My Ex-Fiance Hired A Drug Dealer To Enter My Home And Kill Me

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Trigger Warning: Domestic violence, abuse

It is often said breaking up is hard to do but little is revealed about the dangers of leaving a closet sociopath.

At 29 years old I found myself in the grips of a toxic relationship that would later become deadly. 

I met John at a mutual friend's birthday party and we had an incredible instant connection. He was handsome, charismatic, accomplished, and most importantly, of sound mind. Within moments of shaking his hand, I felt an uncontrollable pull towards this dark-eyed Italian standing before me.

After only a few candlelit dinners, we were hopelessly in love — or at least, I was. He promised the world and I fell for it. He showered me in radical acceptance, claiming I was his version of perfection as he bolted me onto a pedestal, bestowing me with the honorary title of being his savior and twin flame. 

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But over the subsequent weeks and months, John slowly revealed himself to be the very opposite; a pathological liar with an ugly temper, a bonafide drug addict with a dark history of manipulating and abusing women, including his girlfriends, ex-wife, sister, and mother.

I saw the red flags; in fact, they thundered down hard-and-fast. John convinced me to move to a new town all under the guise that if I were "committed enough’’ I would prove it and go all the way. The loving and all accepting man I fell in love with changed almost overnight and without warning, John flipped like a switch and turned into a monstrous emotional and mental bully.

John's rage escalated to acts of violence preceding verbal assaults and character assassinations, which slowly chiseled away at my sense of self, and before long, he ruled over my world. Everything that made me who I was slowly disappeared into his shadow. 

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As most women in abusive relationships do, I tried leaving several times but John's G-Force was magnetic. I began waking up from denial after John savagely beat me in June 2020 and the injuries reflected his temper.

He was drunk on rage as he forced me to the ground, stomping on me with such force I sustained a fractured wrist, rib cage, and cracked chest wall. He trampled me until my head and ear cracked wide open, turning my blue pajamas purple with my blood.

I was broken from the waist up, drenched in blood and the house looked like a murder scene. The last thing I recall is his hands on my neck strangling me as he screamed " I'm going to f****** kill you."

It took me 10 weeks to heal from the injuries. He promised to never touch me again. I believed him. Stupid girl. 

Fast forward 3 years later, September 2021, and I was officially leaving John for good. As broken as I was, I woke up from the denial and packed away my clothing, hopes, dreams, and whatever little furniture I still had left and informed John I was moving out.

It was the last night we were to be together and I tried desperately to mourn our relationship and impending breakup. I woke up the next day and I instinctively knew something was wrong. The house felt dark, the air was thick with doom.

I felt the tension in my pores and John's behavior only enhanced the sensation. He was in a dark all day — it was hair-raising darkness I had never seen in John. We tried to remain cordial with each other but even his son David, who lived with us, was well aware to keep out of sight.

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I spent the day packing up my belongings and John spent it in his bedroom, high on drugs as he had been for the last four straight days without sleep.

As nighttime came John emerged from his room but only to instigate yet another fight, riddled with accusations, blames, and verbal assaults. It was clear John could turn on me at any moment so I ended communication and climbed into bed, shattered.

After only a few minutes, John entered my room casually sitting down, lighting a smoke but remaining dead silent. 

I could feel the sense of being watched so I looked straight up at John and my blood grew cold. He was in the corner, staring at me with the deadest eyes I've ever seen. The look he gave me terrified me and I looked down at my hands. I knew something was wrong. 

Without saying a word, John got up and went into his bedroom, returning a few minutes later. He stood at the foot of my bed and announced there was an intruder on the property and that, "we could be in danger tonight."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing and I was extremely confused. 

"Why would you think there's an intruder in our house, John? What are you talking about?". 

There was no plausible reason for John to believe we were in danger. It was past 10 p.m, dead quiet and nothing indicated a threat. I was baffled and scared but John's behavior caught my attention.

He was chillingly calm and very nonchalant as he continued to claim there were people on the property. 

Suddenly he began opening up every closet door in my room and peered deeply into the shadows. 

"What are you doing John? What is going on? Why are you looking into the closets?" 

He refused to answer my questions, instead, he took out his phone from his pocket and began texting. I demanded to know why he felt we were in danger and tried to make sense of the madness in front of me.

Soon I realized his taunting had some truth to it.

