He never hits us. And he doesn’t throw things or name call. He will “monologue ” for hours about the injustices of a passing statement I had no idea was incendiary. So many incidents, so many hours of unhappy tension the crushing type where you’re afraid to wake the dragon for fear he will scorch your day again with his fire and roar. I have for 20 years. I cant leave yet. I dont want to leave, it’s my house. I put it together when he was at work after we moved 1400 miles from my dreams for his. Textbook isolation. Dad on dialysis and cant leave either. We are textbook trapped victims with the dragons insecurity and wrath. He won’t hit us or throw things, but manages to cover every other undermining, aggressive body language, and cruel verbiage. He fucked me hard the night before my concealed abruption at 35 weeks 13 years ago. He still calls it making love. Textbook.
Notice: The names in this story are fictitious to protect the request for anonymity.
