Not Tonight: A Woman's Right to Say "No" and Her Struggle to "Let Go".

By Tony L. Bellamy

Domestic violence has an uncanny method of writing its own story. Its reported that one out of every four women will be involved in a domestic dispute during their lifetime. Sandy and Robert Porters relationship is such story.


As an unborn child tethered to their mothers umbilical cord while suckling lifes sustaining nutrients, Sandy Porters toxic relationship with her estranged husband Robert serves as a reminder as how difficult it is to sever ties with the one she trusted most. Every time she attempted to separate from their love life, shed find herself tightly wrapped in his powerful arms; a place of false security and love enveloping her thoughts. Finding the courage to detach herself from him would prove to be deadly, for whom only time would tell.


Roberts favorite quote was, If I cant have you, nobody else will. Trust me, Ill do anything to keep you from leaving me.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514486665

Tony L. Bellamy

A father, grandfather, husband, community activist, lover of the souls of humanity, author of “Down in the Grove: Shattered Hearts and Wounded Spirits,” coauthor of “Show A Little Love” 1 and 2.

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 by Tony L. Bellamy.

ISBN:      Softcover        978-1-5144-8667-2

                eBook            978-1-5144-8666-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 11/19/2016

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Contents

Acknowlegments

Preface

WOUNDED SENTIMENT

STAKEHOLDERS

CAUGHT IN A FIX

EXPLOSIVE POTENTIAL

RIGHTS OF REFUSAL

FAMILY AFFAIRS

OCEANWAVES

UNEXPECTANT CALL

UNEXPECTANT VISIT

RETURN TO PARADISE

SACRED COWS

BITTER WATERS

STEPPING STONES

DOUBLE JEOPARDY

ANOTHER DAY AT THE OFFICE

DECEIVED

SISTERS

CATCH 22/ENTRAPMENT

GUILTY OR NOT

TRUE LOVE NEVER DIES

INAPPROPIATE PASSIONS

INVESTIGATION

SELF DECEPTION

AN UNEXPECTANT VISITOR

EGOMANIA

FRESH START

ALTERCATIONS

FINAL CALL

THE WORD

Epilougue

DV Hotline

The Power And Influence Of Words

"No one knows what is in him till he tries, and many would

never try if they were not forced to."

Basil W. Maturin

Laws of the Spiritual Life

Dedicated to the heart of unmolested love;

untouched and unspoiled,

germinating beneath a

Field of Dreams.

Acknowlegments

There are those who help to mold and shape the lives of others even when they are unaware of their impact. Here are such persons who have provided the encouragement and guidance for the creation and fruition of this book.:

My mother Mildred Heard whose heart of compassion surpasses many.

Thanks for Mr. Cameron Deszon-Alexandre Claiborne for his interpretation of abused women from my template. His artistic creativity is invaluable; a picture truly speaks a thousand words.

A special thanks to my neighbors Frank and Sandy for their editorial advice.

To Mr. Clayton Brown a friend and writing colleague who constantly tweaks the craft.

Thanks for the feminist movement which helps to monitor and guard the cause of all women.

To My Sister’s House the local battered women’s shelter which provides a safe place for healing and empowerment.

A special thanks for all men in the movement fighting for the rights of all humanity.

To my maternal sisters that live with untold stories.

A divine thanks to God for my daughters Nicole, Kimberly, Ashley and Kellie as well as for my step- daughters Jerrie, Nichol, and Tiffany and their daughters. A heartfelt love for the grand-daughters who are yet to understand the full impact of toxic relationships.

A heartfelt thanks to God for my grandson Kayden and the opportunity provided to help mold and shape his mindset during his formative years.

To Mr. Gary Mattingly for his set of fresh eyes providing new insight and words of encouragement.

And finally to my lovely wife Francine for her patience in allotting me the space to practice my craft.

Preface

The world mourns. The children cry. Another mother dies at the atrocious hands of violence. Unfortunately for you and me, violence sings a universal song that everyone hears as an unwarranted cry in the depths of their souls. Peace eludes its unrelentless grip.