I was still in bed when suddenly an unmistakably threatening loud crashing sound exploded from behind me and above my bedroom roof. The sound was a clear consequence of a falling object or a series of falling objects and I had no doubt the sound indicated a major threat. Utterly terrified, I shot straight up and began screaming, "What is that, John? What the hell was that sound?"

John stood at the foot of my bed with chilling calm and a smirk. He pointed to the ceiling and with a laugh said, "Ah you see, he is here".

I was stumped by his reaction. For a split second, I considered perhaps he was on a drug-induced paranoia but I knew John all too well and I knew by his reaction that he had full knowledge of who or what caused the crashing sound. I sat in terror as John casually walked out of the room while responding, "See, I told you. He is here. Come, let's go find him."

I screamed and demanded to know what or who John was referring to. John blatantly refused to answer or even console me and that's when I knew John was the author of this nightmare.

Without leaving my bed, I called the police crying hysterically. When John realized I was on the phone with the police, he insisted I cancel the emergency call.

His apprehension only fueled the instincts telling me I was being hunted, not only by an unknown intruder but it was John who was leading me into a trap. I began to monitor John's behavior, following him as he searched eerily through the house. He kept taunting me.

"Who is in the house tonight? Where is he?"

John was peering through the windows and the look on his face told me he was both expecting and waiting for someone. He forced me to walk through the house and John aggressively demanded all the lights in the house be kept on.

At one point we entered David's bedroom and my suspicions were confirmed; John switched on the main lights and I immediately noticed David and our dog Bruno were sleeping deeply. It was impossible for neither of them to still be asleep, given the chaos in the house. Chills ran through me as I plucked up the courage to challenge John.

"John, don't you think it's concerning David and Bruno are not waking up? Don't you think you should check on them?" 

In a tone that still haunts me, John eerily replied: "Why? Do you think they have been drugged?"

With that comment, I knew I was prey. I knew I was about to become a domestic violence murder victim.

75% of women are killed by their intimate partner days before or after they leave their abuser: my name was about to become a statistic. I knew just by the look in his eyes he was behind this. I had a supersonic instinct and I'm still wondering if God or someone from above was guiding me. 

In a moment of clarity that only supercharged my fear, I realized I was completely trapped. Earlier in the day, our neighbor reported our property entrance gate was suddenly locked. I recall the neighbor suspiciously approaching John for questioning. The bomb dropped. John locked the main exit gate earlier in the day as part of his plan, so no one could get in and no one could get out. 

John trapped me like an animal so I could successfully be hunted down.

Relief set in when I saw the blue flashing police lights outside the house.

In turn, John's demeanor became restless and he scrambled through the house in a rush before making a strange demand, which I now realize was a distraction tactic.

John opened the front door and aggressively insisted I stand outside by the gate to wait for the police. He forced me to stand outside, on my own, in pitch darkness where there was an apparent intruder. I protested and John insisted. He was very detailed and specific as to where exactly I should stand.

"I'm going to put socks on," John said. "Go wait for the police. Stand in front of the gate. Don't move."

Instead of running inside for socks, John ran behind the house towards where the crashing sound came from. Suddenly the neighbor's watchdog began barking viciously. 

John informed police he could not let them onto the property due to the gate and thankfully, the one cop sensed foul play. Knowing they could not actively help, the cop gave me his direct number and kept guard outside our house for the night. John's face was painted with disappointment and fury. He knew that I knew what he did: hired someone to murder me that evening.

My police call interrupted John's plan and John let whoever he hired to harm me out of the property from behind the house. A sense of relief soothed me knowing police were watching over the house until daylight but the terror of escaping murder still haunted me.

I walked back into the house, grabbed my cell phone and duvet cover, and locked myself in the bathroom until the next morning.

I spent hours avoiding John and hid terrorized in the bathtub until 6 a.m.

My dearest sister rushed over in hysterics and I officially left John the next day.

I was granted a Protection Order against John weeks later.

If you or someone you know is suffering from domestic abuse or violence, there are resources to get help. There are ways to go about asking for help as safely as possible. For more information, resources, legal advice, and relevant links visit the National Domestic Violence Hotline. For anyone struggling from domestic abuse, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233). If you’re unable to speak safely, text LOVEIS to 1-866-331-9474 or log onto

Alex Alexander is an author with YourTango.