Transcription
I have never had the best of luck with guys. I appear to have poor taste when it comes to dating. After separating for good from my kid's father after five years, I was ready to just be myself.
About three months of being a single mother, my neighbor approached me stating that a friend of his, Steve, would like to meet me. It didn't take long before he charmed his way into my life. The first six months were amazing, but he began to drink more and more, and each time he would get extremely agitated. He would start fights with random people and even some of our friends. Slowly, our friends would stop coming around, knowing how Steve got when he drank. This, however, did not stop him from drinking, but now all the anger was aimed at me.
It took roughly six to eight months of build-up from name-calling and shoving to punching and choking. Suddenly, this became a very abusive relationship. One time, I escaped out of the bathroom window. He later found me by beating up a friend of mine until he told him where I was. Steve began stripping all of my clothes off in a drunken rage while laughing at me and challenging me to go ahead and try to escape while I was naked.
The last night of abuse was by far the worst. Before Steve started drinking that night, I told him that my son, three years old, was not feeling very well, and I was going to stay with him as he fell asleep. My plan was to spend the night with my son. At around 2:30 in the morning, I heard the bedroom door open. I lied there pretending to be asleep. Several seconds went by. I held my breath as tears began to form in my eyes when I suddenly felt his hand on top of my head. He grabbed my hair and yanked me out of bed, whispering in my ear, "I know you're avoiding me."
Once in the living room, he threw me on the floor then accused me of trying to leave him and demanded to know why. Before I could answer, he angrily came to the conclusion that it was another man. "I swear to god, if I catch you with another man, I'll kill you and him." He was obviously more drunk than normal. He punched and kicked me a couple of times, and I fell to the floor. I started to crawl to my son's room, and he solely came from behind me, asking, "Where do you think you're going?" He then walked in front of me, kneeled down, and said, "You stay right there, or I'm gonna hurt you real bad." He then sat on the couch and watched me as I sobbed on the floor.
After about 30 minutes, it appeared that he passed out on the couch. I decided that this was my chance to escape. I put on an oversized shirt, picked up my son, and slowly crept by him. He suddenly woke up and grabbed my leg and said, "Where are you going?" I stammered out that I was going into the kitchen with my son to get him a drink. He then angrily replied, "Hurry up." As soon as I entered the kitchen, I ran out of the front door with no pants on, no shoes, and no purse. I carried my son all the way to the police station, which was thankfully only a few blocks away.
After hours, the way the police station is set up is that you go into a room and press a button and talk to someone on the intercom. I ran in and put my back to the wall and pushed the button behind me as I slowly slid down into a sitting position while holding on to my son, waiting for Steve to burst through the door at any second. I remembered thinking, if I was going to be beaten, at least it would be on camera. On the speaker, I heard, "How can I help you?" All I could do was cry. I couldn't even get a word out of my mouth. I didn't know how to explain.
Two officers came out to assist me. A female officer took my son and got him some food, and I went with the male officer to make a report, and he gave me a blanket. After 15 minutes, I heard Steve screaming my name as they brought him down the hallway. I held my breath as if he knew I was behind the door. Thirty minutes later, an officer came back with a sergeant. At first, I thought they were going to tell me to go back home and gather my belongings while Steve was being held in custody. Instead, they asked me more questions about his anger issues and if there had been any previous fights. I explained to them Steve's alcohol problem and how he had become increasingly more abusive.
They then showed me a list in Steve's handwriting detailing how he would dismember my body in a good spot where I would be buried without being found. He also had possible dates written down with past dates crossed out. I couldn't breathe when I read this, and by this point, tears were streaming down my face. I looked at the cop and asked, "What does this mean?" He looked back at me and said, "It means you're lucky." Steve was charged with attempted murder, kidnapping, and assault. I left back home to Arizona before the trial started but gave a detailed statement before I left. Steve, of course, pled not guilty, but in the end, he received two years in prison. Just before I left for Arizona, I received a letter from Steve. It simply read, "It's not over. You'll always be mine."