Demons in the Dark

Demons in the Dark: An Alcoholic’s Tale

She began to read the first few lines.

I didn't suddenly wake up one morning and realize that I was an alcoholic, that's not the way it works. Sure it does, she thought. Except with her, it was every morning, with the same exact thoughts lurking in her head. She would look to the man sleeping next to her, by her side, supposedly through sickness and health, and thought, He’s going to kill me one day.

There were many times when she could have been just another statistic, another bloated, yellow corpse in the morgue. She was living with an abusive alcoholic spouse who threatened her physical safety and her emotional well-being. But she didn’t know how to get out. She wasn’t strong enough. She had read somewhere that domestic violence causes approximately 2,500 deaths every year in America. She was supposed to take photos of any evidence of physical violence, preserve copies of police reports, emergency room records, any signs of his abuse and addiction, and even a diary detailing the abusiveness and threats he had made towards her.

But it wasn't that easy. It would mean that she had failed. Failure wasn't an easy concept for her to grasp. She didn't want the idea to unravel slowly. If she stayed, it meant she would be fighting for them, fighting for something that they had declared true in front of family and friends and loved ones one afternoon. She couldn't just submit herself to surrender, could she? It just wasn't right. She closed her eyes. But neither were the bruises on her neck and the cut on her lip and the threat on her life she replayed over and over again.

You fucking bitch, I'm going to kill you.

Since when did she become this person? She couldn't understand how she had become a victim. Each year, there are hundreds of women who are being victimized...She had become a statistic. It was so cold. Victim. She was stronger than that. She was in the drama club in high school. She played tennis. The guys thought she was cute and funny. But not victim, never that.

You fucking cunt, you think you can get away from me. I'm going to kill you.

He was so serious--the tone of his voice. There was such calm about it that she knew, if given the chance, he would kill her. It didn't matter how many good times they had. It didn't matter how many times they tried to resolve the problem. There was a demon involved, and she had to get out. She wasn't going to be another dead statistic on a coroner's lab table. Somehow, she had to find the strength before it was too late.