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.

share this story:

More stories

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

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.

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.

I painted the bathroom mirror with black paint. I just couldn’t face looking at myself anymore. He kept saying I was ugly every day. Not just once. Every time he looked at me he said it. I heard it so much I believed it. I couldn’t go out. I couldn’t even look at myself.

He would just sit there, glued to the TV screen. I tried to kiss him, but he didn’t even react. It was like I didn’t exist to him.

He made me feel invisible, unimportant, and unwanted.

One morning, I walked into the bathroom to shave, and there it was, written in bold letters on the mirror: ‘BITCH’. He knew I’d see it, every morning, without fail. It didn’t happen just once, he did it every day, in places he knew I couldn’t avoid.

Seeing those words staring back at me, mocking me, was worse than if he’d just said it to my face.

I wasn’t allowed on the bed. Every night, I’d try to sneak onto it, hoping for a moment of comfort, but she’d always shove me off.

I made it as comfortable as I could, with a cushion and a blanket, but it still felt like I was being treated like an animal. Lying there, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being less than human, undeserving of even a basic place to sleep.

Handcuffs

More stories

Subscribe To Our Newsletter