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.

Handcuffs

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

That’s what he told me, anyway. A joke. A bit of excitement. Something just between us.

And I believed him.

It started with small things—him tying my wrists together, seeing how long I could stay still, whispering in my ear how much he loved having control. I told myself it was normal. That it meant he wanted me. That it was just another part of love.

But then the rules of the game changed.

He started leaving for longer periods. He would go to the pub. He never said when he’d be back, never answered his phone, just disappeared, leaving me alone in that flat, waiting.

I was scared.

I dreaded his return and what he might do. I didn’t know what state he would be in. Drunk? Angry? Playful? It was always a gamble. I never knew until he walked through the door, his eyes clouded, his breath thick with alcohol.

Then came the nights he didn’t come home alone.

Sometimes he would bring other men with him. At first, it was just to show me off. To humiliate me. To remind me I belonged to him.

But then it became something else.

They started using me for fun. Or to pay off his debts.

I would lay there.

I couldn’t run away.

There was nowhere to go, no way to fight back. The first time, I screamed. The second time, I begged. The third time, I just closed my eyes and let it happen.

I stopped thinking. Stopped feeling.

I wanted it to stop.

I wanted to die.

But the worst part?

He still called it a game.

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UNSEEN ECHOES - Objects of Domestic Abuse | Photography Project & Exhibition

I remember having this page in my notebook where I scribbled ‘NOT REAL’ over and over again. He kept insisting I’d done things I hadn’t, trying to make me believe I was a bad person. I scribbled so hard, my pen went through the page.

It was like all the shouting inside me found its way out onto that paper.

He took control of my banking, wanting to know every penny I had and where it went. I couldn’t have my own money. He watched everything. He’d even take cash from my account, moving it to his if he thought I had too much.

I dreamed of using that money to break free, but there was no hiding it from him. Every time I thought I had enough, he’d take it away.

I began receiving cards in the mail from my friends, filled with well wishes for a speedy recovery. I was so confused, I wondered why they thought I was sick. Turns out he had told all my friends that I was sick and couldn’t see them.

It was like he was isolating me from the people who cared about me, manipulating them into believing his lies.

He boiled a pan of water on the hob. He kept telling me that I had to stop upsetting him. He said it over and over again, but wouldn’t say what I was doing.

Then he called the dog over and held it near the water. He kept telling me to stop upsetting him.

I couldn’t. I didn’t even know what I had done wrong.

He was a control freak. He made schedules for everything, even when I could eat or sleep. I was too scared to do anything differently.

I didn’t have the freedom to choose for myself.

Every morning there was a cup of tea waiting for me in the kitchen. Always in the same broken cup. I hated that cup, I wanted to smash it, but that would just get me in trouble. She would also leave the teabag and spoon for me to clean up.

She did it to remind me that I was a broken mess and that nobody would want me.

The thought of it still makes me feel sad and lonely.

Handcuffs

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