Christmas night, his parents out for a few hours, he showed me a few of his old comic books, part of a collection. Feeling playful, I pulled it from his hand, but he tightened his grip and I inadvertently ripped a tiny piece off the corner of one page, hardly noticeable. In an instant, play turned to anger and he smacked me hard enough to leave a deep red handprint on my thigh. I cried out and, tears blurring my vision, went into his parent’s room. As I lay on the bed, crying in silence, I heard his brother scolding him for slapping me. He basically read David the riot act. David came to the bedroom, apologized profusely, and it never happened again. Instead, his abusive tendencies took a more subtle approach.

Though we rarely experimented with sexual things outside the normal activities, he began to show a more marked preference for anal intercourse. I find this act painful and would rather not participate but he liked it on occasion. After the trip to Ohio, he demanded it more often, especially for some perceived slight, something I needed to apologize for, and used it as emotional black mail. Basically, if I was sorry about something, I needed to let him perform this act on me. It became more frequent a he displayed more dominant, controlling behavior. He did nothing to make it easier or less painful, only did what he wanted, and left me to cry myself to sleep—in silence of course. If he heard me cry, he would twist things around until I felt even guiltier.

Still I didn’t think I was being abused. Quite frankly, the idea never entered my head. Even when he came home from work one Friday and told me he wanted to spend a few days alone, in a hotel, to think, I thought nothing of it, nothing unusual. He returned Monday, after work, stated he wanted a divorce, packed some clothes, and left to stay with others. I cried, begged, pleaded with him not to leave me, Over the next few days, I called him at work several times, trying to get him to talk things over and possibly try to work something out. I apologized for anything and everything, promised anything and everything, until he stated that he’d made up his mind and would get the divorce no matter what I said. When I asked him why he married me, he told me flat out, it was out of spite since everyone he worked with warned him not to do it. That marriage lasted eight months and I’ve never regretted the day he walked out on me, except that I wasn’t the one walking out.

In the same apartment complex, I met my second husband, Bill. He helped me with the divorce, and stayed by my side, a true gentleman. Or so I thought for a long time until he showed his true colors, brought to light by alcohol. I escaped bad times, only to find myself in the midst of hell, a fifteen year nightmare, when I finally opened my eyes to what was going on around me. Watch for the next article, INTO THE FIRE, where security and love turn to betrayal, and terror.