“You are your own refuge, there is no other. You cannot save another, you can only save yourself.” ~ Guillaume Musso
As I watched the headlights of Mr. Godfather’s car heading towards us, staggering fear swept over me. There he was, he had come for me. I knew he was going to kill me just like he said he would. I knew he wouldn’t hurt my family, it was me he wanted. I don’t remember him threatening anyone in my family. Not once. He could just use his charm or push right past them to get to me. I had no faith that my father or brothers would be able stop him and I never expected them to try to protect me. I had never asked them to fight him and I never would.
I turned around from the entrance door and RAN to my mother’s office. It was the closest room with a lock on the door. Locked inside, I remember sliding down to the floor, covering my head, and rocking back and forth, “He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me…”. I had seen him after he had beat men up. I had felt the sheer force of his strength, I knew exactly what it felt like be physically overpowered by him. I was with him when he broke inside his father’s church. I had watched him run a knife across my wrist. I had sat in his car in the dark listening to him go over every detail of my future untimely demise should I leave him, and I did not want to be thrown into the trunk of his car… not again. The office door was a half glass window/half-door and I knew no lock would keep him out. All he had to do was convince someone to let him in the building or push past anyone who got in his way. I was certain my life was over.
*Photo by Lionello DelPiccolo on Unsplash
Soon, I heard a voice at the door calling my name and telling me to open the door. I stayed in the floor and continued having my panic attack. I heard the word, “Police” and I stopped. “Police?”… oh, that’s right. Earlier, my parents had spent quite a bit of time making sure the police had Mr. Godfather’s information along with the limited amount of details I offered up about his abuse. They would protect me as long as I did exactly what I was told, I just never thought they could. The voice on the other side of the door was letting me know that they had called the police and I could come out. It was safe. Reluctantly, I unlocked the door and walked out. To my amazement, no one had let him in, he hadn’t forced his way through the front doors, and the police were already there. In the dark building, I walked towards the entrance. Through the huge glass windows, I could see the police had swarmed his vehicle and had him up against the back of it. It looked like they were searching his vehicle, patting him down, and placing him in hand-cuffs. Just like a scene from a movie. It was too much for me, I could hear a police officer who had come inside and was talking to my parents.
I can’t recall exactly what all he was naming off that my Ex-Fiance had with him. I do remember him saying, “Ice pick, (something), (something, details)…” I could see and hear everyone around me, but once again it was almost as if I was in a dream.
*Photo by Reza Hasannia on Unsplash
Why did he hate me so much? All I had ever done was try to understand him. I tried to see the good in him and I had wanted him to succeed in life. I did everything to please him. Why couldn’t he love me the way I loved him? Why did he think he had to constantly hurt me? Why did he threaten me? Why couldn’t he be his charming self all the time? Why couldn’t he love me enough to let me live? Why, even after this, would I never hate him?
“The secret to letting go is realizing that you’re worthy of the type of love they’re unable to provide.”
He was put into a police car and my parents were ready to go home. It had been a very long day and they were tired. They had me walk through the bright light of the foyer, out to the parking lot. I climbed inside the back seat of my parent’s car. I didn’t want him to see me. I had a feeling he was watching me from the back seat of the police car just like he had watched me so intently the first night I met him. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, I hadn’t told anyone all that he had done. Some things I intended to take with me to the grave. Why didn’t he just stay away? Why couldn’t he be mad at me from afar? It didn’t need to come to this. But, it was out of my hands now. I couldn’t save him from himself. As my father drove away, I felt intense sadness. It was like I could feel Mr. Godfather’s anger and disappointment. I don’t usually give up on anyone and here I was, giving up on him…
Amazed By His Grace,