A couple of weeks later he came around late at night wanting to talk. In the past he had often come around late at night, sometimes drug affected and all hyped up, sometimes outright agitated, other times all apologetic and grovelling. This time he was cool, calm and reasonable. Starting off with saying he knew he couldn’t have me and he understood I deserved better. I let him in. He didn’t turn straight away. He played it cool for a while longer then he sort of hugged me, pinning my arms by my side saying he wasn’t going to let me go until I said I would take him back. I said he’d be holding on for a while then. Holding on for quite some time, trying to pin me up against the wall and kiss me. He eventually realised I wasn’t going to say what he wanted.
He pushed me up the hallway talking relatively calmly about how he knew to please me and we could still have a little something on the side. This is about when I realised I shouldn’t have let him in. Once in my bedroom he pushed me onto the bed and started trying to woe his way into my pants. When that didn’t work he starting trying to pressure his way into my pants before moving on to trying to physically get me undressed. I fought and wrestled him and told him to get off me and he had to go. I wasn’t going to have sex with him. I did worry I wasn’t going to have a choice. I fought anyway.
He pinned my arms above my head while trying to remove my pants. I remembered I kept a knife under my pillow and debated on whether I’d have the courage or the need to use it. When I slipped my hand under my pillow he pulled the pillow back to see what I was doing. I panicked for a moment because I didn’t want the knife in his hands just in case. He didn’t seem agitated enough to do anything like that. Turns out I was right. He tossed the knife and asked me what I planned on doing with it, would I use it on him. I said that if he raped me I’d be forced to defend myself.
For the first time in our 5 tumultuous months he laid a hand on me, smacking his hand into my jaw and screaming at me, “I’m not a rapist!”
“Then get off me then” I said. To my surprise he smacked me across the head, pushed his hand into my mouth like he was trying to gag me, and then got off. So he did have some reasoning left. He spent the next few minutes telling me he was never going to rape me and that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. This turned into him begging me to take him back and the water works started. Him crying and saying he couldn’t live without me and I was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Saying how everyone had noticed he’s been so much better since he’d met me. It I didn’t take him back he was going to take drugs and kill himself. I simply kept telling him he needed to leave. In the end I got him to leave by saying I’d think about taking him back and call him over the next few days.
When I called him like I said I would I explained that I couldn’t take him back. It would be the wrong message to send. I would be saying all that he’s done so far is acceptable and I want better for myself and my children than that. I knew he’d made improvements and I was proud of him for that but I couldn’t fix him and take his turmoil and hurt way. He was kidding himself if he thought I was the answer. He needed to do things for himself and only then could I think about being with him.
Amazingly he remained calm, took it all in and agreed with me. He had every intention of continuing to see his councilor and get help. I got calls from his dad telling me he was depressed but understood I needed to think about what was best for me. I got calls from his battered mother telling me he was a great kid and I should take him back.
He stalked me for months. Phoning me and hiding out front of my house.
Sometime later unbeknown to me he moved back in with his mum, I think to protect her from her current bloke. The new bloke kicked him out once he stood up to him so he was living in some tin shanty shake with an Aboriginal girl and hanging around with her mob. They took him in and looked after him like he was one of their own. But nothing could take away his anger and hurt. He still lost his temper and true to his word he took up drinking and drugging himself out of his nightmare. All the while his Aboriginal girl stuck by him. Months later he was dead. Run over by a road train in the middle of the night after passing out cold in the middle of the road, from too much drugs and alcohol.
It is a sad story. A boy who had metal clocks, beer bottles and what ever thrown at him by abusive men. A boy who witnessed his mum beaten black and blue and then had the men turn on him when she was done. A boy who lived a shitty life with no-one there to save him. No-one noticing (which amazes me to be honest). No school teachers realising that something is drastically the matter with his life.
The saddest part of all is his death put an end to his inescapable misery.
R.I.P. - D
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