Broken: Breaking the Silence by Azelene Williams - HTML preview

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 19

 

Do I look like a dog?

 

By the time I arrived my tears were dry, my smile was back, and I walked in with a friendly face to show Paul’s clients what an amazing, loving couple we were. I introduced myself to them, greeted Paul with a warm hug and a kiss and asked if anyone wanted coffee. I left the living room and walked back in 5 minutes later with four steaming mugs. The couple was very friendly, and I went and sat down with them at the table, listening to them going through their home plans, new ideas and the changes they wanted to make. They left just after 11 pm, happy with the revisions and on a mission to get the house plans approved. After they left, I asked Paul if he was hungry as we hadn’t eaten yet. He said yes and went and lay on the bed. I went to the kitchen and started making fish and chips. It was late; I was tired and wanted to make something quick and easy, so we could get to bed. When the food was ready, I walked into the room and handed him his plate. Paul pushed himself up on his elbow and looked down at it.

      With one flick, he slapped the food out of my hands into the air. Fish and chips rained down on top of me. He jumped up and grabbed me by the throat.

“Do I look like a dog to you? Not even my dog would eat this shit.” He dragged me into the living room and threw me against the wall. Grabbing me by my hair, he pulled me to the middle of the floor and started kicking me in the stomach. He snatched up a cushion, placed it over my face and started punching me through the cushion with his fist, to dampen the sound and to cover my mouth so I couldn’t scream.

It’s close to midnight, on a Saturday evening in early January 1993, but instead of revelling in the party atmosphere of the New Year like most 20-year-olds, I am lying completely motionless on the cold, hard floor of my living room.

I can faintly hear the late-night traffic outside the open window of my second-floor apartment facing Pretorius Street in Pretoria, South Africa. Fighting the blackness that threatens to consume me, I try to entertain the thought of calling for help. I know it is pointless.

I lick my lips and recognise the familiar metallic tang of my blood in my mouth. The dark blue carpet in my living room feels like sandpaper under my bruised and battered face. I close my eyes and let a single tear slip down my cheek, leaving a trail of memories and broken promises in its wake.

Lying broken in a fetal position with one eye still closed. My thoughts turn to my mother. Strangely, I wonder what she might be doing. I think about what she would do if she knew what was happening to her daughter right this moment. Would she pick me up and hold me and pacify me like she did when I was little? Would she be disappointed that I didn’t recognise the warning signs and ask for help?

Deep down in my heart, I know that she would gently stroke my hair and smile sweetly at me and tell me it was going to be ok - I was going to be ok. With that thought in my mind, a smile flickers across my face, and I feel momentarily at peace.

This mirage of safety is ripped apart when I feel the sharp metal spurs of his boots penetrate the skin on my back. And I scream, a deep primal continuous scream as he kicks me over and over again - without mercy and remorse. What have I done to deserve this? How am I going to escape the pure rage and hatred of this man?

My final thought before losing consciousness is the panicked realization that this is the night I am going to die. He is finally going to kill me, and it will be a long, slow, lonely and very painful death. I’m not sure how long I was out. What I do remember was hearing the beat of my heart and realising I was still alive. At that point, I wasn’t convinced I actually wanted to be alive. I lay there with my eyes closed, too scared to open them. I wasn’t sure where he was. I was still able to hear the traffic outside the window, but inside the flat was quiet. I felt another warm tear rolling down my face. I opened my good eye a little, where I was still lying on the carpet in a fetal position and gazed straight at him as he lay passed out on my couch, my flat’s key hanging halfway out his pocket. I heard a faint snore and knew he was asleep. I tried to get up, but my body was broken, battered and I was wracked with pain from head to toe. I fell back, exhausted and started crying softly.

