Categories > Original > Drama
Battered to a pulp, left abandoned on the kitchen floor. No support, no one coming to rescue me, this was it. My last hours, my few final minutes, my dying seconds all sprawled across the kitchen floor. Mingling with my blood, a current being formed by heavy wheezes, blood clotted coughs. I’d seen better days. I wish, my god I wish, that I’d never met him.
The thoughtless man had robbed me in every sense of the word. My freedom was the first thing to go, he’d taken control with one little wedding band restricting me from life. In my heart, I still believed, I had faith in him. I knew, or at least I thought I did, that he had a heart. He had no such thing. Our baby, Lucy, was the light of my life. She made it all worthwhile.
Lucy was a precious baby, brought into this world much before her time. I guess it was stress, not good for little Lucy. She was three months premature and I wasn’t allowed to see her every day like I’d wanted to. David, the spiteful man, he’d have been happy seeing her die in hospital, he knew she may not be completely functional and may need extra support. He wasn’t willing to give her that, and wasn’t willing to let me give that to her either.
I managed, with several bruises and severe health warnings, to keep my little Lucy. I kept her, but I couldn’t protect her. In little ways this twisted man took away her fragile life. Smoking in her bedroom, slapping me away as I did my best to stop him, refusing me a baby monitor and denying me the freedom of going to buy one myself. I know, I know, as I lay here dying, I could have done more. Lucy was my baby. Lucy died within three months of being home.
For a while, a long time, the beatings didn’t matter. I made no attempt to escape, David was even some kind of support. He seemed affected, but did not appear to be guilty. Smoking around a newborn was never going to be helpful to a child that needed to be wrapped in cotton wool and loved and held.
Tears trickle into the little pool of blood that drips out of the cuts on my head. It had the same effect as oil in water, not mixing or moving. I’d tried to get out, not too long ago, before it was too late. I’d wanted to make something of myself, wanted to make Lucy proud. It wasn’t going to happed, he’d made sure of that. He’d put a stop to it.
Brutal, he’d become brutal. There was no need for him to drink, he couldn’t control his anger. Liquor made him worse, but wasn’t the reason for his hurtful attacks. Sometimes, for little moments, fleeting thoughts make me slightly glad Lucy died. It would have ended the same way, years later, both of us lying on this kitchen floor, hurt, bruised our pores dripping our last ounces of life. She never had to face that. I’m thankful for those small mercies.
My mother, she cared, but I’d made it clear to her I wanted nothing to do with her. She’d been at Lucy’s funeral, crying in the front row. She’d said her few words, a fitting eulogy, ‘life is too short, for some’ she’d said. I can say for definite that she’d know about David’s inability to allow me out of radar. His control, she knew about it.
That’s not to say that she didn’t give up, oh no, she’d let me go just like the rest. I wish I’d had the guts to say, shout it from some high platform. Tell the world he hurts me and that I hate him, he killed my baby. No, I stayed quiet. I let the world pass me by. I let family and friends go, convinced that David was all that I needed. For a while, it was true. He was all that I needed, I thought he cared in the same way, that he was distraught about Lucy. No.
As a little girl, young adult and woman, I’d imagined myself in the usual setting. Two point four children, a husband, nice house, not too grand but definitely mine. I was the perfect housewife and mother, and boy did I know how to keep every ball in the air. The reality, however, was not in anyway of the sort.
My husband, never happy, disregarded everything I did. Whilst taking every opportunity to turn me against myself and my family, he’d beat me but it didn’t stop him marrying me. Though I needed him, I was desperate to leave but was tied down by an unexpected arrival, Lucy. We were not the typical husband, wife, baby.
Within six months of birth, she was snatched from my grasp. Within three months of her death, I knew that I was unlikely to become anything and was unlikely to end up anywhere else other than where Lucy lay now. I’d become twisted as the realization struck me, David didn’t care and never had. It festered, pushing itself into the open at inappropriate times.
