They never leave a mark.
The truly talented abuser doesn’t leave evidence.
They terrify you on a deeper level…and they minimize the physical damage (or the actual evidence).
They make you feel crazy and like you can’t
breathe without setting off a bomb.
My father was a true professional when it came to abuse
without marks. If I had a mark…it was only earlier in the week or when he had
extended time. The scrapes/bruises were usually gone or well faded before I had to switch
houses again the next Sunday/end of vacation.
I kept most of the instances to myself because I didn’t want
to tell anyone without proof. It would only hurt the people that loved me, or
risk a report being filed that would only make things worse.
A lot of the times he would get mad at me, it would come out of nowhere and wouldn’t fully make sense. He would fly into a rage over something small and then it would only escalate. This day...the conversation had gone to me and biting my nails...something that infuriated him (ironic, given the anxiety the man gave me every moment of my life)
It was a Thursday afternoon…we had been out to lunch on the boat. He was yelling at me and I was just letting him, not trying to argue. He went on about how I had been lying to him about it (how I’m not sure given it was pretty easy to see) and was screaming at me. He got progressively angrier and told me to sit on the floor of the boat. It was an open boat…so I sat on the opposite side from the steering wheel facing him with my back against the side. I remember very clearly (I can still see the house we were passing when I sat down) thinking that if I had to I could just jump off and swim if he got too insane.
To be fair...I had that thought a lot…
frequently when he was aiming the boat at large
pilings at full speed.
Anyways…I sat down and he would occasionally slow the boat
down to scream at me…and then take off again. He eventually worked himself up so
aggressively that he slowed the boat completely, moved towards me, and kicked a
life jacket at me on the floor. His foot was still in contact when it hit my face…and it slammed my head into the side of the boat. I fought like hell to
not react, because that was the only thing you could do to avoid a further consequence.
Friday and Saturday things remained mostly calm. His current girlfriend came over, we went back out on the boat. To be perfectly honest...I don’t remember a whole lot of specifics from those next days.
However, Saturday night, he got angry
again and our conversation turned. I got too confident and made a comment about him kicking me in the head. He denied it and he started threatening me again. I told him to stay away from me or I would call the police. His response was telling me that I wouldn’t be able to call 911 with the ropes I
would be tied in.
Again...I have no idea how the night ended. Probably like most of the arguments where I would just stop talking and avoid him until he went to bed.
The following day was Sunday and it was the start of my mom's week. She showed up at the house per the usual visitation schedule, I grabbed my stuff, and said my goodbyes. I got in her car and immediately unraveled with everything that had happened.
Without hesitation, she drove directly to the police station and we filed my first domestic violence report.
For possibly the first time...officers actually listened.
I had proof.
the bastard had left a mark
...3 days later.
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