But Did You DIE?

Trigger warning: physical violence, abuse

Heat like a smothering blanket embraced me as I stepped out of the icy car. My feet tingled, my hair was a slightly dirty massive bun atop my head, and the tank top I wore smelled like B.O. 2 days in a vehicle with a rancid-assed pit bull and a howling now-half-feral cat who was probably going to shit in my shoes for a month now that we were in our new home, 900 miles from the old hell.

My experience with driving consisted of 2 pitted lanes in a shitty little town in the middle of nowhere, only twice having gone on roads with real blacktop and *gasp* stoplights! I had now used a GPS (who needs a GPS when you could literally turn down ANY road in town and still make it to your destination?), driven on 8 lane highways or freeways or whatever they were called, I didn't know or even care to know the difference. I had driven in torrential downpour, knees shaking and eyes watering, hands gripping the steering wheel as if it would save me if I suddenly flew off of the road. I had driven in downtown Chicago morning rush hour traffic- and kept my sanity!- without even so much as a blink amidst the insane and tired coffee sippers madly driving to or from work. I had driven through kick-ass tunnels through the mountains themselves, the U-Haul shuddering through the wicked twists of narrow paths. I had navigated through pitch black nights to sleep in the car at a rest stop, with just enough money for food and coffee for the way there, scared of every swish of a semi past my car, every voice booming over the expanse of cement, every footstep outside my car.

It was what I had survived that mattered.

Every fist that punched its way into my brain, every word that stabbed my heart, every day I curled into a ball on whatever surface I landed on, fearing that I'd never open my eyes again.

Until the day that I almost didn't.

He had picked me up by my neck and body slammed me into the couch. I hit the arm, my neck snapping back and my arm breaking. I fled to the bedroom and locked the door. This was before phone service could follow you to parts unknown. I laid on our California King bed and just wept, bleeding and shaking in fear. He was having none of this. He banged on the heavy door, but it was locked. I heard him thump back downstairs, and thought maybe he would go back to his video game. Nope. He came back with a kitchen chair, slamming it into the wall over and over until he made a hole in it, reached around and unlocked the door, and slammed the kitchen chair piece that was left into my back. In a frenzy and with an animal growl, he grabbed the edge of the bed and with me still on it flipped the whole thing over. He then leapt onto it, jumping up and down. I lost consciousness.

I had had the nerve to ask if I could attend the funeral the next day of a childhood friend who happened to be a male, in the middle of a live game online. I guess the answer was "no."

I awoke to a feeling of aches and pains ranging in severity from terrifying to well, that isn't so bad. I was in a dark room, but as yet unaware of where I was. It took me 4 more tries of waking up and passing back out to remain awake enough to realize where I was. A nurse stood over me, taking vitals. She smiled at me, but through that smile I could see her anger at what had been done to me.

"Hi," I said, or at least tried to say.

My throat was raw with pain. I reached a hand to touch it but then saw the cast. I used my other hand, even though it too was bandaged up. Bruising shadowed the whole arm.

"Hush, now don't try to talk, sweetheart. Your throat isn't all the way healed. I'm Nurse Meredith, I'll be attending you, so if you need anything just press this little button, OK?"

I tried to nod. I tried to smile. Neither worked too well.

After 24 hours of being fully conscious I was allowed to get up and use the bathroom. The I.V. trailing behind me, I gingerly stepped the 9 steps to the door. Nurse Meredith and Dr. Phillips followed, closing the door but not coming in.

"If you need us, just pull that cord on the wall right there to your right, and we will come right in." She said with a tender, yet no-nonsense smile.

I nodded, slightly.

I probably shouldn't have looked in the mirror. My gasp was so loud it caused Nurse Meredith to knock and ask if I was OK. I cracked the door back open and gave them a weak thumbs up, then closed it again.

After the initial shock, I assessed the damage. This wasn't the first time he had put me in the hospital. This was, however, the first time I had woken up in one after a beating. The first time I needed a cast had been years ago.

