Love's Journey- Makaila's Story

by Sherell Lynn

  I started to speak and he cut me off. “Don’t say shit right now! Look at how good I treat you. I take you out and show you off to my boys. I have never laid a hand to you. What makes you think that I need you to spread your legs for a couple of good times out?”

  I wanted to speak, to tell him I was sorry and I loved him, but a slap to the face halted that. The slap stung, and tears ran down my face.

  He grabbed my face and kissed me hard. “Is this what you want, Me-Me? You want to be treated like a ho?” He then yanked my shirt off. It took me only a few seconds to realize what was going on. This man who I thought cared about me maybe even loved me like I loved him, was going to rape me. But was it rape when I wanted him a few minutes ago?

  I quickly reasoned that this was not what I wanted; to be taken against my will. His actions were aggressive and abusive. He was scaring the shit out of me. I didn’t want this. I did the only thing I could think of. I fought back. I kicked and flung my hands, hitting him like a crazed woman. No way was this going to happen again. This time, I was gonna win this fight. I was no longer a weak little girl. That was the last thing I remembered before I felt Chris’ fist pounding my face.

  “I’m sorry.” I heard those two words when I came to.

  I looked around the room and noticed that we were in my bedroom. I was lying on the bed and Chris was beside me. We watched each other for a long time.

  “I think you should leave,” I told him as tears continued to flow down my face. Remembering what had occurred only a few minutes ago, I covered myself with the blanket on my bed. I didn’t want him to get any ideas. I wanted him gone as soon as possible. He tried to get closer to me, but I jumped back.

  “I didn’t touch you in that way,” he said in a remorseful tone.

  “It doesn’t matter the damage is already done. I never want to see you again, Chris. Now leave!”

  He got up but stopped at the door. “You know I love you. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I only wanted to show you how special you are to me. I wanted our first time to be special, not in a place you share with your sisters. And not as my girlfriend but as my wife. I was working on getting us a place. It wasn’t going to be much, but it would have been ours. I’m gonna make this right. You are mine, Makaila Windstorm and one day soon you will take my last name.” He walked out the door, shutting it behind him. I sat there in disbelief of what had just happened.

  A month later, some things had changed and some things had remained the same. Chris came every day after the incident to check in on me. At first, I would not even let him in, telling him to leave at the door. My sisters were constantly asking me what was wrong. They knew something had happened between Chris and me and they expected me to tell them. I never did. When they asked, I just shrugged it off. I told them Chris wanted more than I could give him and I wanted to slow things down.

  This was the truth, without the abusive details. That did not deter them from asking more questions. In fact, every time Chris came around they made sure they were there too. I had one of my sisters with me at all the times. It was as if I had become their second job. They would rotate their schedules, so someone remained with me. If I was not at work, I expected to be with one of them. I knew they knew something was wrong. The words never escaped my mouth to tell them what had happened. I felt ashamed. At no point, did I think Chris would do what he had done to me.

  Every day that went by, Chris made sure I saw he cared about me. It was in the little things he did for me like giving me flowers just because or bringing me breakfast in the morning. As time went on, it was as if that night had never happened. Perhaps, it had been a figment of my imagination in the form of a nightmare. That was what I had started to believe. That belief was what made our relationship stronger. Over time, Chris had showed me repeatedly how a man was supposed to treat a woman. He was so caring and sweet. He would pick me up and take me home after work and on my days off, he would take me all around town, spending every dollar he had to make sure I had a good time. I fell back in love with him hard.

  He had decided to propose to me on our one-year anniversary and my birthday over dinner with my sisters. Chris had wanted our wedding to happen like yesterday. I laughed at how quickly he wanted to make me his wife. Even though I really wanted a real wedding, we stood at the courthouse exchanging vows. We were becoming husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Nathaniel Taylor. My sisters stood in as witnesses. They had expressed their concerns over how Chris was so eager to get married and about how young we were. Maci had always had a problem with Chris. She had always said something about him was not right.

  At the end of the day, they still supported me. I wore a simple spaghetti string white dress, and Chris chose to wear black slacks and a white button-down. The wedding was short and sweet. There was no reception, I did not need one, I had gotten what I wanted; the love of a good man with the symbol of that love on my finger. That same day Chris carried me across the threshold of our new home. It was a two-bedroom and one-bathroom house. Right in the heart of the hood, we grew up in. Chris had said he’d picked this place so he could keep his eyes on the streets. I never questioned what Chris did for a living. He had said the less I knew, the better it would be.

  That night had been so magical. Our kisses had finally led to the one thing I wanted most from him. We had finally become one in every way possible. It was better than I had ever imagined. He kissed every part of my body. When he was done loving me with his lips, he gift-wrapped himself in a condom. He then presented me with my gift and I unwrapped it within myself all night. Our lovemaking went on for hours. It was definitely worth the wait. We were living in honeymoon bliss and everything was perfect.

  I was still working at the restaurant, when one day a group of females came in. This was nothing out of the normal as the restaurant was always busy. But this group of females acted as if they knew me. I could feel their stares and hear their whispering. I walked up to them.

