I could feel it. Soon, I thought. He will lose it soon.
"I didn’t, I swear. You must have just seen someone who looks like me." I quivered even though there was a table separating us.
"You are lying. Don’t lie." Benji said. I saw it. There it was. A fire was burning inside him and there was no stopping the mouth or the fist now. I opened a can of worms.
"I...I swear, Benj. I really was at school all day. I didn’t go out to lunch with any guy."
By this time, he had gotten up from his seat and had his hands on my chair. Here it goes. The cycle. Time to run. And I did. Right into a corner. Not out the door, twelve feet away. Not into a bathroom two doors down.
It was easier now. I knew what to do. Not to fight back but to act hurt. Act like I was in indescribable pain. That is what he craves, for me to pay for whatever it was that I did wrong in his messed up mind.
He struck. He kicked. Screams were heard. Blood was shed. Then he was gone. Of to the bar for the night. That was the routine. Oh, he would come home in the morning. It would all be a great and he would act like nothing happened. At least he used to be sorry. He isn’t sorry anymore. Now, he is satisfied.
Anyone could easily compare him to and addict. A fix is all he needs. Bet there is a different kind of fix. He needed to see me in pain, bleeding, screaming. Then he needs the alcohol. The alcohol is just an extra. I t was a plus for him. An extra nest to the beating, the fame and the money.
His name is Benji Madden, and I need him to want help.
I stood up and it felt good to be on my feet. The same thoughts were running through my head. Why not leave? Well, I didn’t’ leave last time and I’m still alive. At least, I was alive on the outside. Benj had killed everything I had on the inside. I was incapable. I couldn’t think of the bad times and the pain. There were good times, too. I wanted to have the same rush of emotion and love that I had in the beginning.
I guess you could compare me to an addict. The first time I met Benji, as good as the first time a junkie gets high. I stay around because I want to feel that same rush that I got when I met Benji all those years ago in Waldorf. An addict keeps on searching for that first high again. For an addict, It will never be the same. They can never find a high as good at the first, yet, they stick around. For them, it will never be better. At least I have a can get help. I can make it better.
My name is Iris Mure and I will get help.
I patched up my battered, bleeding face. I took the money out of that hidden cup. Finally, the money I have been saving for this exact moment has come to use. I never thought that I was brave enough to do it. But, now I could use my escape money to get myself out of this hell.
I had to stop myself. Where would I go? I had no family. Benji kept me from having friends. I was sixteen dating a twenty-four year old man. Living with him. That’s wrong. I couldn’t get Benji in trouble with the police for rape. I couldn’t get him mad. So, I stayed.
My name is Iris Mure, and I have relapsed.
