The morning after

His son woke first, and I was happy to have an excuse to leave the bedroom. I greeted him with a good morning, and made him breakfast. I remember feeling heartbroken for him, and feeling an immense amount of guilt. I felt like my thoughts were beginning to become more rational.

I kept peaking in our bedroom, waiting for him to stir or show any sign of being awake. I couldn’t take the silence any longer, so I put a tv show on for his son and walked into our bedroom and shut the door. I sat on the edge of the bed beside him and whispered his name. Nothing. I whispered his name twice more. Nothing. I shook his arm gently to wake him. Nothing. But I noticed his eyelids flickering; he was awake but ignoring me.

I panicked that he wouldn’t forgive me, that he was still mad at me. I started crying and I begged him to talk to me. I asked probably 12 more times for him to simply talk to me about what had happened just hours prior. He rolled over and told me to leave him alone and let him sleep. He told me he was tired and confessed that he had “chugged some NyQuil” that still must have been in his system, and that he would talk to me later.

Let’s circle back. He chugged cough syrup. He was not sick. I started to realize that he had been hiding things from me, and this was only the tip of the iceberg. But that topic was meant for another day.

I continued attempting to try and talk to him, telling him how sad I felt due to what had unfolded last night. I told him I feared we were going to break up if he didn’t talk to me. “Good” he replied.

I was shattered. I had been disillusioned with a hope that the morning would bring him realizing the error of his ways. That he would grovel at my feet and tell me how sorry he was, how wrong he was to say such mean things, and how awful he felt for hurting me. How he would promise to fix this relationship and work on it. I was gutted that I did not receive a sliver of validation – my expectations must have been set too high. I really couldn’t believe he didn’t hold any remorse. Looking back, this was another red flag I can add to the insurmountable pile.

When I asked for my keys, he told me how drunk I had been the night before. This was an intentional plot twist he configured so that he could narrate the story more effectively. I found my keys he had hidden – ironically in the room I had slept in the night before. They were positioned in the top corner of the closet, out of reach, taunting me.

I kissed his cheek and told him I was leaving. I begged him again to message me later so we could figure this out. I embraced his son in a hug while tears rolled down my face and I told him goodbye – a goodbye that felt like I’d never see him again. Every inch inside of my body screamed at me to not leave his son alone with him – but I had to chose myself.

I drove to our friends’ house who had been over the night before. I felt as if I had run out of options for where to seek refuge. Telling my family was not an option, because they would tell me to leave him, and I couldn’t do that. I desperately wanted to call my sister, but my heart broke just the thought of telling her. I knew she would be upset and would demand to come and pick me up. Again, an option I couldn’t face.

So I went to my friend’s house. I sat on her couch under a blanket, and I told her everything that happened after they left. She wavered between telling me I had to break up with him, to encouraging me to not give up and to fix this. I felt so homesick. I was sitting in what felt like a strangers house, when all I wanted was my mother and my sister.

I sat for hours waiting to hear from him- but I received nothing. The more time that went by, the more sad I got. Thinking he didn’t love me, thinking we couldn’t come back from this. He eventually texted around dinner time. I was elated when I saw his name pop up on my phone, again expecting an apology. All the text said was “where are you?”. We sent a few texts back and forth, and next thing I knew, I was walking to my Jeep and driving back home to him.

I walked in, thinking we would talk about the madness that happened the night before. He refused. I thought he would finally give me that apology – because how was he not feeling sick for how he treated me? The opposite happened, I was made to be the sole villain of the night. He told me how crazy I was and completely put the blame on me. He did not take any responsibility for his actions from the night before.

I went to bed that night genuinely terrified for my life. I slept beside a man who 24 hours prior had laid his filthy hands on me. I was at rock bottom. I had to figure out my next move, whether I would make it out alive or not. I had to save myself.