It was a Saturday when we went to a wedding. For his step-sister. He got drunk and told me that no man would ever love me. I tried to leave, but he drug me across the floor in front of the bartender and employees. I ran into the bathroom to compose myself and he followed me in. Kicked down the stall door. Shoved me against a wall. Raised his hand as if to punch me. I screamed for anyone, anyone to help me, but I knew the bathroom was too far away.
It was a Sunday when he woke up after continuing to drink all night. He threw a wine bottle at me. I had to pick glass off of my shins and feet. I barricaded myself in the closet because for the first time I was truly afraid of him. I waited until he passed out drunk on the couch and I snuck out. It was the same day I called my mom and told her I was ready to come home.
It was a Monday when I moved out. My family was too afraid for me and dropped everything they were doing to help me get out. He was out on a date with another girl.
Tonight my company Christmas party is being held at the same venue as the wedding. I'll be at the same place with a new man on my arm.
I don't think I'll be going to the bathroom tonight.