one shots

shorty swing my way [26]

october 1999
sunday
4:36 pm

"Shh. I know, baby. I know," my mother spoke soothingly as I cried, her hand smoothing over my hair while my head rested in her lap.

"It's so many people in the world. How did I end up with this monster?" I sobbed. "I fell in love with this man who. . . did everything right. He was everything I wanted in a man, but little did I know, he was the damn devil this whole time."

"Love can make you do some crazy things. It can also make you blind," my mother sighed.
"Mama, I don't even know if he really loves me. What he feels. . . that ain't love. That's mind control—body control. It's both. That's power," I sniffled.

"He did these things like it was nothing. He treated it like it was nothing so I saw it as nothing. . . All those signs. All those warnings. . . I'm such an idiot. . . I gave up everything for that man. I compromised every part of myself for that man," I continued to vent. "And he took advantage of that."

"M-My job. My sense of self. My independence. My relationships. . . gone," I shook my head. "Things that I spent years building. . ."

"Why? Why me?" I started to cry again, growing frustrated and angry with myself all over again.
"Look, I know things are hard right now. I know that this is a lot to take in and deal with, but you've made your bed, Nay. Now, you've gotta lay in it," my mother reasoned.
"What are you saying?" I sighed shakily while looking up at her.

"This is the man you married, and you took a vow and—"
"No! No, Mama! I'm not settling and just accepting my situation anymore. This man has made my life a living hell! I am not staying in this marriage. I am not staying under these circumstances!" I sat up and spoke defensively.
"You are, if he says you are, Renée. You think he's going to sign off on some divorce papers or even annulment papers? Even if he does, you don't think he's going to freeze any of the bank accounts you now share with him? You don't think he's going to keep you needing him. . . DeAndré is too smart not to have a back-up plan, sweetheart," my mother reasoned.

"I don't care. I'll open new accounts. I'll. . . I'll turn him in to the police, if I have to. If that's what it takes to get away from him, I'll do it. . . I'm a fighter, Mama, despite what you think," I spoke sternly.
"Are you?" she raised her eyebrows.
"Yes! Besides. . . he needs to pay for what he's done and for all the women he's hurt," I replied.

"So, you believe that he planned Lisa's murder?" she questioned.
"Believe? Mama, I know for a fact that he did. He told me!" I was growing louder.
"Where's your proof?" she asked.
I grew silent.

"Nay, Lisa's case is cold. If you don't have some concrete evidence against him, there can't even be a trial. How can you prove that he put this plan together? Even if your testimony against him is used, it's simply your word against his. Not to mention: he has enough money for the best lawyer in town. . . How can you be sure he doesn't have connections within the police department? They could just throw out your confession, and no one would ever know. Even if he goes on trial and your testimony is used, you'll be known as a snitch. You know better than to snitch, especially if it'll put you in danger. How can you be sure that he won't have people after you because you came forward? You have to take these things into account," my mother rambled.

I felt more discouraged than I ever had before. I had to face the facts: I was stuck. But, I wouldn't be for long. I refuse to settle any longer. I refuse to be this weak woman that I've become any longer.

I don't know how I would do it, but I knew that it'd get done. It had to get done.

I returned home, setting my purse down and storming into the kitchen. I caught sight of DeAndré on the couch but didn't bother to speak. I pulled out the wine bottle out along with a glass. "Hello to you too," he said, only to be ignored as I took the cork out of the bottle.