This Dangerous Relationship with a Much Older Man Almost Cost Me My Life: Part 2

I even­tu­ally picked up his call and we started speak­ing again. I even apol­o­gized for get­ting dis­tant and chalked it up to being over­whelmed with the idea of a new rela­tion­ship. When I met up with him in per­son again, he seemed much nicer. I thought that maybe I was wrong about him.

I was busy with school and he was with work and on the week­ends, I con­tin­ued with my weekly trips to the coun­try with Tamla. He was start­ing to get annoyed with me going, want­ing to know why I had to go every sin­gle week­end. He was eva­sive and never gave a straight answer about any­thing. He had lied about his rela­tion­ship sta­tus, about being a father, and GOD knows what else. He acted as if he was in the CIA; he was always extremely secre­tive. Although my mom (and my own gut instinct) told me he was trou­ble and to stay away from him, I ignored the warn­ings and con­tin­ued see­ing him.

One night, Tamla and I went to stay at a friend’s hotel and as soon as I got back to his place, he was there to meet me at the door, which meant he saw me being dropped off by my male friend and his brother.

As soon as I got into his house, he slapped me across my face. I was stu­pid enough to blame myself. It turns out that he had bought me a brand new Jeep and held it as ransom—if I behaved, then I’d get to keep it, and if  I didn’t, then he’d “teach me a les­son” instead.

That slap was not the first or last time he would hit me. If I didn’t want to have sex with him or cook and clean for him, he would slap me. He threat­ened that I could not report him, because he knew the cops and noth­ing would come of it. Each time he abused me, he would cry and apol­o­gize and say, “If you had lis­tened, that would not have hap­pened,” or, “Why did you make me do that?”

I knew I was stuck in an abu­sive rela­tion­ship, but I just felt so pow­er­less and stu­pid. He was always sorry and he always made it up to me with gifts and expen­sive trips.

My mom saw the bruises and told me that if I didn’t leave him, she was going to con­front him and report him. I slowly got braver. I moved homes and started to avoid him. I would find him trail­ing me to my new place and I could see him walk­ing around my home try­ing to peer through windows.

One night, he showed up cry­ing that his friend had died because his girl­friend had left him. He said they had all gone out to have din­ner a cou­ple days ago and that he had not heard from his friend. He said he tried call­ing and that he just wasn’t answer­ing, and when he showed up at the house, they found his life­less body sit­ting in front of the TV.

He went on to say he didn’t want to die on his own and I should come back to him. When I refused, he touched his waist and I ran back inside the house. He was a licensed firearm holder and it would not have been the first time he pulled his gun on me, but this time, I felt like he might have actu­ally pulled the trigger.

Had my girl­friend not been home with me that night, there’s a very good chance he would have killed me. And the fact that she could iden­tify him made him back off a lit­tle. I finally got rid of him for good by mov­ing out of the city.