Page 61 of Taking Control
Looking down the hallway, I feel nervous about venturing further.
This was where he hurt me.
This was where he controlled me.
This was where I thought I would die at the hands of a monster.
The road to recovery lies solely with me, and I want to recover. I want to forget. I want to forgive.
It may seem impossible, but forgiveness is the only way that I will be able to deal with my past. If I don’t forgive, then it will fester and haunt me for all of my days.
I move one foot in front of the other, walking into the open-plan kitchen and lounge.
I look to the spot on the floor where I curled up like a dog.
I look to the table where I sat, scared to even take a sip of my coffee in the mornings.
I look to the sofa where it took every ounce of strength within me to just get up and keep trying to live.
I don’t know why I kept the key to Michael’s apartment. I say it’s his key because I was just an occupant, never an owner. I should have given it back to him when I left, I should have thrown it in his face, but I didn’t. I kept it. To be honest, I forgot for a while that I had it, but speaking to Ava today triggered the memory of me taking it out of my pocket when I was released from hospital and went to Cal’s house, and putting it in my handbag, tucking it away in the side-zip.
This is where I face my house of horrors and start to say goodbye to the doormat that I had become.
As I make my way to the bedroom, I can still hear the faint sound of the handcuffs that bound me to the bed, clinking away as I tried to make my escape. I can still feel the tears that ran down my face from the last time that I had sex with Michael. I can still feel the fear that beats away inside of me just from being here.
I want to erase that fear.
Everything is as I remember it. My watch is still sitting on the bedside table, along with a picture of Michael and me from when we first started dating. It’s surreal to think that I was happy at that point. I could never have envisioned the heartbreak that was waiting for me or the suffocation that had me struggling to breathe on a daily basis.
I feel tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I won’t cry. I won’t give that bastard the satisfaction of making me shed another tear. He doesn’t get to do that anymore, and he never should have had that power in the first place. I gave that to him. Me. I let him chip away at me, shattering my self-esteem and self-worth.
I turn and go to the bathroom, looking to the tub, seeing myself sat in there as Michael pushed my head under the water. My heart pounds violently as I close my eyes and remember that I fought. I’m still here. I’m still the woman I once was, but I want to be better. I want to give myself the chance to be the best version of myself that I can be.
I walk around the apartment a few more times, reliving the memories and seeing now that it was so obvious where the control started.
From the beginning.
From day one.
The nice-guy act that Michael put on, the charm, the affection, it was all there. The way that he lured me in, then made my friends his… Until Cal came back.
Cal.
It’s always Cal.
When Cal returned, the abuse got worse.
Michael felt threatened, more so than at any other point in our relationship.
There’s another photo on the wall of the lounge of Michael and me. The day after our engagement. He thought it was a beautiful picture, but to me it was ugly. I can see the dead look in my eyes, the way that my smile is forced, and my body is rigid as Michael’s arm is draped over my shoulders. He looks happy. I look destroyed, broken, hopeless.
I never want to look like that again.
With a rage burning inside of me, I take the photo off of the wall and hurl it across the room. It smashes against the opposite wall, glass shattering everywhere, the photo coming out of the frame and landing on the floor.
I look at the broken pieces and the sad eyes of the woman in the photo, and I vow to never be that sad woman again.
I will not be broken.
