I wake up to crazy eyes staring at me. I don't know how long he's been lurking over me but here he stands -- at 6'3, dark skinned, slim build, sweating, ranting about me in his bed. I'm like, here we go... again. These midnigh fights were not unusual. He's screaming "If you ain't fucking, you can't sleep in my bed." I know not to make any sudden moves so I slowly rise and look him dead in his face. My heart is about to jump out of my chest. I'm not in the mood to fight tonight. I get out the bed and go into the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. He follows me. He's still yelling at me. I calmly sit on the toilet and do my business as he's yelling. "If you ain't fucking, you can't sleep here." "Fine, I say." I get up, flush the toilet, wash my hands methodically as I stare at myself in the mirror. I look over my shoulder and he's looming in the doorway. Like I said, he's tall but slim. I outweigh him by 50 lbs easy. I'm not a small woman. I stand 5'10 and weigh about 235, so I can hold my own. I brush past him and he grabs my arm. "You hear me, bitch?" I jerk my arm away and keep moving. I start to pack my bag. Actually it's a ghetto bag -- a huge, black garbage bag. (See, I've been here before with this dude. I left him because I couldn't take it but came back. See: glutton in the dictionary. Did you find my picture?) He rips the bag out my hand and gets so close to my face that I can see the spit fly out his mouth and land on mine. I push him out of my face and run to the hall bathroom. I need peace. It's 235 a.m., a week day, and I have to be up at 630. I sit on the toilet and he comes plowing into the bathroom, and gets in my face again. Fuck it. Looks like it's gonna be a fight tonight. I push him away and he pushes me so hard I almost fall into the bathtub. I catch myself and fling myself at him. We push each other back and forth for a minute as he's yellling, "You're going to give me some pussy!" Woord? This nigga is crazy! I ain't giving him shit! I run back into the bedroom to get my bag, my purse and my keys, and he is on my heels. He pushes me and I fly into the dresser where he now has me pinned. His hands tightened around my throat with fire in his eyes - crazy eyes, wide, feral eyes. He is high as a kite. Venom spewing from his mouth. "Ima kill you, bitch!", he hissed. His hands are tightening, he's squeezing and I'm panicking. I raise my hands and punch him as hard as I can and that sends him flying across the room. He lands on the bed, bounces onto the trash bags that hold all my things, and bounces onto the floor. Oh shit! NOW he's pissed! He's sitting on the floor, screaming, "Okay! Okay! That's it! That's it! I'm going to get you bitch!" Well, I didn't stand there too long. I'm crying. I'm talking to myself wondering how I got here as I pack the rest of my things. As I'm gathering my stuff, he walks up behind me talking to me, almost cooing. "Where you going baby? Don't leave. I'm sorry. I don't want your family to know. Don't leave like this." Oh they're going to know, trust and believe me. They are going to know and they are going to whoop your ass!!!!! I'm thinking this. I didn't say a word. He's hugging me. He's asking me to stay, begging even. It's now a quarter to five and I'm exhausted, so I stay. I get in the bed with all my clothes on and barely sleep. I toss and turn for an hour and a half wondering, "how did I get here" again? Oh yeah, this manic motherfucker asked me, repeatedly, to move in with him, so I did. I moved against my better judgment. I knew, in the back of my mind, it was a bad idea. I knew I should have listened to my gut and my homegirl. She told me to keep my place - at least for a couple months. But I felt if I was going to do this, I should do it 100%... So I moved. His friends were surprised we were moving in together. One even tried to warn me on the low but I wasn't paying attention - thought I had a winner.
We dated a year before I moved in with him. He had drama, but who doesn't? He said, it would be cleared up and it was. He had a 4 year old daughter who loved me until I moved in. He also had a coke habit which I didn't know about until I moved in. The first two weeks was love. We had a nice little routine going. Everything was flowing and then his birthday rolls around. That was the beginning of the end.
