You hit me once
I hit you back
You gave a kick
I gave a slap
Opening lyrics to the song Kiss With A Fist (Is Better Than None) by Florence and the Machine.
Relationships are wondrous things and there are plenty of song that reflect them. I can quote a lot of songs I have heard that remind me of moments in my current relationship, but none more so than Kiss With A Fist.
With three bottles of beer, half a bottle of good ol' Jack Daniels and some Brown Brother's wine under his belt, my partner, who shall remain anonymous, became unbearable.
I am typing from my sister's laptop at the moment, my make-up stains now gone from my face, my lashes sticking together, my $370 outfit (that I bought for my partner and my twelve month anniversary dinner) completely ruined. I have pains virtually everywhere, complimented by beautiful, yellow - blue bruises that are gradually getting darker. I have a bag of frozen peas taped to my right wrist which makes typing insanely slow for me.
I was raised with three older siblings, two brothers and a sister. My mother comes from a family of six children, and her mother, my grandmother, comes from a family with fourteen children including herself. I can hold my own in a fight. I didn't expect to have to do that, though, with the man who claims loves me.
We had had a lovely evening. Red roses, crystal gasses, a delicious three course meal prepared by the fantastic chef at our favorite restaurant, a nice walk at sunset along the beach. When we arrived home, things went downhill.
He took his jacket off and dumped it on the ground, followed by his socks. I asked very nicely, not wanting to spoil the mood after the evening, if he was going to pick those items up off the floor. He responded no, so I said that I wasn't going to pick them up so they could stay there until he picked them up.
Turning around, a look of thunder, I was scared of him. For the first time, I was truly scared of him. And all I had done, was first ask a simple question. He called me a lazy whore. A whore. A lazy whore, at that! Me, who returns home every day, who cleans and cooks, does all the housework. Everything. Am I not entitled to take a break?
Since when does saying "you can do it yourself" turn a girl into a lazy whore? I don't see the logic.
After this comment, of course I was rattled. I asked him what he meant and, to add fuel to the flame, he just started to let out a string of curses at me, nasty words that hurt my feelings. I stepped closer to him and I told him to forget about the incident, that I would clean up, he should just go sit down and cool off before something happened that couldn't un-happen. Then, I touched his cheek and he slapped my hand away, then slapped my face.
I tell you, the gorgeous mahogany side table that we had pushed into the wall, the crystal vase my great-great grandmother gave me shattered into a gazillion pieces. My cheek was stinging, I was only just managing to stay on my feet. I put my hand on my cheek and I looked up at him.
My voice was shaky, and I could feel the adrenalin already pumping through my veins.
"Do it again, I dare you. Do it and I'll hit you back twice as hard." I told him.
Well, he hit me a second time. And a third. He took a fist-full of my hair, wrapped it around his hand and pushed my head against the wall. I really had no choice. Basic instinct told me to lift my knee and slam it right into his man-bits, so that's exactly what I did.
He didn't drop but he did let go of my hair. I slugged him right in his face three times, two to the right and one to the left. Then my knee hit him right where it hurts again and this time he dropped like a sack of potatoes.
While he was down, I went to the bedroom and packed some clothes into my sports bag in the cupboard, grabbed anything I might need and I left. I could hear him calling out my name as I was walking out the door, still lying in the same place he dropped only minutes prior.
That's my story, and here I am, at my sisters, ready to start the best girls night ever. She hoards chocolate like you wouldn't believe! Maltesers, tim-tams, mint biscuits, ice cream, vodka, wine, wine, cheese, wine, rum, and the company of the ever faithful Johnny, Brad, Viggo and Alan Rickman, and our night is set to last us a while.
My phone is off, I have my favorite pair of soft, too-big trackie pants on and a tank top. My sister is waiting, my unfortunate other half probably sitting with a bag of peas somewhere on him with the boys in the living room.
My night is set and after all this trouble, I feel... strangely at ease. I'm hurt, physically, of course, and emotionally. But I feel good. Probably because the adrenaline of beating the snot out of the certain someone hasn't worn off yet. It feels so good to stand up for myself!
I'm going to be a complete wreck in the morning, I know. But that's why I have a sister to take care of me in the morning and big, sometimes over-protective older brothers who will take care of me.
Relationships have their ups and downs. No one should stay in a relationship where they get abused in any which way. I think it's safe to say that Mr X will not want to be hitting me again any time soon.