Clothes On Bed

I had this book where I wrote down everything she did, like my own secret diary. But she found it, and she burned it all. All my words, all my proof, gone.

I felt so small, like I couldn’t do anything to stop her or prove what she did.

She’d snatch my phone every chance she got, always poking around in it, reading my messages, and checking who I’d called. It felt like I had no space to breathe, no privacy at all.

My phone wasn’t just a device anymore; it was a leash, and she held the other end tight. Freedom? Forget about it.

At first, it was just a bit of harmless fun, just a game we played.

But he started leaving for longer periods. He would go to the pub. I was scared. I dreaded his return and what he might do. I didn’t know what state he would be in.

Sometimes he would bring other men home. To use me for fun or to pay off his debts. I would lay there. I couldn’t run away.

I wanted it to stop. I wanted to die.

He always threaten to tell immigration about me and send me back, even though I here legally. Just the idea of being reported would mess up my job and seeing my kids. He know this, but he don’t care. He just want to hurt me, to make me feel scared and powerless.

It feel like he got all the power, and I can’t do nothing.

I was out chilling with my mates when my phone rang. It was her, and she sounded really messed up, saying she’d hurt herself if I didn’t come back.

When I got back, I found her in the bathroom, knives lying there like some horror movie. It freaked me out big time.

After that, I felt like I had to stay close, like I was responsible for her. I couldn’t even hang out with my friends without worrying about what might happen when I wasn’t there.

He would put sleeping powder in my drink. I’d wake up confused, not knowing what happened or where I was. Sometimes, I’d also feel pain, you know, down there. Maybe it was a good thing in a way, because I wouldn’t remember what he did.

But it still left me feeling violated and scared.