The Last Beating Essay

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The Last Beating June 30, 2011 When I heard the car pull up, I sent up a silent prayer, “Please God just let him come in and pass out.” I sat on the couch with my head bowed afraid to look up waiting for another beating for some imagined infraction. I was scared. The violence had gotten worse over the last two years, and I knew that one day he would kill me. However, where was I to go? I lived out in the boondocks with no phone and no one to run to. Hadn’t he told me time and time again that I wasn’t worth anything and no one would ever want me? Didn’t he remind me every day that I was lucky that he didn’t throw me out? I had two babies ages 2 and4, how was I going to take care of them? It was 1975 and the domestic violence laws were not what they are today. Although he was arrested once, for beating me at the local park, he spent one night in jail for public intoxication. It wasn’t me who called the police. I know that whoever did was only trying to help, but it led to one of the worse beatings I have ever had. During our relationship, I made many trips to the Emergency Room. I was treated for fractures, deep bone bruises and dislocations of different joints. I was a victim of domestic violence before it was considered a crime. I first met Rick when I was 14 years old. I had a girlfriend spending the night, and I told her there was an older guy next door that I had a crush on. I used to flash his upstairs window with a flash light. He would come out, and we would talk over the fence. He was 18, and a 14 year old girl’s heart is easily smitten. For some reason, on this night he wouldn’t come to the window. I didn’t want my friend to think I was making this guy up, so I picked up a small rock and pitched it through the upstairs open window. I was surprised when this blond, green eyed guy came to the window rubbing his head; I had smacked him good with

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