Bloody Buttrape & Dead Babies

I knew from the moment I opened the door that letting him in was a bad idea. I hadn't seen him in nearly a week. The wild look in his eyes told me he'd been awake at least 4 days. It was too late though, he'd already stepped over the threshold & into the tiny apartment I shared with my (our) 4 month old son.

I'd only been there about 2 months, after this loser kicked me out of his place. Told me to "Take your baby & get the fuck out!" Which I did, though it was the scariest time of my life. 23 years old with a newborn....no job, no car, no home, no furniture, no boyfriend, no family....all I had was hope. It took some groveling on my part, but people at the church I'd grown up in helped me get into a new apartment & get a vehicle. It was tiny with secondhand furniture but I didn't care. It was MINE & no one was gonna kick me out.

Anyway, I knew that wild look & I knew to stay ahead of it. As I'd done many times before, I went into the kitchen & started to make him some food. When he'd been up too many days, my goal was to get food in his belly & then get him to pass out into a coma-like sleep that could last anywhere from 18-36 hours.

I was silent as I put water on to boil and then began to make a sandwich. Sometimes my voice annoyed him. Other times, he'd claim my silence was proof that I was somehow plotting against him. Careful because no eye contact is bad, (why you so sneaky?!), but so is too much (what the fuck you looking at?!) I'm debating on what to say, if anything... But too much time has passed & he's studying me closely. I can feel the scrutiny scraping my skin like a tattoo gun. I'm flustered & clumsily drop the knife I'd just smeared with mayo. "Gross," he says looking at the white blob on the floor. "You're such a slob." I laugh away the insult by agreeing with him, keeping silent in my head the thought that it's MY place, I'll leave the mayo on the floor till it cements if I fucking well feel like it! I clean up the mess & hand him his sandwich.

Next, give him soda & napkins, which he accepts without acknowledgement. When he's done he pushes his plate towards me, even though he's closer to the trashcan. I clean up after him & throw noodles in the pot to boil. And still his eyes are relentless, pushing me into a corner, I can feel him vibrating, every nerve strung tight, every muscle clenched, even his jaws are locked as he grunts, "Where's the baby?"

I'm surprised, he barely acknowledges our son. It doesn't occur to me to be scared. "He's sleeping," I answer with a smile, nodding my head towards the one bedroom. I've got the baby's crib set up right next to my bed. I'm loading the dishwasher when I hear a strange mewling. I walk into my cramped room, his back is to me, he's leaning over the crib where our baby lay peacefully, looking angelic in yellow pajamas.

The noise is from him... his eyes are empty & wild, an icy sliver shoots into my heart as he reaches down and lifts my sleeping son. Then he's crying and looking down on baby's sweet face, but he's shaking his head no, and the mewling isn't just whining, his words are slowly registering. "He's dead. He's dead." He croons over and over and that icy sliver explodes and shoots cold splinters to my every cell. He's crying and clutching my baby to his chest, rocking, and I'm scared. My baby is tiny! Vulnerable! Helpless! And it's not his fault he was born with a strung out father and an idiot mother.

I move to the bed and sit next to him gingerly, scared to death I'd do the wrong thing, causing him to hurt my baby. I know the consequences of his anger & that my son wouldn't survive them. I know that trying to predict the thought process of a tweaker is like trying to nail jello to a wall. Mostly I know this situation is volatile, but I'll die to keep my baby safe.

I touch his leg softly. "What are you talking about? What are you saying?" My voice is calm, soothing reassurance. No need to panic, hand me the baby!

He continues rocking & crying, ignoring me. Baby's eyes are still shut. An icy splinter stabs my stomach and I have the sick, vomit inducing thought, is he right? Is my baby dead?

"Let me see him!" I demand, and reach to take my son. But he swivels away from me, and with a glare that normally induces fear, he hisses, "...dumbass cunt. Why'd you kill my son?"

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I reply loudly, standing up suddenly, hands on hips leaning towards him. An aggressive stance that he'd never seen on me. "I would never hurt our son, I love him! Give him here, what are you talking about!?!" Perhaps it was just surprise at my back talk or shock at my authoritative tone, but he handed me my baby. I turn away from him, my eyes are closed in relief, while I silently offer a thank you prayer that my son is breathing just fine & he's no longer in the arms of a paranoid drug addict who didn't want to begin with.

