The Bloody Consequences

He hit me.

In some ways, it still seems surreal. I did not feel like I was in danger before he hit me. I don’t feel like I am in any danger now. Except, of course, every time I pass the mirror.

When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I break down. I cry. I wonder how I ever allowed myself to get to this point.

I was laying on my side in my bed when he came home. The cats were curled at the foot of the bed. We have two black cats. They are darker than night, a fair representation of what my life has become. My life is a void of darkness, a sea of sorrow.

His breath smelled strongly of alcohol. Usually he only drinks one kind of alcohol at a time: whiskey, wine, vodka. He does not mix potatoes or grains with grapes. That is his rule. He also usually drinks plenty of water and eats. He usually stops before becoming drunk or even tipsy.

He was drunk. Honestly, I have never seen him so affected before. He was slurring and stumbling. I asked where he had been. He said I did not need to know. It was not my business to know. I shrugged. I was too tired to care. We could talk about it in the morning.

He began telling me not to be dismissive of him. I needed to trust him. He asked me if I trusted him. That is when I made the mistake that cause him to hit me. Yet, can anyone cause another to hit them? I am not so sure.

I said that he sounded like he was hiding something. He knows that I trust him, but his insistence that I should not ask where he was seems like he was hiding something.

He has never reacted to me so angrily or violently before. At first, I thought he was going to force himself on me. Can a husband rape a wife? I used to think I knew the answer. I am not so sure now.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me onto my back before straddling me. He took my face into his hands and brought his face close to mine. I could smell the mix of alcohol and tobacco on his breath. I could feel the heat of his body radiating. I felt small and helpless. I was not afraid. In fact, this display of dominance, so like the toxic relationships displayed in film and described in books, almost excited me.

He asked me to repeat what I said. I did. He laughed, playfully slapping me before telling me that I was not worth his time. He told me that if I was stupid enough to question his loyalty, then I did not know him. I agreed that it seemed stupid, but said that he is the one who aroused suspicion. He took my hand and placed it near his pelvic bone before sneaking that I did not know what arousal was before stumbling off of the bed, releasing me from beneath his weight.

I rolled my eyes and rolled over, hoping to go to sleep. I saw him stumble out of the room. I thought he would probably get some water and then fall asleep. I started to doze off when I heard the sound of our coffee table being flipped over. I called out, asking if he was okay. No answer.

He had been drunk.

There was a strange noise.

Now he was not answering me. Something was uneasy. I could tell that something was not right.

I came out and saw him laying on the floor, covered in blood. It scared me. I immediately rushed to his side and tried to rouse him. I lightly slapped his cheek and asked if he could hear me. He woke and saw the blood pooled on the floor next to me. He raised his hand and slapped me, hard.

He told me that I was going to hell. He told me that he could not believe I would try to kill him. He pushed me away from him and ran outside. It was the middle of the night. I sat there on the floor, covered in my husband’s blood, tired and confused.

Did he try to hurt himself?

How did he get cut?

Why was he blaming me?

My cheek stung and my ear was ringing. He had never hit me before. I thought of all the times he had tenderly touched me. Nothing was tender about how he treated me. I got up. I looked around, still dazed.

I called the emergency line and asked for an ambulance. I reported that he was acting erratic. I begged them not to hurt him. I wanted him to be taken to the hospital because he was bleeding and had possible alcohol poisoning.

I wish that I had not called. I wish that I had not sought help. If I had called and reported domestic violence, I don’t think anything would have happened. We are a middle class family. Domestic disputes are considered personal affairs and unless I was willing to press charges, nothing comes of this. I know that. My dad was a cop. He had plenty of stories where he had to tell couples that the police are not marriage counselors.

I wanted my husband to be taken to the emergency room. Stitched up. Possibly be given fluids or even a sleeper. I was hoping that at worse he would be held in the psychiatric unit for three days while they screened him and diagnosed him.

He had never hurt me before. And, now, he might not ever even get the chance to tell me that he loves me again.

When the ambulance arrived, he was still really drunk. He was acting stupid. I don’t know what was going through his mind. Maybe he saw the ambulance and wanted help. After all, impaired depth perception is part of the reason that people should not drink and drive.

He jumped in front of the ambulance.

It wasn’t going fast.

But they hit him. Every tender moment we have shared. Every fight we have fought. Every laugh. Every tear. It all flowed through my consciousness as I watched the ambulance make an impact on my husband’s body.

The next moments were like a horror movie. I watched his body first fold toward the vehicle then contort away from it while the impact caused him to fall onto the pavement.

Our son, a precious boy, was going to lose his father.

And I was going to lose my husband.

Hot tears welled in my ears as I stood in horror while the paramedics responded to his withering body and unresponsive mind. He had been drunk. And he had been hurt. He may have slapped me. But he did not deserve this.

I look away from the mirror, and back at the unconscious body in the hospital bed. His injuries and his state prior to impact have made it difficult to treat. He is in a medically induced coma, and at least one of the doctors has told me that I need to consider withdrawing care and saying goodbye.

Looking on my sweet boy reading to his dad, I wonder how I could possibly take his father away from him. But, I know how much hospitals cost. And I do not know if this is worth that cost.

Was this the consequence he deserves for hitting me?