My face was so battered it was no wonder I couldn't talk. Lips were cracked open and oozing just about everywhere there was a lip. My right cheek was taped up, and I wondered what Id see underneath. My eye was beet red with a bulging purple bruise around it, spreading over the bridge of my nose and across the whole side of my face up and down. My neck had rings of bruising. There were chunks of hair missing.

My one arm in a cast, the other arm marbled with black and blue. My legs were shaking now, so I sat down.

It took me a few seconds to finally pee, but when I did the pain was so intense I screamed. Nurse Meredith knocked and entered.

"Are you OK?" her question was more of a knowing that an inquisition.

I nodded. She helped me stand and I looked into the toilet. The water was pink with blood, and I again gasped with alarm.

"You experienced some kidney damage, so this is normal. The kidney damage isn't permanent so you will have less blood in your urine as you eliminate more often," she explained.

I blinked in response.

"Come, let's get you back to bed. Do you watch TV? What's your favorite program? " she helped me hobble back to the bed where I laid down on the cool sheets, shaking and in shock.

"I like the ID channel. Murder stuff, killers, that kind of shit," I said. It didn't come out that clear nor that loudly, but she managed to hear it.

The look on her face made me smile. My condition said 'hadn't I experienced that enough?' Apparently not.

She left, and I settled back to watch some programming.

That's when I realized the date.

In a panic I picked up my nurse caller and pressed the button about fifty times.

Another nurse came in this time, named Carrie. She asked what I needed.

"Please, tell me the date?" I asked.

She glanced at the calendar I hadn't noticed on the wall.

It is April 24th.

I felt as if the world had suddenly been yanked from underneath me and I were swimming along in the vacuum of space.

The last date I remembered was April 1st, the day before this all happened. Bill paying day.

My garbled laugh sounded like a snarl from a rabid dog. Bill paying day alright. I had paid the ultimate bill that day.

In that moment I became filled with terror. He was still out there, somewhere, maybe even right outside my door. I looked at the nurse in a panic. She must have known what I was thinking because she came over and put her rough cold hand on my arm.

"Your boyfriend (this word was said with as much venom as she could muster, unable to keep the usual unbiased professional attitude of most days) is in jail ma'am. There's no need to be scared, OK? You'll be alright, there's an officer right outside the door to protect you. There will be officers coming by as soon as you feel up to making a statement." her eyes were sparking grey fire.

Dr. Phillips came in; her voice was firm, in command, yet soft and understanding.

"Hi, Miss Moreland. I'm Dr. Phillips. How are you feeling today?"

"OK, I guess," I lied.

"Well, you've been touch and go for a while. Miss Moreland, on the day you came in by ambulance you were pronounced dead. We had to revive you three times. You had extensive damage done to your entire body, but most of the damage was done to your face and neck. Your larynx was badly crushed, which is why you can barely talk. You have teeth knocked out, and we will give you the name of a good dentist who can repair them. You suffered a broken orbital (she ran a finger under her left eye to show me where that was) and have 4 stitches in your right cheek. Your kidneys were battered and you suffered damage, which we believe is not permanent. You have a broken ulna and hairline fractures on three ribs. You also suffered a major concussion. Multiple small cuts and bruises on 80% of your body. You were in a coma for these past 22 days."

After I had passed out, my boyfriend (or EX, since I was done with him now) had taken the piece of chair he was holding and kept beating me. He then went back downstairs and continued his gaming, until the cops started banging on the door.

The doctor stopped to take a breath. I didn't even blink. This wasn't even a surprise to me. He had done so many things to me in the past, I wasn't shocked.

"Miss Moreland, when do you think you can talk to the cops and make a statement?"

I ground my teeth in frustration, which sent shivers of pain through my face and head. It made me grimace.

"I can talk now, but it won't do any good." I whispered.

"Why do you say that?" Dr. Phillips asked, but I could tell she didn't believe me.

I didn't say anything. I just shook my head. She nodded and rattled off some instructions, some other medical stuff, but I had checked out of the conversation. Fear of him coming back, only staying in jail for a few hours and making bail, fear of him finding me wherever I went, kept me from believing it would ever be over. Not until he finished me off.

I waited for them to leave, so the cops could come in and I could get this over with.

