My voice is hoarse from screaming bloody murder. My neck is sore from his arm wrapped around it. My head hurts from my hair being pulled. The story always starts the same but you never really know what it feels like until you’ve experienced it first hand. He didn’t hit me. He didn’t slap me. He scared the life out of me. I screamed and no one came. I screamed right out of the door on downtown 3rd street while he was holding me back and no one came. Once I pulled my weight out of the door and he through my glasses on the ground, I ran to my car and locked the doors. Every single doorway had 1,2,3 people standing outside of it. Staring. Why couldn’t they help? Why wouldn’t they help? I’m sure they didn’t want to get involved, I wouldn’t have. After today if I EVER hear a scream like the one I bursted out today, I will get involved. I will fight for that person. It’s terrifying to a point that is un-explainable. I’m just as big of a hypocrite than the next girl. I’ve gone back to him so many times I can’t even count. I’ve forgiven. I’ve accepted and moved on. I’ve put a smile on when my insides were dying. Why? Because I loved him. I still do. Why? Why would a person love someone who’s done terrible things emotionally, physically, or mentally? 
Also, could someone enlighten me on the definition of a cheater? Apparently I don’t know it. Not once in the four years we were together did I seek the attention of another man. When he made me feel like shit, I waited for him to calm down. When he refused to lay by me at night, I slept on the floor in the living room with him to be close. When he told me to go fuck myself because his drunken thoughts were clouding his brain, I gave him his space. Not once did I turn to another man for the attention that I wasn’t receiving from the person who I should be able to count on the most. Not once. But he did. When I was upset with him for his anger issues and his cruel words towards me and my family; he sought out the attention from another woman. A married woman.

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