Sparkling Diamonds
Sparkling Diamonds
It happened again. I was in the bathroom, arms wrapped around my drawn up legs that pressed against my chest, and fresh bruises scattering across my body. It was horrid, painful, but something I had gotten used to ever since our wedding night.
Our honeymoon was practically a non-stop gain of fresh bruises and scars. Seeing blood no longer sickened me as it once did and especially the taste of my own was something that I hardly felt repulsed by any longer. The wetness of the blood that sprung forth from my lips sometimes was the only liquid that kept me alive as I hid myself away from my husband for days at a time.
It has been a while since those days, the week long ordeal where I was introduced to the torment and pain that my husband could bring. That was about five years ago and I was still young and innocent, despite my age.
I knew I should have listened to my only living immediate family member but I didn't want to. She was telling me what I should have been hearing, and not what I wanted to hear as the rest of my friends were telling me at work.
I wanted to hear that he was going to be the perfect husband, that he was going to look after me, and he was as handsome as ever. That was one thing that I couldn't deny, even in my utmost pain -- that he was handsome, the most handsome.
What I put to the back of my mind when my friends confirmed the fact that I should accept his marriage proposal and attach my life to he was the times when he "accidentally" hit me when he was angry or handled me to rough when he was drunk. He said he couldn't control himself but never spoke more than that.
Whenever I tried to talk to him about it, he would always avoid the topic. Whenever I tried to tell him to stop, there were times when he would proceed to hit me further but stopped before any major bruising would show to others what he was doing to me.
Five years later and sitting underneath the soft touches of the shower, completely naked with bruises and scars covering my body, I was still with him knowing that I should have left the marriage when I could all those years ago. Now, I was stuck with this forever and couldn't talk to anyone about it.
My sister, my only living family member, wouldn't talk to me while I was still with him. My friends at work asked questions, but I could never tell them the truth in fear that it would get back to my husband and he would punish me even further before anything could be done about it.
In the end, I was all alone.
My name is Diana Wilson and this is my story.
Our honeymoon was practically a non-stop gain of fresh bruises and scars. Seeing blood no longer sickened me as it once did and especially the taste of my own was something that I hardly felt repulsed by any longer. The wetness of the blood that sprung forth from my lips sometimes was the only liquid that kept me alive as I hid myself away from my husband for days at a time.
It has been a while since those days, the week long ordeal where I was introduced to the torment and pain that my husband could bring. That was about five years ago and I was still young and innocent, despite my age.
I knew I should have listened to my only living immediate family member but I didn't want to. She was telling me what I should have been hearing, and not what I wanted to hear as the rest of my friends were telling me at work.
I wanted to hear that he was going to be the perfect husband, that he was going to look after me, and he was as handsome as ever. That was one thing that I couldn't deny, even in my utmost pain -- that he was handsome, the most handsome.
What I put to the back of my mind when my friends confirmed the fact that I should accept his marriage proposal and attach my life to he was the times when he "accidentally" hit me when he was angry or handled me to rough when he was drunk. He said he couldn't control himself but never spoke more than that.
Whenever I tried to talk to him about it, he would always avoid the topic. Whenever I tried to tell him to stop, there were times when he would proceed to hit me further but stopped before any major bruising would show to others what he was doing to me.
Five years later and sitting underneath the soft touches of the shower, completely naked with bruises and scars covering my body, I was still with him knowing that I should have left the marriage when I could all those years ago. Now, I was stuck with this forever and couldn't talk to anyone about it.
My sister, my only living family member, wouldn't talk to me while I was still with him. My friends at work asked questions, but I could never tell them the truth in fear that it would get back to my husband and he would punish me even further before anything could be done about it.
In the end, I was all alone.
My name is Diana Wilson and this is my story.