Like a ravaging wretched disease, the dustrails of "Domestic Violence, permeates throughout the whole fabric of society. It has metastasized into something grotesque. Aggressive acts of inhumane treatment occur with the frequency of unparalleled proportion. Lives are forever scarred. A mass residue of pain and suffering is left by the imprints of injustice upon its victims. The racial makeup, economic or social status doesn’t matter. It refuses to discriminate. Yet, a common familiarity resides in the Bosom of its’ Soul." The abyss of bleakness looms large upon the landscape of men’s hearts as they remain insensitive to this uninvited plague upon all mankind.

Sandy Porter was suffocated by the chaos, and blinded by the love of her life, Mr. Robert Porter, her estranged husband. The toxic relationship rendered her incapable of seeing clearly, distinctly. Distortion reigned as she constantly refused to accept the truth. Fate would eventually dictate Desperate Times as it summoned Desperate Measures. The measures used were determined by the action of the participants, whether willing or not.

Sandy like so many other women made a valiant attempt to sanitize the inadequacies in her failed relations, hiding them behind the Cloak of Denial. She failed to exercise a woman’s right to say no, thus perpetuating her struggle to let go.

Abused, confused and utterly misused, could have been the headliner hovering like a halo over Sandy’s head. But now, she lay paralyzed at the thought as to why everything had gone wrong?

WOUNDED SENTIMENT

Blue teardrops streamed down their faces as a mighty rushing river-untamable, powerful. Relinquishing the pain and suffering of unspent years, they cried for her. She’d failed to cry for herself. However, their cries were as broken notes from heaven; unorchestrated, out of tune. All of heaven wept.

And now, Sandy Porter lay prostrate on the icy-chilled metallic hospital bed inside a well-lighted emergency room adorned in the regalia of the familiar. The Parkview Regional Medical Center had become a place she wished she’d never known.

Immediately, the outstretched snowy hand of her best friend and nemesis Yvonne Young, struck the right shoulder of Dr. Suarez’s in an unwelcome fashion gaining his undivided attention. She needed some answers.

Tell me what’s wrong with her, Yvonne protested. What’s her condition? she asked. A sense of apprehension lodged in her voice, almost choking her.

That’s confidential, Dr. Suarez abruptly answered back. Something I’m not permitted to share with you. Read the expression on my face. It read, Off limits.

Yvonne looked at him with hard complicated eyes. But Doc, she’s my best friend.

Again, that’s privileged information, he indicated while attempting to pull away from her. Please excuse me. Can’t you see I have work to do? You may be seated in the waiting room over there, he said while gesturing towards the door to his immediate right. What are you doing in here anyway? The harshness of his words zoomed through the frigid air inside the emergency room.

What’s wrong with her? Yvonne demanded a second time.

Get the hell out of my face. I’ve already told you. Can’t you see I have work to do? Somebody, anybody, please escort her out of here," he shouted. He raised his hands as if to strike her.

That’ll be the last time you’ll ever raise it, her voiced cut through the moment with conviction.

Dr. Suarez lowered his hand. Just get the hell out of here!

But she’s my best friend, she screamed back at him. Her face registered disappointment.

I wouldn’t care if she was your mama. Please call security, he instructed one of the attending nurses. Before the nurse could reach the phone, the screeching sound of the automatic door opener permeated the room, an overweight, fiftish, curly headed gentleman stepped inside. The clinging chains by his side swayed back and forth in rapid succession.

What’s the trouble Doc? he asked in interrupted breaths, the erratic patterns indicating his physical condition.

Just get her the hell out of here, Dr Suarez shouted as his outstretched arm jolted out like an armed weapon.

I’m going to find out what happened to her, Yvonne squawked while being escorted forcibly by the officer. His hands clasp the canister of mace attached to his oversized paten-leather belt.