  “Is there something that y’all need?”

  “Yeah,” the girl who seemed like the ring leader said. “I just wanted to let you know that even though Chris put a ring on your little bougie-ass finger, that don’t mean shit.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked not believing what I was hearing.

  “You heard me, bitch!” she shouted.

  Taking a deep breath to compose myself because we were at my job, I ask very calmly. “How do you know me and how do you know my husband?”

  She rolled her eyes and the other girls snorted out a few laughs as their responses. They laughed as if I had just told them the joke of the century. With my hands across my chest, I waited patiently for the leader of the pack to give me a response.

  “Before he was your husband, he was my man. I mean how do you think you got this far without someone catering to all his needs?”

  “And how did you cater to his needs?”

  “I was giving him this good pussy.” She gestured toward her private parts.

  As soon as she said that, I leaped across the table. I had heard enough. This bitch had really overstepped. My hand never got the chance to connect with her face. My boss came from behind the counter and grabbed me before I could touch her. He pulled me into the office to calm me down, telling me to stay put so he could handle the situation. He then went back into the lobby and asked the ladies to leave. When he returned, he chastised me about my behavior. He said he had unfortunately watched the whole thing, only deciding to step in when I tried to get physical. He knew I wasn’t the one to start the confrontation, but I took it to another level by trying to put my hands on her and that act he could not tolerate. He let it go with a write-up. At least I still had my job, I thought at the end of my shift. I didn’t know how true that woman’s statement was, but I was determined to find out.

  I entered the door, noticing Chris on the couch watching TV.

  He stood up and grabbed a handful of my ass. “How was your day beautiful?” He asked while kissing my neck.
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  I stepped out of his embrace, feeling the rage within me boil out of control. I angrily said, “It would have been better had your bitch not stepped into my place of work.” I watched his jaw tick as he looked at me.

  “What are you talking about? What bitch stepped to you?”

  “I don’t know her name. All I know is she is not happy we are married. She tried to lay claim to you. Are you her man?!” I shouted at him.

  He watched me as if he was calculating his next move. Then he grabbed me by the wrist and forced me to look at him. “I’m only going to say this one time. You don’t run shit, so don’t come up in here acting like you do!” With that, he threw me on the couch.

  I gasped. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He came at me and swung a right hook that landed on my chest, knocking the wind out of me. I sat on the couch catching my breath and holding my chest with tears in my eyes. I was fearful of what he might do next.

  “I didn’t wanna be like this with you, but for some reason you got it in your head that you can just come out of pocket with me.” Chris’ voice grew louder and louder. He started pacing the room. His voice was filled with so much anger that he started to visibly shake with nervous energy. “You know I told you to stay in your place. I thought you had learned your lesson from the first time. You must like to be taught lessons, huh?” He suddenly turned toward me and dragged me into the bedroom.

  It became evident the honeymoon was over. Things never were the same after that night. Chris became very possessive and paranoid. He did not allow me to go to work. He said he didn’t want anyone to fill my head up with ideas. He blamed me for the situation, saying that if I could have thought for myself, those other females wouldn’t have come at me like that. I had no idea what he meant, but didn’t question him on that fact.

  What he didn’t know was that I had overheard him and his boys talking one night. He told them the story of how his side chick had come to his wifey’s job starting shit. He bragged about how he had to lay that bitch out, saying she walks among the dead now. They all laughed and encouraged him on. After hearing what had been done, I feared for my life. I was sleeping with a killer. Even if Chris had been joking, I knew how his temper worked and would not put it past him to carry out a murder.

  4

  I became a hermit, only going out when he allowed it. My sisters caught on that something was wrong. Maci and Maddi called nonstop. All I could do was sit there and cry. Chris eventually disconnected our phone lines. Then he got himself a new number. After several unanswered calls and then the phone disconnection, my sisters started coming by the house day after day.

  They would often do a pop-up visit only for Chris to tell them I was not there. This went on for weeks until one day the police came by to do a well check. Chris had made me hide in the back of the closet, saying if I even attempted to let on I was there, he would kill me and then my sisters. Looking back, I wished like hell I would have left with that officer.

  That night we packed up everything we could and left. We spent years on the run. Chris was so paranoid that my sisters had sought out the police that we never stayed in one place too long. His new occupation was running dope across the country. He would say that this was the perfect life for us since we had to hit the streets anyway. I tried many times to escape from him and the way of life he had created for us. One time was when we went to Las Vegas to do a drop. He went inside this dope house to meet his client and left me in the car. He had long ago put the child locks on the car doors.

  All but the driver’s side remained locked, so if you opened it from the inside, you could not get out. I climbed over to the driver’s side and unlocked the door. I ran all the way down to the end of the street. My lungs were burning. My legs and arms were trembling with fear. The only thing that kept me going was the adrenaline pumping through my veins and the thought of freedom. In the background, I heard a car approaching. Then tires coming to a screeching stop. Unexpectedly, I felt arms wrapping around me, throwing me to the ground. With my eyes, I searched around for help, the realization that no one would hit me harder than Chris’ fist to my face. I screamed, I cried and fought with all my might only to end up back in that car on our way to another run with Chris, my captor, my abuser, and my so-called life partner. Each time I would run, he would find me. Every beating became worse than the last. I knew the day had come that I would not be able to survive another one. After taking a shower in one of the random run-down hotel rooms Chris had rented, I saw my reflection in the mirror.

