Fictional Nonfiction Pt. I

I gasped for air. I couldn’t breathe. My face flushed as I struggled to inhale. I lay on my back with his hands wrapped around my throat, tears pouring out of my eyes.

He was straddled on top of me, shaking me by my neck, hatred in his eyes. I clawed at his hands, hoping he would free me but to no avail. This time, he would kill me.

“If… I… can’t… have you…” His voice trailed off as I slipped into unconsciousness. I lay there, unresponsive. Not breathing.

A minute or so later, I gasped and wheezed. The inhale was so sharp it hurt my chest. I rolled over onto my stomach, heaving, pulling myself out of the spot on the floor where my urine settled after I lost control of my bodily function. I was alive.

He sat on the couch laughing at me as I struggled to consciousness. I was barely lucid, crying. I couldn’t speak my voice box crushed.

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s me and you tonight, baby,” he smirked.

I looked at him and glared, but I was afraid to respond because I didn’t want him to knock me out again.

Curtis was a rebound. He was a supposed to be fun fling that went too far—a piece of temporary eye candy that disregarded the expiration date. I wanted nothing more to do with him, but he just wouldn’t leave.

I coughed and cried, trying to free my airways. I swallowed hard, and my throat popped. I cringed from the sound it made—even to this day ten years later, if I swallow, drink or chew something a certain way, I can still feel his hands pressing on my throat when it pops. It’s a debilitating feeling.

“I hate you,” I croak, tears stinging my eyes still.

“Oh, but I love you,” he retorted. “Can’t you see how much I love you? Where am I right now? I could be at home, with my kids, but I’m here with you.”

“You should be at home with your kids. Go back to your kids’ mother. I don’t want you here!” I scream. “Just leave me alone! Leave my sons and me alone!”

“Mommy?” Bobby says as he walks out of the one bedroom in my tiny, but homely apartment in the Bronx. “Are you ok, Mommy?”

I glare at Curtis. I mouth, “Do you see what you’re doing to my sons?”

“I’m ok, baby. Go back to your room. Mommy’s ok,” I lie. I was terrified he’d retaliate against Bobby again. Turning back to Curtis, I try to reason with him, “You know, I have a restraining order against you. If you just leave now, I won’t call the police and tell them that you were here. I promise you. You won’t have to worry about any trouble from me. Just let me and my boys go. This isn’t working out for either one of us. We really should just go our separate ways.”

“Bitch, that’s why I’m here. You got me locked up. My grandmother died when I was in jail because of you. If you hadn’t put me in that bitch, my grandmother wouldn’t have had to know I was in jail while she was on her death bed!”

My patience was wearing thin. Why wouldn’t he just leave? I looked around for my cell. I couldn’t see it anywhere in plain sight. He laughed at me and held it up for me to see.

“Looking for this? Come get it.”

I wasn’t going anywhere near him. I’d fallen for that too many times before. As soon as I walked up to him he’d grab me, smack me or choke me again. I just couldn’t take that risk again.

(to be continued...)