Let me go. You don’t have any right to put your filthy hands on me, she protested. I dare you to spray me with that mace. I’ll sue you and the hospital for everything I can. . . . You’re nothing but a toy-cop anyway."

Just come on and shut up, he commanded, gripping her arm even tighter.

You’re hurting me, she protested while snatching loose of his grip.

Dr. Suarez took a closer examination of Sandy’s head wounds. He noticed Sandy’s eyes had completely swollen shut. Black and blue rings encircled them, resembling the eyes of a tropical Kubota monkey. Unlike the natural rings of beauty encircling the face of the tropical animal’s, Sandy’s appearance was marred and undesirable.

Ouch! she moaned as Dr. Suarez’s stubby fingers gently caressed her perforated face. Her earth-tone beauty had now been transformed into a purplish mass of distinctive bruises-each telling their own story of misery and pain.

Darling, I know it hurts. I’m just trying to see the extent of your damage. How did this happen? he questioned; his voice quivering upon each syllable.

Silence filled the room.

Who did this to you? The words tangled in his throat. Mrs. Porter, I’m only trying to help you. Please don’t move.

With a tilted head and a distorted view, Sandy requested the lights be dimmed.

The illumination from them hurt my eyes, she expressed while she struggled to place her left hand to hide it’s glare.

Dr. Suarez quickly waved to the nurse to make the proper adjustments. Observing her unfortunate circumstance, he wanted to make her as comfortable as possible.

It appeared that she barely survived a most brutal attack.

Unbeknownst to Sandy, several officers were on their way to begin an investigation as to what had taken place; they’d been summoned there by the receptionist as the standard procedure in such cases.

Head throbbing, eyes now completely swollen shut, Sandy’s right arm draped in a discolored cast dangled off the side of the sanitized stainless steel table. There she lay in a daze-one of unbelief and denial.

Her eyes opened briefly, affixed towards the celestial. It was if they were searching for God as they ratcheted erratically inside their sockets. Dr. Suarez’ frantic attempts to get a positive response from her proved futile. Suddenly, she fell unconscious, with her life bordering on the gates of the eternal; the never-ending home of the soul.

Please don’t leave me now. Such a cowardly assault on humanity, Dr. Suarez vehemently spewed as he took a closer examination of Sandy’s battered and bruised body.

No Doctor Suarez, it’s much more than that. It’s a blatant affront to all womanhood, one of the attending nurses cried out. Inhuman, anyway you look at it.

Yes young lady, it’s like a senseless Greek tragedy screaming out for a sigh of relief.

I agree, the nurse answered with cast down eyes gazing upon Sandy’s motionless body.

Please don’t let her die. Her voice drifted over like cotton balls tossed in a violent wind.

The moment spoke for itself. Unfortunately, looming beneath this inescapable tragedy of wrath and tears were the horrors of the shade. And yet previous to this latest atrocity, Sandy had told Yvonne that she still loved him. One could only wonder what would make someone love so blindly?

***

How soon may we speak with her Dr.? a burly looking officer snarled.

As soon as she gains consciousness.

When will that be?

Only time can tell. Now, if you gentlemen don’t mind, I have other patients that need my attention.

Dr. Suarez pressed his way passed the persistent officers on the way to fulfill his Hippocratic obligation.

The burly looking gentleman peered towards his partner and said, Let’s go now. At that moment, they simultaneously glared over towards Dr. Suarez as if to say, We’ll be back. Swaying chains clung against one another as they briskly walked back down the long dreaded corridor.