Though David said to the public that I was embarrassing myself, he told me that I was useless but had gotten one thing right. He didn’t care, he’d never wanted me and had certainly not wanted to spend the rest of his life looking after a disabled child. That was the proverbial and literal ‘Point of no return’. I lashed out. Striking him with anything I could find, I had become a woman possessed and had wanted him dead.
That, however, did not occur. He’d grabbed me by the back of my head, tugging out tufts of hair. Blonde locks fell towards the floor, and I knew by the look in his eyes as he spun me round to face him that he’d kill me. I was ready for all he threw at me, though my body was unprepared I was capable of taking these last few punches.
He threw me to the floor, kicked me anywhere that was easiest for his boot to collide with. The bruising had started, but he wasn’t finished. Yanking me up by my hair again, he smashed my head against the counter causing little droplets of blood to splatter over it and onto the floor. I yelled out, incapable of holding in these cries. He’d punched me several times. Pushing me to the floor again he began to kick, within time, I’m not sure how long, he gave up. With one swift swoop his foot jerked into my face causing my nose to shatter under its pressure.
Seconds ticked by, the door slammed, I could faintly hear the sound of a car pulling away. The car that still had the baby seat inside of it. The baby seat that I just did not have the heart to move. Knowingly, I decided not to move. I knew no help was on its way, to say the least I was disappointed, in myself mainly.
Death was not what I’d expected. For me, it was no light at the end of a tunnel. There were no pearly gates or fire filled pits. Things were dark, but had been for a little while. It was only when I heard the gentle cries of Lucy’s that I knew it had finally happened. I knew that I’d met up with my little girl once again.
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‘I have the results of the post mortem’ The doctor came out into the waiting room where Meg Roberts had been sat ever since receiving the telephone call saying she’d have the results soon.
‘Yes, was there any chance? Did my little girl have a chance?’ She pleaded.
‘No, he’d beaten her too badly, even if she’d had medical help straight away it would have been unlikely they’d have made a recovery’ The doctor replied kindly, placing an arm over her shoulder.
‘They?’ Meg questioned.
‘Didn’t you know that Nikki was pregnant?’
The thoughtless man had robbed me in every sense of the word. My freedom was the first thing to go, he’d taken control with one little wedding band restricting me from life. In my heart, I still believed, I had faith in him. I knew, or at least I thought I did, that he had a heart. He had no such thing. Our baby, Lucy, was the light of my life. She made it all worthwhile.
Lucy was a precious baby, brought into this world much before her time. I guess it was stress, not good for little Lucy. She was three months premature and I wasn’t allowed to see her every day like I’d wanted to. David, the spiteful man, he’d have been happy seeing her die in hospital, he knew she may not be completely functional and may need extra support. He wasn’t willing to give her that, and wasn’t willing to let me give that to her either.
I managed, with several bruises and severe health warnings, to keep my little Lucy. I kept her, but I couldn’t protect her. In little ways this twisted man took away her fragile life. Smoking in her bedroom, slapping me away as I did my best to stop him, refusing me a baby monitor and denying me the freedom of going to buy one myself. I know, I know, as I lay here dying, I could have done more. Lucy was my baby. Lucy died within three months of being home.
For a while, a long time, the beatings didn’t matter. I made no attempt to escape, David was even some kind of support. He seemed affected, but did not appear to be guilty. Smoking around a newborn was never going to be helpful to a child that needed to be wrapped in cotton wool and loved and held.
Tears trickle into the little pool of blood that drips out of the cuts on my head. It had the same effect as oil in water, not mixing or moving. I’d tried to get out, not too long ago, before it was too late. I’d wanted to make something of myself, wanted to make Lucy proud. It wasn’t going to happed, he’d made sure of that. He’d put a stop to it.
