Calculated True-Life
Sitting on the sofa eight weeks pregnant, Robert was in a foul mood.
And through the wall, I could hear him smashing up the kitchen.
The pots and the drainer had gone flying, he’d scraped the wallpaper off the wall and he was ragging the fridge around the kitchen like a madman.
‘You need to stop, you’re scaring the dog,’ I said, pointing towards our pooch.
‘You need to clean that up,’ he spat, demanding me.
And I didn’t question it – whenever I had in the past it had just made him more angry and aggressive towards me.
On my hands and knees, I wiped the kitchen floor as he stood over the top of me shouting abuse.
I blocked out a lot of the insults – I was used to him saying horrible, spiteful things.
But suddenly, he ripped the stair gate from the wall and threw it right at me.
‘What are you doing? I’m eight weeks pregnant,’ I stammered, terrified of him. And the violence was about to become more regular.
I soon felt like a prisoner in my own home.
I had terrible morning sickness throughout my whole pregnancy – even spending time in hospital to be rehydrated.
It was so bad, I couldn’t eat. I’d cook all of Robert’s food but wouldn’t be able to eat anything myself.
‘You’re starving the baby, you’re such a sh***y mum,’ he’d yell at me. ‘If you don’t eat what’s on the plate, I’m going to throw it at the TV.’
I’d eat to the point I was sobbing but it didn’t make a difference – 80% of the food I cooked ended up being launched at the wall or TV.
When Robert didn’t get his own way, he’d completely flip out.
He broke six TV’s, pulled doors from their hinges and would even hit the dog, too.
And he would pressure me into sex all the time, trashing the house if I ever said ‘no’.
‘It’s because you’re sleeping with the landlord,’ he’d accuse, cruelly. ‘You’re ugly anyway.’
Robert would go on and on, until I felt like I had to comply.
I couldn’t say no to him. And when he would have sex with me, I’d dissociate, pretend I wasn’t there.
And afterwards Robert would pretend like nothing had happened.
I always felt so violated – I wasn’t consenting to having sex, Robert was raping me.
Washing the pots and pans up in the sink, I’d hear Robert come up behind me and brace myself.
Feeling him grope my body, he never listened if I told him to stop and I’d be left in tears.
‘You really don’t like me touching you, do you?’ he’d sneer. ‘Tough.’
This happened all the time.
All I had to do was walk past Robert and he’d try and pull my tr
