"Your Boyfriend Will Kill You"

The note was stuck to the front door of my apartment, 2D, and in my rush to rip it off I almost dropped the paper bag full of groceries on the hard floor. I looked around the dark empty hallway frantically, searching for movement, like whoever put it there would still be lurking around. I wondered who else had seen it, this proof of my shame and my fear.

"Your boyfriend will kill you"

I was even more afraid that HE could have seen it. 

In my head I knew it was impossible: 

he was away, doing construction work at that country home,
the kind he says he will build for me...someday

But still I was afraid. 
This would make him really angry.

He told me never to make him mad

Never to tell anyone our business.

And I didn't, I swear I didn't. Not even my Momma.

But I have done something wrong. Someone knows, and it is my fault.

I rushed into my tiny studio apartment and bolted the door, away from their prying eyes.

The groceries forgotten right by the door, I half-ran to my bathroom and knelt by the cleaning cabinet. My heart was pounding as I searched for the old, discarded box of dryer sheets that had been damaged by the leaking faucet, now kept in a dry corner because they contained a secret he must never find. "Someone knows" The others were undiscovered, right there where I hid them beneath the vanilla-scented sheets. I spread them out on the cold bathroom floor.

The pretty white card in the mail on Valentine's day: "Your boyfriend will kill you"

The back of the crumpled block-party invitation under my windshield wipers last month: "Your boyfriend will kill you" 

This lipstick-scrawled note on my apartment door: "Your boyfriend will kill you"

Someone knew. And they were warning me. Get out now.

"You need to get out. Now." Those were the last words my only remaining friend said to me before I threw her out of my apartment and vowed never to speak to her again. Everyone else had long given up on me, frustrated that I would not leave a man they all knew was bad news. She had come to see me, uninvited, and when I wouldn't open the door she used the spare key I had given her long ago. I was crouched in the corner of my kitchen, my lips bleeding, my left eye swollen shut, and holding on to the pieces of my shattered spirit by a tiny thread. Still, I wouldn't tell her. But she knew. She begged me to go to the Police with her, offered me her place to stay so I could be away from him and expressed concern for my safety. But I turned on her. He had told me never to listen to her. She was single, lonely and obviously jealous that someone loved me. So I stuck a knife in the only person who still cared enough for me, I stuck it where it would hurt the most, and I twisted it until she hated me too. And then I was alone.


Now someone else knew. 
I tried to think who it could be. 
The beautiful couple with the cute baby in 3D.
Ms Mae, the sweet old lady down in 1D.
Tara in 2C who used to invite me to drinks with her friends.
Or David, the cute, concerned medical student in 2E.
Any of them could have heard us through the thin walls.
Really, it could be anyone else...


I thought about what they were trying to tell me: I was a victim, and in grave danger.
The first time he hit me, I was so surprised I walked in a daze for days.
I wouldn't speak to him, I swore it was over.
All the books and magazines and TV shows warn that you should leave him at the first hint of violence.
But they don't tell you how you will feel when he shows up at your door with flowers and repentant tears in his eyes... I forgave him instantly. After all, it was only a slap and I had brought it on myself by being too inquisitive about his problems at work.
But then it happened again. 
He had made me jealous by flirting with the sexy bartender all night at my office party and I was not in the mood for lovemaking. He hit me again, over and over, and then he forced himself on me. 


That was four months ago, when he still had his nice job at the bank, before he was fired for suspected fraud. (But it wasn't his fault. He told me everything and I understood and believed him. I became the most important person in his life and he promised that his temper would always be under control.)
Now he hits me all the time. It was hard to tell anyone at the beginning, to admit that I had chosen the wrong man in spite of all their concerns. Now, I can't tell them until I have fixed this problem, somehow.


I am not that girl, you know. The dumb one with low self esteem and all sorts of issues from a bad childhood. I come from a wonderful, stable, loving family. I know I am beautiful, smart, capable of being with any man that I choose. I know that he has no right to treat me like he does. But somehow I am still here, with him, and someone else is concerned for my life... 


I am so tired now. I wish I had the strength to do the right thing for myself, but I am just so tired.
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A few weeks ago I witnessed physical abuse for the first time, between someone really close to me and her boyfriend. She has refused to admit that there is a problem and for now there is little we can do unless we actually see it happen again. But I cannot stop thinking about it... -Dami