Before, I would have been afraid to tell you all of this. But now that Bill is six feet under, I have the freedom to tell my story. The story of why I stayed by his side even when he abused me. The story of how I was the only one who cared for him...
"How many times do I have to tell you?" he screamed in my face. "You are worthless. You are just a whore I picked up off the street. Without me you would be nothing." The words didn't do anything to make me feel good and the slap that followed did nothing to ease my hurt. The worst thing about Bill's harsh words? They were all true. Without him, I would still be begging on the streets, wishing for a better life. Although my situation now is not much better, I still have a roof above me and food to eat everyday.
Everyone in London knew about Bill. He was ruthless, cruel, and stone-hearted. He would kill without a second thought. But when he looked at me, I did not see the crazed look in his eyes that people spread rumors about; I saw the kind, fearful look he gave me when he was scared I would leave. He didn't have to worry; I would always stay. I would be the only one who stays.
I was most afraid of Bill when he was drunk. He would come back to the apartment we shared and wreck havoc on both the furniture and me. He would shout cruel words and smash the chairs. Sometimes, he would hit me. He would slap me and kick me repeatedly, leaving bruises that would last for days. He would shout at me until his voice was hoarse. He would only stop when he heard my sobs and saw my tears. When I started to cry, he would quickly stop hitting me and cradle me in his arms. He would start to cry along with me and say the words I always longed to hear from him when he sober: "I need you. Don't leave me Nancy." And I would tell him that I would not leave him. I would tell him "I love you." He never said it back.
I think he loved me. Actually, I knew he did. Otherwise he would have thrown me back on the streets long before he died. I knew that he loved me because sometimes I would see it in his eyes. Sometimes the kind word he gave me was proof to me that he loved me. But he never told me so.
I met him while I was begging in the streets. I asked him for some food, but he pushed me away. He would often come down my street and every time he did, I begged him for food. Finally one day, he had enough.
"For God's sake girl, come with me. I'll get you food." He brought me to a pub and I had the best meal I had in a long time. He accompanied me back to my street and left me back where he had found me. Still, every time he passed me I would ask for food. Then one day as I begged, he came up to me and offered a deal: if I cleaned his apartment, he would give me food and a place to sleep. I accepted. As soon as I walked into his apartment, I knew I would have a lot of work ahead of me. His bed was unmade and the dirty dishes were overflowing in the sink. There was an odd stench in the room and everywhere you look you could see dirty clothes and food scattered around. I recoiled but soon brought up enough courage to step into my new apartment. It took two weeks, but eventually the apartment was presentable. Not perfect, mind you, but clean enough. And as I cleaned and made his meals, I could see that I was growing on him. The cold glint left his eyes when he looked at me. His tone of voice was less harsh. He started to love me as I started loved him.
After a month of me living with him, he brought me to his work. He worked with a man and a troupe of kids who pick-pocketed people on the streets of London. Bill led the actual break-ins to steal valuable objects in houses. He would bring kids to rich peoples' houses and have them open the houses so he could come into them and steal trinkets. I started to see a different side to Bill. I started to see the cold, harsh glint in his eyes as he talked to the kids. The kids did not have a good life, so I started to bond with some of the kids. I acted somewhat as a mother to them. I cleaned their clothes along with Bill's. I made enough food so that each child could have their fill. They normally had barely enough food to curb the gnawing hunger in their stomach. But still Bill made me return home every night so I could make his supper in the comfort of his own apartment. I complied, knowing he had a horrible temper that could be unleashed at the moment he did not get his way.
His work would often not allow him to come to our apartment some nights. But the week before he died, I remember he didn't come home at all. I stayed at home all day, cleaning and making meals and hanging up the laundry to dry. He would normally come home for supper and then fall to sleep soon after. That week, I made supper for two but only one plate was eaten off of. I waited up all night long, waiting for him to walk through that door and demand his supper. But he never came. Finally I was fed up with waiting around for him. I grabbed my shawl and took a much needed break from the apartment. The cold night air did not deter me as I walked the streets of London. I had no particular destination in mind, just to get away from the apartment.
I had walked for another half hour before I came upon the crowd. There were people gathered around a house. The people stared up to the roof, pointing up into the night sky. I followed their gazes and watched as Bill ran across the roof, carrying some rope in one hand, a kid from his work in the other. I saw that Bill was approaching the gap between the two buildings. It wasn't wide enough for him to jump it. If he tried, he would take himself and the kid to their deaths. He paused on the edge of the roof, set the kid down, and made a loop out of the rope. He then made the kid climb a beam on the house to attach the rope to the very end. The kid stayed there on that beam while Bill tied the other end of the rope around his own waist. At that moment, the roof door opened and cops spilled out onto the roof, chasing Bill. Bill forgot about the kid and swung out between the two buildings. But he didn't tie the rope tight enough, for he slipped. It happened too fast and as Bill tried to stop himself from falling, the rope tightened around his neck. His body swung for a minute and slowly came to a stop.
People tell me I was stupid for staying with him, but I knew I did the right thing. At least, the right thing for Bill. No one should die alone. Everyone should have someone to care for their body in death, someone to come to their funeral. And I was that person to Bill. I was the only person to come to his funeral, the only person to really care about him. And that is why I do not regret staying with him. I will always stay beside him.
As long as he needs me.