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An investment banker from Chicago here on business.

I suppose that should have been my first red flag. What does an investment banker even do?

Still, he had a fancy watch and wore nice looking clothes. He took me out to the best restaurants and bought me gifts. He was older, but that was part of the appeal. A man nine years my senior wanting me.

When we were together, it was as if I was the only person in his world.

I wanted to make him happy.

So if he said my skirt was a little too short, I stopped wearing it. Then my top showed off too much cleavage. He wanted a woman who only showed the goods to him. So I bought conservative clothes.

I went from being fresh out of high school working a dead-end waitressing job while I tried to figure out my life to being a kept woman. The perfect trophy girlfriend.

I learned quickly not to speak when he was talking to others. To smile and look pretty, but never offer an opinion.

I became a shell of who I used to be.

He isolated me from everyone I knew.

After three months of dating, he convinced me to move out of my apartment with my roommate and move into his place.

After six months, I was no longer working. He didn’t want his woman to be a lowly waitress. He promised he would pay for my schooling so I could do something else.

Now a year in, I see all the lies. The way he manipulated me in a way that made me dependent on him.

He no longer hides who he is from me. He doesn’t care if I hear his shady business.

“Are you even listening to me?” William scoffs. “Of course not. Such a fucking ditz. I should have known all that blonde hair was hiding an empty fucking head.”

The plate crashes against the wall as he rages.

I try to control my breathing. I know what’s coming next.

I got lost in my thoughts and now I’ll pay the price.

William pushes the table until it slams into my stomach. I groan, but try to remain upright. If I fall, he won’t stop. He will use his feet.

His punches hurt less than the point of his shoes.

“You stupid fucking bitch. Do you think I enjoy punishing you? You had such potential. I should make you a whore instead of trying to civilize you. You embarrass me.”

I don’t respond. I never do.

Instead, I watch the spittle fly from his mouth as he screams at me. By the end of his tirade, his throat will hurt, which will be my fault too. That’s when his hands will start to fly.

It doesn’t take long.

First, a fist to my temple. It disorients me enough to miss the next one to my stomach. This one tips my chair over, causing my head to crack against the ground.

I already know I’ll have another concussion. This will be my third.

How many before it causes permanent brain damage?

After the first time, when I went to the hospital, I learned it was better to stay home and pray I don’t die rather than risk the trip to the hospital.

They ask too many questions.

Pain lances through my side as I feel his foot connect. It takes everything in me to choke back the sob that wants to come out because noise only enrages him further.

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