But then a sliver of hope changed my mind and I knew I had to get out. I opened my eyes again and started pulling myself across the carpet on my side, telling myself to move slowly until I was closer to the couch. I lifted my hand and touched the pink key holder that was hanging out of his pocket. I took it between my thumb and forefinger and pulled, but it was stuck. I pulled gently again and again. Suddenly Paul turned onto his side and the key fell out of his pocket straight into my hand. I closed my fist and dropped my head on my arms, pretending to be asleep, just in case I had woken him. I lay there for five long minutes. It felt like an hour. I had to make sure he was still sleeping. Finally, I was able to crawl over to the far side of the living room where I grabbed Mickey, who was sitting in the corner, scared and bewildered. I threw him into my blood soaked, ripped nightgown.

There was no time to get dressed; I needed to escape as quickly and quietly as possible. I jumped up and ran to the front door, unlocked it and ran down the stairs. I didn’t know if Paul would wake up, but I was sure as hell not going to wait around to find out! I stumbled to where my red 50cc scooter was in the undercover parking. Climbing on with Mickey safely tucked away inside the front of my nightgown, I gathered the rest of it under my bum and between my legs, so he wouldn’t fall out while I was riding. I started my bike and drove down Pretorius Street, which was a one-way road, heading west. On impulse I decided to turn and drive in the wrong direction in case Paul was behind me, that way he would not be able to follow me driving in a car against the flow of traffic. This would buy me some time to get away. I was totally in charge and knew what I had to do. I arrived at Sunnyside Police Station, parked my bike and ran inside. I was in a lot of pain and looked like I had just emerged from a war zone. I shouted at the police officer behind the counter.

“Please help me! My boyfriend beat me up and he’s still in my flat. I want to make a case against him.”

“Now what have you done to deserve this? You must have done something?” the officer asked, looking me up and down.

“Fuck you!” was all I was able to think of at that point, to express my shock and desperation. I turned and ran out of the station. When I got to the sidewalk, a young constable caught up with me.

“Stop, stop, come back. My mom will help you; my mom has experienced this herself. She works here on day shift. I’ll call her to take your statement. Please come back, I’ll help you.”

I started sobbing like a small, frightened child, knowing that if I didn’t go back inside with him I would have to return home and that was the last place I wanted to be. He took my hand gently.

“Don’t be scared, I won’t hurt you.” He took me into a small office and came back a couple of minutes later with sugar water and told me that his mother was on her way.

“My Mom used to give me sugar water. Thank you.” I quavered, weakly. He smiled. I asked if there was a place I could wash up.

“Not now,” he replied, explaining that his Mom had to see me first. “She might need to take some photos too.” I took Mickey out from under my nightgown and placed him on my lap. He was uncharacteristically still, and I could see the fear in his eyes. Mickey hadn’t liked Paul from the beginning. Soon after I got him, he started to pee on Paul’s side of the bed. Wherever Paul’s clothes were lying he would pee on them and once he peed on Paul’s lap. So, I think he was only too happy to be out of the flat. I knew that Paul would have killed Mickey if he had woken up and found I wasn’t there. He was going to go nuts when he realised I was gone. I had just finished my sugar water when a tall blond woman walked in. Even though she tried her best to keep a poker face when she saw me, I could tell she was saddened by what she saw.

“You poor girl, do you need anything?” She enquired gently. I shook my head and looked down at Mickey, now fast asleep on my lap.

“Azelene, I’m Captain Lauren McKenzie. I’ll be taking your statement tonight. Is there anything I can get you?” She asked me a second time.

“No thank you, I don't need anything. I just want to clean up.” I replied.

“I know it’s very hard for you, but we need all the evidence we can get if you’re going to make a case against the person who did this to you. I’ll try my best to get through everything as quickly as possible. But from here I’ll need to send you over to the hospital for an internal and external examination. Do you want to phone anyone?”

“Not now, I want to talk to you first; I’m not sure what to do. My family doesn’t know about my abusive relationship.”

“I need to ask you a couple of questions, would that be ok?” I nodded mutely.

“Please state your full name for me?”

“Azelene Riekert”

“How old are you?”

“19, I am turning 20 next week.”

“Where do you live and with whom?”

“Francesca Flats, Pretorius Street,”

The questions continued, and I answered them with a distant voice. I was angry, I was suddenly furious. Why was I now forced to sit in a small, cold office in a police station? Answering questions that I didn’t want to answer, while Paul was still in my flat sleeping, oblivious to what was happening on the other side of town? Or did he know? Had he woken up at some point? Was he looking for me? I could just imagine how angry he would be if he knew where I was. But I’d had enough.

