and funny people. I believed that was where I would find my happiness. That was my own version of love.
My first time with Steve was wonderful. I was marooned off the coast of happiness and did not want to be found. Steve had me laughing all night from a bouquet of enthralling experiences. I had to beg him to stop when I almost choked on my food during one of his hilarious moments. I knew I was getting ahead of myself. But at that moment, I made up my mind to have a serious relationship with him if he asked me.
Steve was always the gentleman and never once asked me for sex. He was the perfect example of the medieval Sir Lancelot, always seeing me to my doorstep and kissing my hand and bidding bye-bye before galloping into the darkness.
We went out a couple of times and eventually I invited him back to my apartment and we had sex. It was during a protracted pillow-talk that I asked to move in with him. I did not see the enthusiasm I was looking for. However, I put it down to a man just wanting his space and assumed he would soon get over his reservations.
I moved in with Steve. His apartment was nothing like mine. But I did not care. I was in love with the man and not the condition of his apartment. Things were ok for a couple of years and then mysteriously the abuse started. Up to this point, I cannot really say what caused it. Steve just started shouting at me all of a sudden and drinking more than normal. In my ignorance or probably my mushy-love state, I put it down to work pressure. He had lost quite a sum trading forex and commodities and I felt he was just acting up.
I was dead wrong. The insults and thinly-veiled threats of how I had ruined his life came in thick and fast. He started to insult me and tell me how fat I had become. He compared me with the attractive women on TV and jeered at the fact that I was not disciplined enough to look after myself since I latched on to him.
I tried to cry myself out of the misery and hope he would come around. Unfortunately, things actually worsened, his online business slipped into a state of comatose and he started smoking marijuana. His emotional abuse soon turned physical, when he came home doped one night and wanted to have sex with me on the balcony. I refused and he beat me up, leaving me with 2 black eyes and a banged-up lip.
Up to this point, Steve had abused me for 4 years out the 5 that we have been together. This was the first time that he has laid hands on me. He left me battered and bruised on the floor and still had the gall to watch TV. He did not even utter a syllable about the incident the next day.
That was when I decided I had lost the man I had once loved. The scales had been peeled from my eyes. If a man raises his hands to beat you once, he will do it again.
And the next time it might be fatal. I made up my mind to leave him, without reasoning with him or threatening to dump him. I was only going to invite more trouble for myself, if I told him that.
I am silently plotting my escape out of his life. I need to get out pronto before he kills me. I might have been a fool for love.
But I know enough not to assume that things from this point could turn out differently.