MPS-Part 8 Valentine's Day

I was holding my breath...seconds seemed to stretch forever. Time stood still for God only knows how long while Josh was standing in front of me with that maddening smile on his face. The smile he got before he began screwing with my head. Josh thrust the shotgun at me and I instinctively flinched, thinking he was going to hit me again. Instead he shoved the shotgun into my chest, then into my hands. He yelled at me to "hold it right dammit!" I had no idea if the shotgun was loaded or not and I thought this was it. He was going to kill me for sure this time. I cringed every time he yelled, flinched at his every movement. For some reason, he found humor in my fear and began to chuckle...a sickening, evil laugh which scared me even more. I was terrified.

He was still laughing and said "you want me dead? Well then, fucking shoot me bitch. Here's your chance. I even put it in your hands". I have no idea how long I stood there completely motionless, frozen in time with my finger on the trigger and his hand on the barrel jerking the shotgun every now and then. He was daring me to shoot him, trying to yank the shotgun hard enough for my finger to pull the trigger while he stood in front of the shotgun. All the while I was thinking about what would happen to my animals if I did shoot Josh...who would love them, feed them, take care of them if I were in jail. I knew the cops wouldn't believe me when I told them the truth. I knew, just KNEW in my heart that I'd be the one going to jail even though he'd abused me for so long already. He was certifiably insane. And honestly, I didn't care if he did die - I just didn't want to have to clean up the mess.

My animals were far too important for me to do what needed to be done. I chickened out and did not shoot the son-of-a-bitch. Later, I would regret that missed opportunity immensely.

Josh thought I didn't have the nerve (although he had no idea what stopped me). Little did he know that in that short span of time, I realized my life was far too important to throw it all away and put him where he belonged...6 feet under and on his way back through the Gates of Hell. He thought I stopped because I still loved him. If he only knew what was going through my mind, he would've run. That is, if he had any damned common sense.

He took the shotgun out of my hands and put it back in my shotgun rack next to my bed. I never knew if it was loaded or not. He came back into the weight room, grabbed my arm and walked me down the hallway towards the living room. We spent the evening sitting on the couch and I listened to him tell more stories about his life and why he is the way he is. I truly believe they were all lies and he lives in a fantasy-land of his own creation. A few hours later when he was feeling better about himself, he forced me to go to the bedroom and have sex with him.

I was so used to this, that I was a master at disassociating my brain from my body. He could do whatever he wanted to do to me and I wasn't there. My body may have been there, but my brain and soul were not. I had to protect myself somehow without provoking him yet again by saying "no, don't touch me". No matter how much the thought of him touching me disgusted me, no matter how many times I gagged, cringed and withdrew, I knew better than to show it outwardly. The last time I did that, he got very rough and almost broke a few of my bones. His 300 pound body was no match for my petite 120 pound frame. I was overpowered yet again.

To be continued...