I didn’t want to be a punching bag anymore. I didn’t want to cry myself to sleep anymore. I didn’t want to cover up my bruises anymore. I didn’t want to lie to my family anymore or fear death or feel isolated. I didn’t want to be sworn at anymore. I didn’t want to wear the mask anymore, a mask that covered my pain, my sadness, my fear, my disappointment, my hate, my anger towards this man.

I was broken, and I wanted to break the silence, I wanted to stand on a hill and shout it out for the entire world to hear. But I was still sitting in this cold office being bombarded with questions that hurt so much. Again, my thoughts turned to my mother and I wondered how this would make her feel, seeing me sitting here so pitiful, disheveled and sad. I was sure it would kill her. I decided it was better she wasn’t here. I had to deal with this on my own for now. Lauren finished the interview off and told me she was going to send two constables to my flat to throw Paul out. They would lock up and bring the key back to the police station. Lauren asked who I wanted to phone, and I said that I wanted to call my sister. It was late when I heard Ronell’s home phone ringing in my ear. When she answered, all I was able to muster was, “I’m at Sunnyside Police Station, can you please come and get me?”

“I’m on my way,” was all she said before slamming the phone down. It didn’t bother me, because I suspected she had been waiting for this call. A half hour later Ronell walked into the police station with her arms open.

      “My poor sister, are you ok? Look what he’s done to you! I’ll kill that man with my bare hands. Azelene, I’m so glad you called me!” I looked at her without any emotion; I felt like a freak, as though I had no tear ducts. In my heart, I wanted to cry and cry and cry. But at the same time, I was hard as a rock with anger buried deep inside me.

“You need to take me to the State Hospital to be examined. I need to get a report from them if I’m going to make a case against him.” She took my hand.

“Come, Stefan is in the car – we’ll go home to drop him off and we may as well leave the cat at home too and then we can go to the hospital.” We walked out of the station and I told Lauren that I would pick my bike up the next day. They moved it to the back where it would be safe. As we were leaving, the two officers arrived back from my flat and handed me the keys. I asked them what had happened, and they advised me that when they arrived my front door was still open as I had left it and Paul was still fast asleep. When they woke him up he got the fright of his life, seeing them standing there. They told him that I was going to make a case against him and that I would be getting a restraining order too. They instructed him to leave my flat and that he was not allowed to take anything with him except his car keys. I was relieved that he was gone, but still scared that he would make his way back. I wished that they had handcuffed him, locked him up and thrown away the key. Knowing his luck, he would have a warm bed at his mother’s house to sleep in.

I thanked them and got into the car. We drove in silence to Ronell and Stefan’s house. Ronell didn’t ask me any questions and I wasn’t in a chatty mood. When we got there, she took Mickey inside. Then we drove to Hospital and I walked over to the reception with my letter from Lauren. The lady took all my details down, showed me to a bed and asked me to wait there. The bed was in a large ward with lots of other beds filled with moaning patients and crying babies. I sat waiting for a long time.

Eventually, a doctor arrived and started my examination. It was the most humiliating thing I had ever experienced. I had to take all my clothes off and every single mark on my body was measured, photographed and annotated. Only when I took my nightgown off, did I see the big bruise on my rib cage where Paul had kicked me over and over again. There was also a large mark on my abdomen. I was struggling to breathe, and the doctor said he would need to send me for x-rays after the examination was over. He then did an internal exam and that made me feel even more vulnerable and upset. They wanted to make sure that I hadn’t been raped, even though I told him I hadn’t had intercourse with Paul in over a week. The doctor asked me to pull my legs up and open them. I felt the cold speculum slip into my vagina and cried for the first time. I was cold, alone and in extreme pain. I felt violated and hated Paul more and more, but I knew that I had reached the point of no return. I knew that I would never go back to him again.