I got off work early because I know he's going out for his pre-birthday celebration and I agreed to watch his daughter. I walk in, and a friend of his is already there. He's getting dressed. I go in the back and speak to him, kiss him and wish him on his way. I didn't know I was in for a tumultuousness night and morning. His daughter and I went to McDonald's for dinner, come home, watch tv, and head to bed about 11ish. I wake up at 3am and could have sworn I seen him in our bedroom standing beside the bed. I walk out into the living room but he's not there. I call him. He answers sounding drunk but says he's okay and will be home soon. I asked him if he came home and he said no. I brushed my vision off as a dream and go to sleep. I wake up an hour later to a car screeching off. I get up and walk in the living room, he's still not home. I call him, no answer. I leave a voicemail. I sleep some more, waking up a few hours later and he's still not home. By this time it's almost 8 in the morning. I call him. His phone goes straight to voicemail. I get out of bed and make some tea, and try calling again, straight to voicemail. Now, I'm getting worried. I call my sister and she tells me, he's just having a good time. He will be home soon. Soon turns into 5 pm. He has blood all over him. He looks dirty, and has this powdery looking stuff - like dust from a construction site - all over him, like he rolled in it. He gives me this tall tale about getting robbed and beaten and woke up in an alley. Yet, he doesn't know I've spoken to ALL friends and they alluded that this is normal behavior for him. I spoke to one of his friends and dude was so nonchalant about it, it made me pause. He said, "Oh, he'll turn up. He always does." Another friend stopped by and was surprised he wasn't home yet. He goes on to tell me that my dude came by his crib at 3am and bought some coke from him. COKE?! He looked at me like oops! Yeah, nigga, I didn't know. So when my dude comes in with this tall tale, I was pissed. Really? Robbed and beaten? You think I'm stupid?! We argue back and forth but I leave it alone, and he sleeps the night away.
From that day on, things get crazier. I started discovering little baggies around the apartment. He was staying out later and later, and starting to bring up swinging, or possibly bringing girls home. When we first started dating he introduced me to a chick who I've become cool with. Unbeknownst to me, she was also a coke head. We've became friends and started hanging out. However, she would tell him every move I made, every dude who flirted with me or bought me a drink. Needless to say, that friendship ended.There was one hanger-on who was ALWAYS at the crib. I couldn't stand her. I knew he was fucking her but I couldn't prove it. I even asked her one day. Of course, she denied it. I told her when I find out I was gonna fuck her up. When I left the first time and came back to get some stuff, she left her sweater at the crib. I conveniently threw it in the trash, poured grease on it and had him throw the trash out! There were other girls that came by but she was a constant. We weren't intimate as we once was because I suspected he was cheating. As my suspicions grew, I began snooping. I would go through his pockets and his phone. His pockets held baggies with traces of white powder in them, and condoms. His phone held videos, text messages, and voicemails. He kept videos of him fucking other chicks. He kept text messages between him and other chicks. He kept everything. He was an idiot especially since his phone was on my bill and in my name. What a dummy he was or was that me?
It was me. I was the dummy. I saw for months what this dude was doing and who he was. I found the baggies. I saw the females in and out the crib. I saw my money disappearing. His friend told me to put my purse and keys in the bedroom at night because this clown was taking my car during the night. We broke up Halloween night but I needed to stay so I could save for a place. (See, I should have kept my apartment, but hindsight is 20/20, right?) The final straw? He moved in a 19 year old chick and her baby. Yes, you read that right. He moved a girl in, but by this time I didn't care. He could have had a harem, and I wouldn't have cared. I wasn't screwing him and he couldn't touch me with his dead daddy's dick. I found out through the videos on his phone that he was fucking the 19 year old -- that and she was walking around the crib in her drawls. Duh, Lisha, what was your clue? I decided it was time to leave.
I had been there less than 6 months, and seen more in those few months than I have seen in a lifetime. I don't regret moving with him. He taught me so much. I can recognize a liar with direct eye contact and a beautiful smile. I know what I don't want in a relationship, who I don't want, and what I won't EVER put up with. Life is full of lessons - either you're the teacher or the student, and in this case, I was the student. I carry the lessons he taught me everywhere I go, and no longer judge a book by its cover. I know I am stronger than I give myself credit, and I will never allow any man to make me feel less than who I know I am. I am a fighter, figuratively and physically. Plus I carry a knife.
