Page 15 of Objection
“Shut the fuck up!” he screamed back in my face.
Yes. I was very, very afraid.
I didn’t speak. I kept my lips closed tight.
“I’m damn tired of you parading in and out of here at all hours like it's no big deal; like you’re not disrespecting me every single time you show up late. I’m not here for it. And that behavior is going to stop. Got it?” he sneered. His lip curled around the words, and he looked at me like I was less than the filth on the bottom of his shoes.
I should have hit him. I should have pushed him away. I should have —
“I’m sorry, David,” I breathed.
I should have, but I didn’t. And I have no idea why.
“I know you are. You’re always sorry for your mistakes,” he almost cooed. His thumb traced over my cheek, and I felt ill. Who was this man in front of me? This was not the man I had dated; he wasn’t the man I had fallen for. The man who stood in front of me terrified me.
I breathed a monumental sigh of relief when David moved away from me.
“So, I think it’s high time we change some things ‘round here, Zee,” he prattled off, grabbing his Mountain Dew off the table and tossing back a large gulp.
“Things?” I asked, my voice trembling. I took a breath, cleared my throat, and hoped to sound a little stronger.
“I think it’s high time we moved in together. So, I’m gonna tell my buddies that I’m out and I’ll bring my junk over here. Make some room, cuz half your shit is too girly. I’m not about to sleep permanently in a bed with a purple fucking blanket,” he teased. His words felt invasive, like he was debasing me with each word he spoke.
“David, I don’t know,” I began, but I didn’t know how to finish. How was I supposed to say that I didn’t want to live with him?
“Don’t know what? We’ve been together five years, Zee baby!” he laughed, like he hadn’t just had me pushed against the wall in a way I didn’t like.
“Six.” The word was out of my mouth before I could think clearly. His head turned towards me slowly. The look in his eyes made fear fill the bottom of my stomach like a rock and I felt the breath leave my lungs.
I watched like it was in slow motion as he grabbed the vase on the table. My eyes widened as he jerked it backwards. I felt my gasp fill my chest as his arm came up and over his head, catapulting the heavy glass vase away from his body, sending it careening towards me.
You would think I would have done something.
Moved.
Covered myself with my arms.
But somehow that is not how it worked. Perhaps it never did in these situations. It was like watching a scene play out on a stage, or on a television show. I wasn’t there. Yet I was completely there.
The vase hit my body, smashing into my ribcage. I heard myself make some ghastly noise as the air pushed out of my lungs harshly and against my own will.
I felt the pain shoot around my torso, down my hip and up into my shoulder, all simultaneously.
I lifted my head and I saw him.
He rushed to me again, nothing but malice in his eyes. I shrunk away into the wall.
Time sped up.
“You filthy bitch! What did I tell you about that fucking mouth? Shut. The fuck. Up!” His words screeched across my face, spittle collecting across my cheekbones and eye lids and his fury found its home in my flesh.
His fingertips dug into arms. I could feel the bruises rising to my skin.
“Stop,” I breathed out in a harsh rasp.
But he didn’t stop.
His knee came up, catching me in the lower stomach with a swift jerking motion.