***

Nine Months Later

Sandy’s black and blue Victoria Secret panties slid down her golden tan legs, floating gracefully onto the marble floor. Releasing the snap from her bra, she playfully swung it several times around her head and tossed it into the hamper stationed on the far side of the bathroom. Then in a kinky kind of a fashion, she lifted her right leg and lowered her earth-tone body into the warm aromatic bubble bath, hoping to soak away all recollections of the unusually hectic day she had at the office. The numbers didn’t quite add up. Her client’s income level wasn’t financially sound enough to acquire the property they had chosen. She’d promised them that they were not going to encounter any problems-something she prided herself on. Trying to convince them to trust her to negotiate another comparable piece of property proved difficult. Blood vessels in her forehead protruded as if they were about to burst-perhaps threatening a stroke of some sort. Whatever the medical condition she was experiencing, she felt could only be alleviated by popping a couple of extra strength Tylenol tablets while she took a relaxing bath.

The last time Sandy felt this way, she was admitted to County General Hospital, where she remained for three days. The doctors determined she was a workaholic and her compulsion to dot every I and cross every t played and intricate role in her mental demise.

Sandy rested her head on the water resistant pillow she’d positioned at the base of the garden tub. Strategically situated lighted aromatherapy candles flicked against the backdrop of the painted walls. Silhouettes of unfamiliar animal like figures danced off of them. A sigh of relief embraced her face. Her favorite Jazz CD featuring Phyllis Hyman played softly on her computer. The Bose 501 speakers she’d recently purchased punctuated the atmosphere with distinguished sounds; something she’d come to appreciate. An ancient Chinese chime hung from an exposed rafter centering the tub. With a slight flicker of her finger, she occasionally stroked it just to hear a refreshing tone.

Sandy reached into the wine rack positioned beside the tub, grabbed a bottle of Merlot and unscrewed the cork. She was careful to only pour a small portion while she bathed. After taking a few sips, she pressed her head firmly against the pillow and drifted off into a deep sleep. Lalaland, she sometimes called it the lingering utopia of peace and tranquility.

***

A violent knock at the door awakened her. I wonder who this could be, she pondered.

Just a minute, she hollered across the room. Don’t break down my damn door.

Incessantly, the knocks grew louder.

Hold up! Let me put something on, she shrilled.

Sandy methodically raised herself, stepped out of the tub exposing her utter nakedness. The silkiness of her wet skin glowed in the candlelight. With a perfectly sculptured body she’d painstaking manicured, except for what she labeled as the excessive cellulose deposited on her backside, she snatched a towel and dried off. The men loved her excess. She hated it, rejecting any notion of having to except even an ounce of unwanted fat. Shoulder length black hair accentuated her petite frame. At 132 pounds, she considered herself to be ‘the finest of the finest.’ She often entertained the thought of becoming a model; however, she felt she was too short at 5’ 3".

Running to her bedroom closet, she collected a less revealing robe, put it on and raced to the door.

Peering through the peephole in the door, she observed a dark skinned-handsome man standing on the other side. It was Robert Stanfield Porter, her estranged husband.

I wonder what made him come by, she thought to herself, gritting her teeth in the process.

Let me in Sandy. I know you’re in there.

He refused to forfeit his rights to her, although they’d been separated for over two years. It was one of his methods used to control her. However, she claimed to be a free woman, a delusional concept she maintained.

On occasion, Sandy permitted Robert to stop by for a ‘booty call.’ She’d justify it by saying, At least after 10 years of marriage I know he’s safe. Despite the fact that the eight previous years were ordered from ‘the pits of hell’ she craved his excellent lovemaking abilities. The massive size of his ‘ummmp,’ the way he manhandled her and his ‘marathon man capabilities,’ pleased her best. Unfortunately, these attributes appeared to overshadow any elements of commonsense she possessed. Like so many other violated women, the turmoil and drama she experienced at the hands of her so-called lover was a direct result of her blind ambition.

Since their last breakup, Sandy was unable to resist Robert’s sexual persuasion. Even when she wasn’t in the mood, her ‘lovenest’ throbbed for the connection. Her Grandma Mabel taught her never to turn away her husband, except for an extreme illness. Because Robert often navigated through the ‘waters of insensitivity,’ thus presenting unhealthy moments for the both of them. Almost a year had passed since their last sexual encounter. Subsequently, Sandy vowed to abstain from his seductive ways. Submitting to him this time just isn’t worth it, she concluded.

