I sat in the passenger seat and looked at the driver. It was Oops but it didn't look like him. This man had a bright red scar against very white skin. Oops had a tiny scar from childhood you could barely see. This man had shark eyes. All pupil, no iris. This man had a very square set jaw and didn't move his mouth much when he talked. The Beast said, "RUN". The next thing I saw was stars, not the pretty kind, the kind you see when you have been sucker punched in the head. My head bounced off the window of this suddenly even smaller car. Oops talked very quietly and very softly. I needed to learn my lesson, said this satanic looking man.
I remember stopping at a convenience store. I had 5 minutes to get 4 quarts of beer. I was not to say anything to anyone. If I wasn't out in five minutes I would be dragged out by my hair. My mind raced, tell, scream, run, call my dad. No, I would rather die than call my dad. My five minutes was running out I got the beer and headed back to the car. "Please, can we just go home", I asked. He laughed.
We drove for hours it seemed. We were at a lake. I was so lost I don't even know what lake it was. I heard a whole new version of what was expected of me. There were rules. If I didn't follow the rules he would kill my mother so I could grieve about that and then cut me into to tiny pieces and feed me to animals. He had strange tales of killing hobos, cutting them up, putting their body parts on trains and watching the bloody trail on the tracks. He stopped the car. I ran through the dark. I fell, I got up and ran more. I hit a tree, didn't even see it and fell flat on my ass. He was on me in no time. He sat on my chest and arms and held a now broken bottle to my throat and cut me just enough to burn. Oh God, I was going to die. Maybe not tonight, but I was going to die, I knew it.
He dragged me to the car, threw me in the passenger seat and drove home. He passed out across the bed. I sat on the sofa and cried quietly. For hours. I had no idea what to do but I knew I couldn't reach out to my family.
You know when Oprah has women on her show about being abused and they talk about how sorry the abuser is later? No. Not in my case. Oops got up and reminded me to behave or else. I said. "I think I need to go to a hospital, pretty sure I have a broken rib". I thought maybe a doctor could help me. I did not think the police would. "You don't go to the doctor, not ever". "Fix me my breakfast, and hurry, I'm hungry."
I started fearing for my life everyday. The fear of what could happen was worse that what did happen sometimes. On the other hand, my OCD was much better. I still had the 3 and the 5 thing and I smoked at the right time for three minutes but I didn't count anymore. The constant counting in my brain ceased. That section of my brain had other things to worry about. I needed out. I needed a plan.
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