I see victims of domestic violence all the time at the hospital.
I used to wonder, why didn't they leave after the first time?
Then I understood.
The first time you hit me was during a particularly nasty row. We were watching a hockey game and I don't remember why now, but I thought that would be a good time to start talking about your drinking.
I'd noticed we were getting through more scotch than usual and I knew I wasn't drinking it. I was worried about you but you didn't see it like that. You thought l was criticising you and of course you got all defensive; which led to arguing and name calling and ultimately resulted in my black eye.
I don't remember feeling pain. I remember feeling shock. I remember running to the bedroom.
You followed me.
Your eyes were wide like you couldn't believe what he'd just done. I couldn't believe it either.
You told me you were sorry over and over. You promised me it would never happen again and said that you loved me more than anything.
I believed you and you held me and kissed me while I cried.
Then we made love and you were so gentle, caring and giving that I knew for certain you would never do it again. I knew it had just been one stupid mistake.
I was wrong.
The second time happened was almost a month later. You came home hours after your shift had finished and you were staggering around drunker than I've ever seen you before.
'I have no problem with you going out but you could have called to let me know where you were going so that I didn't have to sit at home worrying that something bad happened to you.'
That was all I said and you thought I was accusing you of something but I wasn't.
We argued.
You shoved me, I fell against the kitchen counter and I landed on the floor. I felt the pain that second time. I also felt angry. I was angry that you'd lied. You broke your promise. You'd promised never to hurt me again.
That same night I packed a bag and went to Turk and Carla's place. Of course they asked me what was wrong but I froze up. I couldn't tell them. I said that we'd had a fight and we both just needed some space to cool down.
Neither of them questioned it.
I couldn't sleep without you to hold me.
You came the next morning and you cried; begged me to come back home. You looked a mess. I knew you'd been awake all night as well, dealing with your guilt while I felt the physical pain.
You told me you were sorry.
I know that you were sorry. That's why I went back to you.
Being sorry didn't stop it happening again.
When you have a secret to hide it's surprising the things that you learn.
You have learned never to hit my face because there are only so many times a person can get hit with a football before people start asking questions.
I have learned which brand and shade of foundation provides the best cover-up for bruises. I have learned to keep some in the bathroom cabinet just in case.
You have learned to ignore the frightened look in my eyes when you go to the drinks cabinet.
I have learned that long sleeved shirts can hide all manner of sins.
We have both learned to become liars. Lying comes to us now as easily as breathing.
You lie to me when you promise it will never happen again because we both know now that it will.
I lie to myself when I say I'm not afraid of you because I am.
I lie to my friends when I tell them I'm fine because I know I'm not.
I lie because I'm ashamed of what is happening and because I'm scared that they will tell the police.
I have learned that I can't lose you. I know that I would die without you.
You have learned that because I can't lose you I will forgive you anything.
But you don't lie about being sorry. I know you are always sorry when it's done.
I don't lie about being in love with you. I am so in love with you.
That's why I will always take you back no matter what.
I see victims of domestic violence all the time at the hospital. I used to wonder why they didn't leave after the first time. Then I understood. It's because they never stop hoping that they will change.
Just like I will never stop hoping that you will change, JD.
