Addicted to Violence Part 1

Hands around my throat, heavy breathing, screaming, bodies writhing together. It sounds like something out of an erotic novel, but this was the worst night of my life.... or at least it would seem that way. To fully understand, I'll have to take you back to the very beginning of this story.

It all started in a bar with some coworkers. I was 18 and a promise ring donned on my right hand. The new chef had come out and I was secretly excited. He was tattooed, carefree, and had a typical bad boy attitude; much different than my Catholic school, clean cut, boyfriend. I sat down and quickly found myself in a conversation with the chef. I'll never forget those first few moments.

"What's on your hand?" he asked, pointing to my promise ring.

"It's a promise ring," I explained, thinking he should know that already.

"No," he explained. "What is that? You are 18 years old, Samantha. What are you doing to yourself? You need to be young and enjoy yourself. Enjoy your freedom. Don't let someone take that away."

Looking back, it's ironic that he wanted me to have freedom, but at the time I took what he said to heart. Through the course of the weeks that followed, I broke up with my boyfriend and started exploring my new found freedom. The chef and I began to spend more time together and I was really enjoying the spontaneous nature of our friendship.

A few months passed and the chef got offered a job at a local tattoo shop. It was what he always wanted and we went out to celebrate later that night. After a few drinks, we went back to his house and decided to go to sleep. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, he sprung up out of bed with pure hatred in his eyes.

"You whore!" he yelled. "How could you do that! Get out of my house. You're a filthy whore!"

I figured he had a nightmare and was in the limbo state between awake and asleep. I tried to calm him down by putting my arm on his. He quickly threw my hand down and told me not to ever touch him. He again yelled at me to leave and how disgusting I was. I left completely confused and drove home hoping to get answers and a well deserved apology. The next day at work, I heard nothing from him. He laughed with everyone and acted as if nothing had gone awry the night before. He finally texted me during work and asked what my problem was. When I asked him what was up with the night before, he said he didn't remember. He must have been drunk and he was sorry. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and blamed the alcohol. Fast forward a few months and the same scenario played out two more times. Every time I said I was done, he'd feed me an excuse and I'd believe him.

After he started the job at the tattoo shop we started to lose touch. I was busy at work and he was spending every bit of time at work. Then one night, I randomly got a message from him saying his sister kicked him out. She had gone crazy and he was going to have to sleep on the street tonight. I told him he could stay with me a few nights until he figured something else out. Surprise, surprise, he ended up being my roommate. I ended up finding out more about his childhood and how he had bounced between foster homes and watched his family suffer from alcohol and addiction. He told me every night how he had never met anyone like me and how he wanted it to be different for us. He envisioned a big family filled with love he never received. I never wanted him to feel unloved again.

We ended up moving houses and got a new roommate, his mother. She lived on social security and disability checks and suffered from severe alcoholism. He and his mother would get in arguments almost every night. After the first few weeks, the arguments went from being verbal to physical. Things would get thrown and walls would get punched.

"Sorry babe. She brings out the worst in me. I'm not like that. I'd never lay a hand on anyone I loved." I blamed the violence on his resentment he held for her from his childhood. During one particular bad night, he grabbed a knife and put it to his throat threatening to end it all. He was in tears on my living room floor huddled in the fetal position. I held him close and told him he'd be okay. He was better than all of this and any insult his mother threw out at him.

A few days later, I went home to visit my parents and my dad expressed concern. He didn't see me as often and said I was different, more shut off. I didn't smile as often. I said I was just tired.

"I want you to move home. I don't like him and he's not paying you any rent or contributing at all. He's a leech. You need to move or he needs to move out."

I couldn't just leave him. He had threatened to kill himself. I didn't want him to feel unloved. He didn't deserve that. Yes, I was broke but how could I do that to him? He had already had such a rough life. So I lied to my dad and said he was gone. My dad was way too smart and surprised me with a breakfast date at my house. Dad saw that he wasn't gone and had a few words with my roommate. Although he disagreed with what my dad said, we did agree to move out and live separately to get a fresh view on things.

I visited him frequently. He had gotten a new job at a restaurant and was doing really well. I went over to his apartment one night and everything was going great. We were laughing together and reminiscing. A few hours went by and the tone changed. I was familiar with the scenario and said I was going to go home. He disagreed and said I needed to stay. I said I was tired and just wanted to go home. The tone went from bad to worse as he blocked the door to leave.

"I want to go home. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"You can't leave. We aren't done." That same familiar look of hatred filled his eyes. He grabbed my keys and threw them across the room. At this point I just needed to appease him long enough to get my keys.

"Fine. I'll stay for a little longer." I meandered around the room and discreetly grabbed my keys. About ten minutes passed by and I said I really had to go. With keys in hand, I started out the door. I quickened my pace and hurried to my truck across the parking lot. I turned the ignition and went to close the door and his arm blocked it. I was scared and knew this couldn't be good. He grabbed my keys out of the ignition and demanded me to get out. He said I'd get my keys when he was done hanging out. He forced me back upstairs. As his door closed, he pulled me to the ground. He straddled me and put his hands around my throat. I was gasping for air. I was trying to scream but nothing would come out. I couldn't move anything but my arms so I used what strength I had left and punched him. I knocked him off balance enough to wriggle away and grab my keys. I ran. Ran for what felt like forever and then I drove. I called my best friend and couldn't speak. She told me to just come over. She knew it was bad. She took pictures of my bruise laden neck just hugged me and told me it would be okay.

What I thought was the worst night of my life, was over. I was safe. I was alive. I was loved. It wasn't the end though. It was only the beginning.