  I was shocked at what I saw. For a minute, I thought I saw my mother battered, bruised, and weakened by the hands of a man staring back at me. Then I realized it was just me. I looked so much like her. We were both once so beautiful. She had died a horrible death. Her body was mutilated beyond recognition. I had become that, a person unrecognizable. My long curly hair had been cut short. Chris liked to keep my hair short in hopes that it would deter other men from looking at me. My skin used to be soft and a beautiful shade of brown.

  The years of abuse and unhappiness had taken a toll on my body. My skin appeared ashen, almost grey like. It was no longer soft, but rough to the touch. I had become so ugly at some point, so Chris and I had stopped having sex. That was fine by me, it was one of the few positives that I had. The other was the fact that he barely even looked at me. The only time he seemed to notice me was when he was barking out orders. I asked myself daily, why I was still here. The answer was mainly out of fear. The fear of death can almost make you stay in any situation. The other part as crazy as it seems was love. He was my first real kiss, my first boyfriend, and husband. He wasn’t always beating me. He had his moments when he could be loving. With every stop we made he personally sought out some adventure or sightseeing memory he knew I would cherish. But not long after those moments did things go back to the way they were. The anger, the abuse, the unforgettable pain always returned.

  Staring at myself once again in that mirror, I realized things needed to change. I had become weaker than my mama had ever been. Even with all her faults, she would have never stood for this. In her own fucked-up way she taught all of us girls to love and take care of our bodies so one day we could use it to our advantage. Her downfall was she loved using her body too much to care about anything else. Taking one last look in the mirror, I sent a silent prayer to heaven. Today would be either my last day on earth or my first day of freedom in over eight years.

  Chris had gone in the bathroom to take a shower. While he was doing that, I sneaked out to the car. He kept a gun hidden in the glove compartment. After so many years of making drug runs, he had moved up the ranks. Moving up in rank meant he needed to watch his back more. There was always someone coming for the ones on top, trying to take their place. I was sure he was on point with his position. But lately, he had been leaving me alone in these random rooms, sometimes for minutes and sometimes for hours at a time.

  It was as if he was testing me and after failing and coming near death so many times, I stopped trying. His one mistake was that piece he had in the glove box. It would become my salvation. I hurried and unlocked the car. I found the gun right where I knew he had left it. I locked the car back, using the key pad on the door, so he would not hear the noise from the one on the key chain.

  I ran back inside, happy to hear the water was still running. He was probably washing off his latest prostitute’s scent. I sat there with the gun in my hand waiting. I heard the bathroom door unlock. I got up and stood by the front door with the gun hidden between my underwear and pants. Chris came out eyeing me up and down with repugnance evident on his face.

  “What are you doing by the door, Me-Me?”

  “I’m leaving you, Chris.”

  He moved forward. “Bitch, you will never be able to leave me. I own yo ass!”

  He then lunged toward me. I grabbed the gun and aimed it. Chris saw it and tried to take it out of my hand. He twisted my wrist, trying to yank the gun from my grip. That motion caused me to ye
ll out in pain. My heart was beating so fast. If I wouldn’t die by Chris’ hands, I just knew my heart would explode. I then kicked him as hard as I could in the groin and he bent down and screamed out in pain.

  Chris stumbled and then gained his balance. He took a couple of calculated steps forward. I could see the wheels turning in his head. I knew it was now or never. I had to pull the trigger. At this point it was either killed or be killed. At that moment, memories came flooding back. The first time I saw him across the room and our eyes met. He was the finest man I had ever seen. His grey eyes made me feel like they could see every detail about my life. I was his from that moment on.

  He had his moments when he could be so romantic, like the time we had a picnic in the park. In the basket, he had all my favorite foods. Even though it had rained halfway through our picnic, it was still one of my best memories of us together. We gathered everything as fast we could and ran back to the car. We were soaking wet. My shirt was clinging to my breasts and you could see my black lace bra peeking through. Chris looked at me with so much desire in his eyes. That look was enough to turn me on. We didn’t waste any time getting into his car. We made love that day in the back seat.

  With all the good memories I could conjure up there were just as many bad. There were times that he beat me so bad that I could not walk. Those memories were what I needed in this moment. It had been years since he had done anything but treat me like the gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. He had his good moments, but that was not enough. Yes, I needed to do this. Each time he hit me, the blow was worse than the last. He knew it and I knew it.

  Chris figured the harder he hit me, the better wife I would become. I didn’t know what he was expecting. Sometimes, it seemed that he got pleasure out of my pain. With my eyes trained on him, I saw nothing but rage in his eyes. I pulled the trigger. The bullet hit him right under his chest. He put his hands over the gaping wound as if that would stop what had already happened.