They say that marriage is supposed to be the happiest time of your life. That was so far from the truth for me.
Me and my husband Peter Jackson had been married for just 4 short months, but we’ve been together just 2 years. I was only 19 years old now. Peter was 25 years old. I rushed into marriage because he was my first love, my first real b©yfri£nd. The thought of not been with him to-re my heart ap@rt.
For the first month of our marriage, we were happy, we talked about buying a house in the suburbs, having children and growing old together. But when Peter lost his job, everything changed. He seemed to res£nt me, everything I did wasn’t good enough. He st©pped me from going to work in case other men looked at me, he st©pped me from seeing my family and friends.
I was stuck in a prison we called home. He’d hit me and tell me it was my fault, I made him do it. Today was no exception, I climbe-d out of be-d to be met with a sl@p to the face. This was an every day thing in my life. Peter pu-ll-ed me back by my hair. Tears sprang to my eyes as he pu-ll-ed ha-rder.
“Did I tell you that you could move?” He spat. I nodded no and he let go. “Go get my breakfast now.” I climbe-d out of be-d for the second time and made my way downstairs. I opened to cu-pboard, staring at me were boxes of pain killers. I stood staring at them for an age. If I took them all, I could end it all. End the pain, end my marriage. I gr@bb£d a box before looking at them and putting them back. I heard Peter coming down the stairs, I shut the cu-pboard and gr@bb£d the eggs from the fridge. Peter sat at the table with the paper sat in front of him. I picked up a knife and debating to plunge it into him but quic-kly decided not to. I wasn’t like him, I wasn’t pure evil.
Once he had finished his breakfast, he left the house, locking the door behind him. I frantically searched the house for spare keys, phone, anything that could help me. After I finished searching, I decided on smashing a window but before I knew it Peter was back. He gr@bb£d me by the hair and threw me against the wall, pinning me against it with his hand to my throat. I couldnt breathe. I closed my eyes, waiting for death. After a while I opened my eyes, I was la-id on the floor I must’ve pas-sed out. Peter was sat on a kitchen chair just staring at me, his evil eyes burnt into mine. He wasn’t the man I married, he was a stranger, someone I hated, someone I wanted dead. He pu-ll-ed me up by my arm and dragged me upstairs, once inside the be-droom he kicked me ha-rd in the stomach, I bent down in pain, I couldn’t breathe, everything around me started to spin, stars danced in my eyes. Tonight, he was going to kill me. He went to kick me again but he st©pped as he heard the doorbell. He rushed downstairs, I heard laughter and males talking. I stumbled to the t©p of the stairs. John and Lewis stood at the bottom. Both of them were Peter’s brothers. John caught sight of me but didn’t say anything. I headed back into our be-droom and la-id on the be-d. I wanted it to end. I wanted to escape.