But He's Not Like Lee (Part 4)

We arrived at the police station and the officer helped me inside. She once again told me to call my parents, I once again refused. She then took me to see the judge. If you have never been arrested before understand that this is not the best thing, but certainly not the worst of my night so far. The judge thought I had been in some kind of bar fight, and just looked so heartbroken when he realized that the domestic violence law was actually hurting the victim instead of helping, as I am sure the original plan was. He also encouraged me to call my parents. I was then taken for mug shots (lovely photo) and fingerprints. Another officer asked me if I wanted him to call my parents for me, I didn’t. Then they took me to the holding cell. This is what many people know of as the drunk tank. I was one of 3 women in there. The other two apparently had been in a bar fight, with each other. There was still some tension between them, but when they saw me, they were instantly on my team and were ready to go “kick my old man’s ass”. They put it so eloquently, that I didn’t bother to tell them that he was the one coming to get me. Yes, my one phone call had been to him, and he already had his mom coming with money for us to borrow so I could get out. I was eventually moved to another cell. They kept telling me that they were going to get me a jumpsuit, and I was just so pleased to be away from the other criminals, that I didn’t even care that I was about to really be going home with my abuser.
Eventually Lee and his mom get there. She takes care of the bond. We get into her car, she begins to drive. She then starts telling me that I need to go home to my parents. She practically begs me to go home. Then she drops us off at the house where we live. She looks at her son and says that he needs to send me home. But I didn’t go. I continued to walk right into the house and cleaning up the aftermath of our fight. Apparently the television fell when he slammed my head into it. Apparently I tried to lock myself in the bedroom, and he had drug me out. Apparently I was an idiot for not calling my parents and going home because I sat there in the early morning hours being told that if I wouldn’t have been acting like such a whore he wouldn’t have had to do that to me. Let me refresh your memory. I was watching Baywatch, which made me a whore, because strangely enough there were not only women on the show, but an assortment of men as well. Yes, watching television, bad television at that, produced an anger within him that made my night the most hellish night of my life.
I became determined to leave, but I had to formulate a plan. I had to make sure he was away from the house long enough for me get away without his knowledge. He had never threatened me to stay. He never told me that he would hunt me down if I left him. I was scared that if he knew I was leaving that I would be unable to tell him good bye. I was scared that he would somehow convince me that he needed me. I knew if I was going to leave, that I had to do it quickly, and get far away-fast.