For more than three years Paul had treated me like his slave, he had used and abused me. At this point I wasn’t sure which scars were worse, the physical ones or the emotional ones. But it was far from over. The most difficult part was going to be facing my parents and telling them what had happened. Where did I start? How did I begin explaining why I never told them? Why I kept quiet, why I didn’t trust them enough to share my nightmare with them. What I did know was that I wasn’t ready to talk just yet. I wanted to get out of this hospital and sink into a warm, comforting bath. I wanted to scrub the marks of pain away. I wanted to soak in the water till I was clean, and all the blood was washed away. Even then, I wanted to stay in the bath longer, hoping that the pain inside my heart would be washed away too. But that was wishful thinking. All I got from staying too long in the tub were wrinkled fingertips. I wanted it all to be just a story and not part of my life. But I was the main character in this horrible, psychotic tale.

As soon as the doctor had completed his internal exam, he instructed me to go over to the radiology department as he wanted a chest x-ray. The x-ray confirmed that I had one fractured rib and one cracked rib. Now I knew why I found it so difficult to breathe. The doctor strapped me up and said that it would help me to breathe a little easier. As a child, I once ran into our kitchen counter at home, when I slipped on oil on the floor, banged my ribcage into the corner of the counter and cracked a rib. So, I knew what the procedure was for a cracked or fractured rib. Shortly after he completed his examination, the doctor gave me a prescription for strong painkillers and sent me home.

We walked out of the hospital at around 6:30 in the morning. The sun was shining, and the birds were singing. It was a new day and I wasn’t looking forward to it. I wanted to climb into bed, hide my head under the blankets and stay there. I didn’t want to face this day.

We drove back to Ronell’s home.

“Az, I’m here if you want to talk. I’m not going to push you to tell me what happened, and I’ll tell Mom and Dad the same thing. I promise we won’t bombard you with questions. When you’re ready, we’ll be here. If you don’t want to talk that’s also ok. When you went in for the x-ray, the doctor gave me a letter, referring you to a psychiatrist. Maybe it would be good for you to talk to her, but only when you’re ready.” Ronell promised.

“I’ll go see her.” I replied, “I need to speak to someone outside our family circle about what’s happened. I won’t be able to get through this without help.”

“Ok, then we’ll make an appointment for you soon.”

When we got home, Ronell went and made a nice warm bubble bath for me. I was able to take the bandage off when I bathed and showered, and Ronell was able to help me put it back on again.

It felt good, but my skin was stinging all over and my body was in pain. Ronell said that she would phone Mom and Dad and tell them what had happened. When I got out of the bath, she gave me a glass of milk to drink with sugar and vanilla in.

“Drink this and go climb into bed when you’re finished Azelene. Your pills are on the bedside table, take them and get some sleep. Sleep as long as you want to.” The pills knocked me out. I slept for a few hours and woke up in the late afternoon. I was hungry, and my body was now in even more pain. The mark from where Paul had grabbed me around the neck was also now more visible and the ones where he kicked me in the chest and abdomen were bigger and bluer. It looked painful and it was. I told Ronell I needed some clean clothes and she promised to take me to my flat the following morning to get some of my things.

The next day at around 9:00 o’clock we drove to my flat, so I could pack a bag. I had decided to stay at Ronell’s house for a couple of days. It was safer than my flat at this point. I wasn’t sure what Paul’s plans were for me, but I was scared of him and knew that I didn’t have the strength to face him right now.

When we arrived, I paused at the door for a couple of seconds. Ronell turned to me and said “Az, don’t worry he isn’t here, the police gave you his key. It’s ok to go in. I’m here with you.” I unlocked the door and walked in. I was still able to smell his aftershave inside. It nauseated me. Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach and I ran to the bathroom, collapsed in front of the toilet on my knees and started vomiting. I think it was a combination of pain and revulsion that made me so sick. The next moment I heard Ronell’s voice.

“Hello Mandy,” I picked my head up from the toilet bowl and dragged myself to my feet. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and walked out of the bathroom. There I saw Mandy and her mother at my front door.

“Hello Ronell, Hello Azelene, may we come in?” Mandy walked towards me arms, outstretched to give me a hug. I lifted my left hand up between us and stopped her in her tracks.