Into the kitchen, keeping my son against my chest and him at my back. Protective. Then suddenly my head is yanked back, he's got me by my ponytail & I'm being dragged to the floor! I land on my knees, but Baby doesn't stir. And then he's leaving me, going around me into the kitchen first & I see the noodles are boiling. He runs to the wall and picks up the phone. Shaking it angrily at me like it's evidence of my failures. "You ain't calling the cops on me again, bitch!" And then the receiver is yanked from the wall, leaving frayed wires sticking out of a white rectangle where the paint hadn't faded. As the phone falls uselessly to the floor, I could kick myself thinking of all the times I HAD called the cops to remove him. Refusing every time to press charges, now cops came to my door rolling their eyes. Which I blamed on his drug dealing, not on their frustration with my stupidity.

He's breathing is ragged, I see anger growing as he looks at the broken phone. Probably having a similar recollection of cop calls I've made, a hazard in his line of work. Then I'm moving quickly, I could give a flying fuck what happens to me, but I've gotta save my baby. I spin, back into the bedroom, locking the door behind me. Opening the blinds, can I get this window open?

No!!!!! It's painted shut! I'm trapped in this room & my baby is in danger. Now my eyes are wild as I'm looking for a weapon to defend us. But there's nothing! Nothing! And my heart is pounding painfully in my throat & I'm putting my sleeping baby back in his crib & the doorknob is being turned, now shaken violently & accompanied by his outraged exclamation at being locked out. My brain has 1000 ideas, but remains frozen like a deer in headlights. A sound of breaking wood, he's kicked the door down.

And I'm standing in front of the crib, a pitiful bodyguard, he's crossing the room & his hands squeeze my throat & he's yelling & I'm on the ground. He reaches into the crib....

And then my leg lifts and delivers a hard, accurate kick to the back of his knee, which drops him fast. And he's turning to look at me, incredulous disbelief in his eyes. I've never once fought back. He looks at me & the baby, debating. So I behave like most women, steering him the direction I want, without him ever noticing his momentary lapse of control. I'm winding up like a baseball pitcher before I come back with all my might, punching him in the jaw.

My hand bones crunch, holy hell that hurt! Both our eyes are wide with shock at my nerve. The wild look in his eyes shifts now that his rage has a focal point & even as fear washes over me, I am determined to keep my baby safe.

He lunges at me, hands straight to my throat as I'm scrambling backwards. He gets the collar of my shirt instead, ripping it open along with the flap of the ugly nursing bra. Then he's on top & he's straddling me & he slaps my face hard. He's cussing & though I'd usually stay still & take my punishment quietly, I am wiggling beneath him, arching my back trying to buck him off me.

Then he notices I've been exposed, he rears back and slaps my engorged breast, bringing tears to my eyes at the pain. My tears are typical for these scenes, he smiles as he cruelly begins twisting my nipple. My traitorous body squirts milk at him which is soon soaking the remains of my shirt. He's watching in disgusted fascination, apparently distracted from his initial intention of beating my ass. Suddenly, I know what to do.

I lower my eyelids & make a soft moan. I wiggle more, making sure to create friction against his growing erection. I half sit, trying to get my torn clothes off. Seeing this, he grabs my ponytail & yanks & tugs till I'm bare from the waist up. He lets go & my tears are real as he defiles my breasts with his ugly lust.

I turn away as my shorts are pulled off. He's rubbing on me, I feel him growing harder, though I'm not getting wetter. He doesn't care & forces himself inside. My tender skin screams in protest but my mouth remains silent.

I consider the absurdity of my situation while he's fucking me. Ironically, this is when his nose starts bleeding (another tweaker hazard). He must feel it, he must see bloody drops land on me. I want to push him off me & run far away, but I can't leave my son. If I can make him cum, then he'll sleep.

But he's taking forever & I remember that being up too long can lead to being UP too long. I start moving my hips, moaning quietly. Disgusted with him but even more with myself.

Then he flips me over & he's trying to force anal, now I'm fighting for real, this hurts & I don't want it! He's still bleeding, he wipes blood onto his cock, using it as lube which he then forces in my ass with angry determination.

I'm being ripped apart, here at the foot of my bed while my baby sleeps through it all. Blessedly oblivious. Minutes or hours, then he's pulling out and shooting his load on my back. I don't look at him as he lays beside me on the carpet. I count to 500 before I move an inch, making sure he's out cold.

Finally, I get up off the floor. I grab my baby & shut the broken bedroom door as best I can. I put him in his stroller while I'm in the bathroom, scrubbing the blood off me.

Into the kitchen, turning the burner off. Draining the perfectly cooked noodles, marveling that entire episode took 10 minutes. Noodles in a bowl, and I see my baby is awake. He's watching me, smiling, content, completely unaware the dangers we live with.

I smile and make silly faces at him, he rewards me with happy laughter. I'm smiling normally as I eat. "Mommy loves you!" I say, behaving like dead baby accusations and bloody buttrape didn't phase me. I finish eating, and we take our daily walk to the mailbox.