I gave my statement, as much as I could remember of it. The cops asked the same questions over and over, and it drove me mad, but I knew it needed to be done.

When they left, exhaustion fell over me. I slept better than I had in months, but the nightmares were strange and other-worldly. I awoke 12 hours later. The doctor was in the room, quietly talking to 2 nurses and the 2 officers from the day before. When they noticed I was awake, they came over and spoke to me.

"Miss Moreland, we would like to speak to you some more about what happened." said the younger officer.

"Do you have a lawyer? If you do not we can recommend M..."

I cut him off.

"I have a great lawyer, thank you." It was the best my voice had sounded since I awoke.

The day dragged on, with many people coming in and out, telling me when the trial would start, what to expect, signing papers, taking vitals. I was exhausted again by lunchtime. I had no appetite and my mouth hurt. I sipped on warm jello by request, iced tea (unsweet) and cold water.

5 days later, when I assured them I had a safe place to go, I was allowed to leave. They assured me that he was in jail, he couldn't make bail, and I should not expect to see him. I had my taxi drop me off at my house.

As I stood there, I heard a soft female voice behind me.

"He ain't there, Miss Moreland. He's in jail. The cops came and took him the night you went it. We all thought you were dead! Mr. Fields called the cops, he heard the whole thing. His wife saw what happened in the bedroom, on account of her peekin' in through your window. He was screamin' so loudly, nearly the whole block heard. I hope you're OK, Miss. "

Old Mrs. Anderson stood there, hand on her giant hip, finger up in the air like she was about to lecture me on something.

"I thank you so much, all of you. I hate to be rude but I have some things to sort through. I hope you have a good day, Mrs. Anderson."

I walked to my front door and took a deep breath before entering, leaving Mrs. Anderson standing on the sidewalk with pity inher eyes.

Bullshit, I thought to myself. Fake ass bitch. I was angry, no, seething, because all of these people had turned a blind eye for so damned long. My ex had lived here for nearly his whole life, on this street, just 6 doors to the left and across the street. Everyone knew him. Everyone knew his temper, his various mental health issues, his background. Once he had even driven through the abandoned house next to his because he was so drunk he couldn't see his own garage.

I took a deep breath and walked inside.

Junior, my cat, greeted me with a meow and soft purrs. I scooped him up and for once he let me give him as long a hug as I wanted to. I sat on the couch, holding him and rocking back and forth. Now the tears came. As they did, I felt cleansed. It was finally over. The years of abuse, cover-ups, lies to friends and family, over.

Junior squeaked. I released him and he ran off into the kitchen. I looked around.

There on the arm of the couch was a blood stain. My blood, I thought, somewhat disconnected. To the right was the 55" TV I bought about 4 years ago, shattered. To the left was his God damned computer desk and computer.

I kind of lost it, right then. I went tot he garage, found a baseball bat, and took out 4 years of abuse on that damned computer and desk. Then I went to the bedroom. He had obviously been sleeping in the spare bedroom, the king bed was still topsy-turvy. I stood there as if I were having an out-of-body experience, looking at the blood now congealed on the walls, the brown stains on any cloth areas. There was a section of the cloth on the mattress missing. For the police? Probably. I had died, right there. I was dead. DEAD! I started to panic, breath coming in gasps.

OK, but you didn't die. Calm the hell down. You have work to do.

I calmed after a bit. I entered the spare bedroom, stepping over a small bare mattress on the floor with a pillow and sheet, to where a map of the United States was tacked to the wall. I grabbed a dart off the dart board ( this was actually the master bedroom we turned into a game room, large enough for a pool table and small bar we built in the corner) and tossed it.

South Carolina.

So, South Carolina was where I went, after months of court dates, crying, sleeping in hotel rooms out of fear of the man I was putting behind bars for hopefully a long time, and doctors' appointments where they slowly put me back together again. They gave him 14 years for aggravated assault. I was surprised it didn't take but a bit over 4 months from beginning to end.

This was my second chance. Second chance for life, after I had almost lost it. Technically I did lose it.

And I'd be DAMNED if I'd waste it again.