“Don’t come close to me, don’t touch me Mandy.” She backed off, walked over to the couch and sat down. Paul’s Mom had a small plant in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other. She held the flowers out to me and said, “These are from Mandy and I, the little love palm is from Paul.” I started to laugh.

“Very, very fucking inappropriate. Thank you but you can take that back, in fact, you can take the flowers back too. What do you want?” I asked her incredulously.

“Azelene, Paul told us what happened, and he feels so bad, he wanted us to come and see how you were doing?” I lift the t-shirt that I had borrowed from Ronell up and said, “This is what I look like, and what I feel like well, that is very difficult to explain. I’m bruised, torn apart, sore, scared, confused, disappointed. Do you understand?”

Paul’s Mom dropped her head and said softly, “It doesn’t look that bad. The bruises will heal quickly, don’t worry.”

“You must be kidding me! Are you for real? Did I hear you right? The bruises will heal quickly! What about the scars inside? Mandy, please tell me that your Mom is kidding! Is that all she’s able to say to me? You know what, I think you should leave. I have nothing to say to you, your Mom or your brother.” I almost shouted. They stood up, Paul’s Mom still holding onto the love palm and flowers and left my flat without another word. I shook my head in disbelief.

“Did you see any sympathy or empathy? Their eyes were dead!” I spluttered at Ronell. I walked over to the cupboard and started packing my things. I wasn’t sure how long my stay with Ronell would be, but I knew I wasn’t ready to stay in this flat right now. My Mom decided to hunt Desi, Paul’s x-girlfriend down. Desi told my mom that Paul use to beat her up on a daily basis. That’s why she left him. Also, that she wanted to warn me years ago when she walked into the bathroom at the restaurant but was scared that I would think it was sour grapes, so she left it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 20

 

Too close for Comfort

 

I stayed with Ronell for a couple of days and took off work while I was there. By the time I decided I was able to move back to my flat, I had a restraining order in place. Paul was not allowed to come within 200m of me. I wasn’t sure if the restraining order would keep me safe; but it gave me peace of mind, that if he did try something he would be arrested and locked up. I didn’t see Paul again after that fateful day, until many years later. At that point, I was married to my now ex-husband. Paul was doing some renovations on the house opposite the one we were renting. I wasn’t aware of that. I knew there were men working there and I saw someone sitting in a pickup truck in the mornings when I left for work, but I never saw his face.

One afternoon I got a call from the estate agent we had rented our house from. She asked me if she could bring a contractor to the house, to get a quote on some work the owner wanted done. I agreed and made arrangements to meet her at the house after work.

There was a knock on the door and when I opened it, there was the agent with Paul standing next to her. I got such a fright I slammed the door shut. When I opened it again, I apologised and asked them to come in. "No problem Azelene, this is Paul. Paul this is......" "Azelene, yes I know her very well. Hello, Azelene." Paul said. I heard my name fall out of his mouth. The first thing I realised was that he hadn’t changed at all. He was still very handsome and for a moment I stared into his eyes trying to see what he was thinking. "Come in Suzanne, please hurry, I need to leave in about 5 minutes." I heard myself lying to her. This poor woman didn’t have a clue about what had happened between us; she didn’t know who this monster was. She took him to the back of the house and showed him the work that needed doing. They left without Paul saying another word to me.

After they had gone, I called Suzanne and asked her to please never bring him to the house again, explaining that I had a restraining order against him. She felt really bad and promised me she would pass the message on to the owner as well. I walked into the living room after our conversation and stood with my back against the cold wall. I started to cry and suddenly all the emotions came flooding back. I’m not sure how long I cried, but I did feel better when it was over. What I then realised was, I wasn’t scared of him anymore. In fact, I was hoping to see him again, so I could tell him so, but after that day I have never had the opportunity to do so.

Once more I was reminded that I was exceptionally lucky to have escaped with my life.       Unfortunately, although no longer afraid of the man, he had stolen my innocence and abused my love and trust in him, and worst of all taught me how to hate for the first time in my life.