I’d escaped my violent ex, but when I saw that he’d met someone new, I feared something terrible was going to happen.
My eyes widened as my boyfriend Jason asked me a big question. ‘Well,’ he said,
‘what do you think?’
We’d only been together for two weeks, but he’d just suggested that I move in with him.
‘We’ll never be able to see each other if we don’t live together,’ he went on.
He had a point. Covid had hit, and the country had been plunged into lockdown.
Jason wanted to look after me, and it was what I needed after a recent break-up.
So, as we chatted on the phone, I decided it made sense. I moved from my flat to live with him in Preston, Lancashire.
But it wasn’t long before I was regretting it.
No sooner had I moved in, than Jason started to pick fights with me.
On one occasion, he accused me of cheating on him and pushed me to the ground and kicked me.
‘But I haven’t cheated!’ I cried.
He apologised, but after that, our relationship got worse.
I was too scared of him to tell my family. Instead I hoped things would get better. But the opposite happened. One evening, after we’d been bowling, Jason started another row, and as I drove us home, he hit me in the face.
Shaking, I pulled over and realised I was bleeding.
I was horrified, but Jason said: ‘It’s just a cut. You don’t need to go to hospital.’
Next day, I had a terrible black eye, but I went along with his made-up story that I’d fallen over at the bowling alley and hurt myself.
As time went on, I lived in fear.
One night, when we’d been together for nearly seven months, I was getting ready for bed when Jason turned on me again.
‘It’s obvious you’ve been sleeping around!’ he shouted.
I pleaded with him to calm down, but full of rage, he kicked me.
I fell to the ground with him on top, punching and biting me. ‘Get off me!’ I cried, trying to wrestle him away. But he wrapped his hands around my neck.
I tried to fight back, but as I was lying on the floor, he stamped on my head and back.
Somehow I managed to escape into the spare room and message my friend Simon.
I need help, call 999, I texted on my phone.
Then, as Jason stormed in, I ran past him and went downstairs.
‘I’m leaving!’ I shouted as I went.
He tried to stop me.
‘You’re not leaving,’ he said, pressing a knife to my neck.
‘I’ll kill you.’
And I believed he would.
With all my might, I pushed him away and fled down the street in just my shorts and vest.
As I ran, I looked down at my phone and saw a message from Simon.
The police are o