Brutal, he’d become brutal. There was no need for him to drink, he couldn’t control his anger. Liquor made him worse, but wasn’t the reason for his hurtful attacks. Sometimes, for little moments, fleeting thoughts make me slightly glad Lucy died. It would have ended the same way, years later, both of us lying on this kitchen floor, hurt, bruised our pores dripping our last ounces of life. She never had to face that. I’m thankful for those small mercies.
My mother, she cared, but I’d made it clear to her I wanted nothing to do with her. She’d been at Lucy’s funeral, crying in the front row. She’d said her few words, a fitting eulogy, ‘life is too short, for some’ she’d said. I can say for definite that she’d know about David’s inability to allow me out of radar. His control, she knew about it.
That’s not to say that she didn’t give up, oh no, she’d let me go just like the rest. I wish I’d had the guts to say, shout it from some high platform. Tell the world he hurts me and that I hate him, he killed my baby. No, I stayed quiet. I let the world pass me by. I let family and friends go, convinced that David was all that I needed. For a while, it was true. He was all that I needed, I thought he cared in the same way, that he was distraught about Lucy. No.
As a little girl, young adult and woman, I’d imagined myself in the usual setting. Two point four children, a husband, nice house, not too grand but definitely mine. I was the perfect housewife and mother, and boy did I know how to keep every ball in the air. The reality, however, was not in anyway of the sort.
My husband, never happy, disregarded everything I did. Whilst taking every opportunity to turn me against myself and my family, he’d beat me but it didn’t stop him marrying me. Though I needed him, I was desperate to leave but was tied down by an unexpected arrival, Lucy. We were not the typical husband, wife, baby.
Within six months of birth, she was snatched from my grasp. Within three months of her death, I knew that I was unlikely to become anything and was unlikely to end up anywhere else other than where Lucy lay now. I’d become twisted as the realization struck me, David didn’t care and never had. It festered, pushing itself into the open at inappropriate times.
Though David said to the public that I was embarrassing myself, he told me that I was useless but had gotten one thing right. He didn’t care, he’d never wanted me and had certainly not wanted to spend the rest of his life looking after a disabled child. That was the proverbial and literal ‘Point of no return’. I lashed out. Striking him with anything I could find, I had become a woman possessed and had wanted him dead.
That, however, did not occur. He’d grabbed me by the back of my head, tugging out tufts of hair. Blonde locks fell towards the floor, and I knew by the look in his eyes as he spun me round to face him that he’d kill me. I was ready for all he threw at me, though my body was unprepared I was capable of taking these last few punches.
He threw me to the floor, kicked me anywhere that was easiest for his boot to collide with. The bruising had started, but he wasn’t finished. Yanking me up by my hair again, he smashed my head against the counter causing little droplets of blood to splatter over it and onto the floor. I yelled out, incapable of holding in these cries. He’d punched me several times. Pushing me to the floor again he began to kick, within time, I’m not sure how long, he gave up. With one swift swoop his foot jerked into my face causing my nose to shatter under its pressure.
Seconds ticked by, the door slammed, I could faintly hear the sound of a car pulling away. The car that still had the baby seat inside of it. The baby seat that I just did not have the heart to move. Knowingly, I decided not to move. I knew no help was on its way, to say the least I was disappointed, in myself mainly.
Death was not what I’d expected. For me, it was no light at the end of a tunnel. There were no pearly gates or fire filled pits. Things were dark, but had been for a little while. It was only when I heard the gentle cries of Lucy’s that I knew it had finally happened. I knew that I’d met up with my little girl once again.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
‘I have the results of the post mortem’ The doctor came out into the waiting room where Meg Roberts had been sat ever since receiving the telephone call saying she’d have the results soon.
‘Yes, was there any chance? Did my little girl have a chance?’ She pleaded.
‘No, he’d beaten her too badly, even if she’d had medical help straight away it would have been unlikely they’d have made a recovery’ The doctor replied kindly, placing an arm over her shoulder.
‘They?’ Meg questioned.
‘Didn’t you know that Nikki was pregnant?’
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