Author’sCorner
THE PLUS FACTOR
AWARD-WINNING BOOK ON SURVIVING DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
Chapter Four
Hell’s Kitchen
“Hell is a place, a time, a consciousness, in which there is no
love.” —Richard Bach
I walked into the house slowly as I
was not sure what to expect. He had
certainly been mad before, but tonight
was different. I put my purse down and
stood around in the kitchen, waiting for
him to get there. There was no way for
me to avoid the unavoidable, so whatever
was coming my way, I was prepared.
I heard his car pull into the driveway.
He approached the door, and I heard
him turn the lock to walk in; I had not
bothered locking the door, as there was
no need. As he walked into the house
with his youngest son, he told his son to
have a seat on the couch in the den and
watch television until it was time for the
both of them to leave.
“You must think I am crazy!” he
shouted at me.
Flabbergasted, I said, “What are you
talking about?”
He then went on to say, “So you
mean to tell me I did not see them walk
up to you, whisper something in your ear,
you turn around, start laughing, and then
walk off? Who is the fool? Am I the fool,
Tamika?”
To which my response was, “What
do you mean, are you the fool? What are
you talking about?”
The next words that came out of his
mouth were shocking. “I am going to
BEAT you,” he said, and beat me he did.
Because his youngest son was sitting
in my den, he pulled me back to my
bedroom. He grabbed me by my suit
jacket and slammed me into the wall in
my bedroom. At some point during all of
this, my chest was scratched and bruised
really badly. A year and a half later, I still
had some of this physical scarring. I tried
to block the blows with my hands and
arms by curling into the fetal position to
ease the brunt of the punches that were
repeatedly coming to my head. “Stop,” I
begged. I pleaded with him, “I did not
do anything.” My pleas went unanswered
as he continued to punch and choke me.
When Will It Stop?
He released the hold he had on my
neck, and I finally started to breathe
again. He got up and left the room. I
was not sure where he went; I was too
emotional and crying too hard. The tears
in my eyes blurred my vision.
I looked up and there he stood again.
He was coming back into the bedroom.
I noticed something shiny in his hand,
but it was down by his side, so I could
not really identify what it was. As he got
closer, I realized that it was a knife. Oh
goodness! He is going to kill me, I told
myself, and no one is around to hear my
cries.
He placed the knife by my head and
proceeded to cut the mattress, sheets,
and blanket that I had on my bed, right
beside my face. I watched as the knife
tore through the items and thanked God
every minute that it was not tearing into
my flesh. I received the message loud
and clear, “I have the power in my hands
for you to live or die. Which will you
choose?”
He stopped. He realized his son
was still in the other room. Then he
demanded that I ride with him. Why? I
was not sure. He knew that I could not
call for help, because he had taken my
and my son’s mobile phones.
“I am not finished with you,” he
said.
I wiped my face so that his son
would not know what had just happened
or sense me being upset. I got off the
bed and followed him to the car. We
drove to his mom’s house, about fifteen
minutes away.
I have heard the saying that silence
is golden, but during that fifteenminute drive, every minute of silence
was more and more deathly. The only
sounds I heard was the pounding of my
heart in my eardrums. Faster and faster
my heart beat. The funny thing is that I
cannot remember breathing.
As he let his son out of the car, he
asked him to tell his mom that he would
be back. He kissed his son good night
and watched him walk to the door and
into the house to make sure he got in
okay.
Follow Tamika on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/tlashon.sims
10 • Upscale Desires Magazine • www.upscaledesires.com