Started with a "Hello"

Hi! this is just a short story on domestic abuse that I had to write as a health assignment. I liked it so i though i would put it up here. 

Everything starts with a breath, a heartbeat, a voice. That moment when you meet someone new, someone you know you’ll come to like, it starts with a voice, a ‘hello’. It works its way into your heart and soul, causing your heart to race and skip beats. It engulfs you. That’s how it started for me.

I was in my first year of college, happy, proud, and determined to graduate with high grades. I buried myself in my studies and worked at the local café for extra money. One day a customer came in, he was tall and thin, with green eyes that captured my heart immediately. His short, thick hair was windblown with flecks of snow settling on it.

It started with a “Hello! How may I help you?” He slipped me his number with an award winning smile at the end of the night. On the napkin he wrote ‘I would like to talk to you more. I’ve seen you around campus and I’d like to get to know you. -Enrique’ Days later we met after our classes and hung out.

We became good friends and in my second year of college we started dating. Everything was perfect and we spent countless hours together. He used to joke that he was addicted to me and that I was his fix of drugs. I, in turn felt the same way. Overtime, my grades started to slip. When I told Enrique that I was going to have to study more he exclaimed “You pick your grades over me? I thought you loved me Nina!” I reasoned that we would have the whole summer, but in turn he became sad. Guilty, I continued to allow my grades to descend.

Half-way through my third year, the administration gave me a notice that I was getting evicted from campus. Horrified I ran to Enrique, who graduated a year earlier. He persuaded me to move in with him and not try for college again. After I moved in, things started to gradually change. I quit my job at the Café because he saw a few guys ‘checking me out’.

Enrique started to argue with me. He wanted me to stop calling my parents and brother. He said “They always upset you Nina! And they try to pry their way into our business.” I of course obliged because I couldn’t stand to see him upset. I started getting pushed against walls when he was angry, but I brushed it off. I made him angry in the first place so he had a right to push me away.

Months went by and I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, Astley. Things were good in the preceding years. The pushing disappeared and with it came our love for our Astley. On Astley’s fifth birthday, things started to go downhill. Enrique came home from work with an irritated look clouding his eyes. He sat on the couch and drank beer after beer, ignoring our disappointed son and drowning himself in his fury. Distraught, I confronted him. I couldn’t bear to see Astley brokenhearted because his father wouldn’t wish him a happy birthday.

“I had a bad day Nina! I don’t CARE if it’s his birthday or not! LEAVE ME ALONE” he screamed pushing me to the floor.

The next day I talked with Astley. “You can’t tell anyone baby. Daddy was just sad and angry because I made him mad. We’ll celebrate your birthday this weekend.”

June turned into November and nothing improved. Enrique pushed and yelled more and more often. “You’re worthless” “I’m the only person who will ever love you” “you have nowhere to go” are phrases he repeated almost daily and I started to believe him. Some days he was so horrible that I had to hide in the tub with Astley curled in my arms crying.

There were the days where we would all curl on the couch, laughing and cuddling, watching silly Disney movies to please Astley, while Enrique and I shared loving looks. Those were the days that prevented me from leaving. Those days and past memories reminded me of my love for him.

The pushing continued, and so did the verbal harassment, but throughout it all he never laid a hand on our Astley. I’d like to think that it was out of love for our son, but in truth it was because I taught Astley to remain unheard to his father, to never speak unless spoken to, and to tune out Enrique when he hurts mommy.

It was one rainy day in April when life came crumbling down. Astley and I were outside in the garden when Enrique speeds into the driveway. Slamming his car door, he stormed over to me, grabbing my arm and dragging me inside. “Go to your room Astley, daddy needs to talk to mommy.” I nodded to Astley, begging him with my eyes to go.

“Guess who called me at work Nina, YOUR BROTHER! He wanted to know why you never call, what I was doing to you. You called him Nina. YOU TOLD HIM” screamed Enrique, grabbing my arms and shaking me.

“N-no1 I swear! I haven’t spoken to him since you told me not to” I whispered, terrified. Shoving me to the floor, he screamed “LIAR”

I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t breathe. It has never been this bad before. Kick after kick, and punch after punch. Finally, he left, probably to go to some bar. Bruised and battered, I lay curled on the floor crying. Eventually I stood up and cleaned myself up. I couldn’t let Astley see me like this.

The next day, Enrique returned with flowers and ice. He begged me to forgive him saying that he had a bad day and he acted without listening to me. After that, things were good. We were in love and happy. Our time was always spent together or as a family. Dates, taking Astley to the park, playing fun games.

A year went by and the pushing started up again. The evil words too. Everything continued. I would have to cover my bruised body with an abundance of makeup. As Astley got older, he felt the need to defend me more. I tried to stop him, I couldn’t bare if he got hurt. Enrique started to beat me more and more, he threatened that if I told anyone, he would kill me and our child.

I no longer felt the love for him. Now, it was fear. I feared to leave, because I couldn’t let my son get hurt. He was the best thing in my life, and I would take a thousand beatings for him. The days blurred together and I started to tune out my life, only speaking when spoken to, and only sharing secret whispers with Astley.

The day of Astley’s eleventh birthday rolled around and along with came dread. Lately, Enrique has been getting worse, leaving more bruises on me and more threats to my son. I was terrified of what might happen on this day and I was right to be.

Enrique woke up around noon in a drunken stupor. Stumbling into Astley’s room, where we were eating pieces of cake, he grabbed me by my neck. Horrified, I watched as my son pushed his father off of me. NO, Astley no baby. He will hurt you! I screamed silently in my head.

Suddenly the yelling stopped and Enrique was lying on the floor passed out. I glanced at my son shocked and raked my eyes over him. Frazzled, he held a broken lamp in his hands, breathing heavily with blood running down his fingers. He dropped the lamp and dragged me out of the room, outside.

He asked me to get in the car, he begged me to drive, and I did. We drove and drove until we somehow ended up at my brothers house. My brother helped contact the LADA. He helped us fight Enrique in court, fight for freedom.

Years later, I am standing here, at my son’s graduation from high school with tears in my eyes. Thinking of our journey, how we became free from the horrendous torture. Breathing in the stale air, I think of how it all started with a breath, a voice, a heartbeat.