I was familiar with what my actions would build in him and I could judge the gravity of the beating I would receive. Sickness and sadness. This time I made an effort to get away from him as we circled each other in the tiny apartment. When he snatched me I felt every punch over and over. I was laying on my stomach as he sat on top of my body. I had my arms and hand coving my face as much as I could. He had a way of trying to bruise up my face and I dealt with countless black eyes.

What seemed like an eternity while he punched me up and down my back area, Repeatedly punched the back my head. The impact of each punch hurt so intensely and he had progressed to the point I felt no pain.

He finally stopped and went back to his dart room where one of his mooching drug addict buddies had been during this. Never, not once did anyone try to intervene.

I laid on the floor crying hysterically for at least a half hour waiting for the pain to subside. When I tried to get up I couldn’t the pain cameshooting back through my body. I waiting a few more minutes lying on the living room floor mustering up the mental capacity to just get up and lay on the couch. I cringed at the thought of enduring the aftermath I would feel from this beating. I never thought to go to the hospital although I probably should have. I could barely breath, my left side area hurt so much when I did. So I monitored my breathing to short , shallow and slow ; in and out. Looking back the three days I barely could move from that couch I possibly had a cracked rib. Not once did Husband #1 ask me if I was ok. He basically ignored me as if I was invisible.

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