Recalling the mental and physical onslaughts she endured during their last intimate moment placed her in a guarded mode. She thought forthrightly, I’m not going to take any of your shit tonight. No exceptions to the rule, she huffed, albeit to herself.

Finally, she grasped the golden handled doorknob; unlocked it allowing Robert to enter. Robert’s face hardened; impatience causing it to be distorted. He possessed little tolerance for waiting. It was if he was the ‘master of time.’ Sandy’s attempt to embrace him as he walked through the door was promptly rejected; pushing her aside.

What the hell took you so long to open the door bitch? he said defiantly.

You know better than to leave me standing at the door. Don’t you ever do it again! Understand? His familiar harsh tone captured her attention.

Standing in total silence, Sandy held her head crouched between the locks of her shoulders peering downward. In this striking posture of submissiveness, watery deposits from heaven’s floodgates wailed up inside her. She had promised herself to never let Robert break her down like that ever again. She didn’t want him to see her cry anymore. She had promised herself, this time would be different. On previous occasions, she cried uncontrollably giving him utter satisfaction. She realized that it was difficult for her to garner enough strength to refrain from pleasing him that way. Nonetheless, she just didn’t want him to have the satisfaction gained from insulting her anymore. She realized her true test was about to begin.

Why have you come to harass me? she asked breaking the silence. I just wanted to have a peaceful night to myself. I’ve had a very stressful day."

Who cares what the hell you want? I’ll determine what you want and don’t you forget it. . . . A little more stress won’t hurt, he snickered.

But Robert, we’ve been separated for over two years now and I’ve started a new life. What gives you the audacity to come to my house telling me what I can or cannot do anyway? Sandy snapped back.

BITCH, if you say another word I know what’s going to happen to you. That’s what’s wrong with all you Bitches any way. You talk to damn much."

But Robert.

But Robert, what? Didn’t I tell you to shut the hell up? Please don’t make me shut you up. He raised his fist at her. She jerked back.

Sandy quietly succumbed to Robert’s unwarranted demands and walked back into the bathroom to retrieve a handful of tissue. Unable to hold back the tears, she pulled the door closed behind her. While sobbing uncontrollably, she repeatedly stated she was nothing but a failure. I can’t even take control of my life, she said in a condescending manner. Her relationship with Robert continued to crumble all around her no matter how hard she pretended that it hadn’t. Intuitively, she felt a helluva night awaited her-a night she wasn’t ready to face. Suddenly, a numbing indifference overshadowed the moment.

Sandy, Robert shouted.

Yes Robert, she shouted back.

Fix me a meal.

"What would you like? she whispered attempting to ease the tension.

"What do you have?

A little chicken and dumplings from last night’s dinner. There may be a spoonful of collards and a slice of leftover cornbread.

That’ll be just fine. Sounds like your Grandma’s Mabel’s Sunday dinner… Now get the hell in there and warm it up, he indicated as if they were still living together.

Robert devoured the leftovers as if he hadn’t eaten in days. He also drank two twenty ounce Bud’s to wash it all down. By the time he’d finished, Sandy had readied herself for bed.

Time for you to leave now, she politely expressed, while placing her hands defiantly on her hips.

Robert ignored her as if she never said a word.

I’m about to go to bed. It’s time for you to leave, she repeated a second time. I don’t know why I let you in anyway, she fumed, her words becoming more abrasive upon each syllable.

I’ll leave when I get good and damn ready, he retorted.

I’m tired of having these confrontations with you Robert. Why are you constantly taking me thru this drama? I’ve always been there for you. You’re the one who walked out on me, she said belligerently.

So what! . . . You’re still my woman and I ain’t going anywhere. Understand? he said with eyes penetrating her soul with the intensity of a laser’s beam.

Robert. Just leave! she vehemently spewed.

Girl, I care less what you want. Why is it so hard for you to understand that? . . . It’s not about you. It never has been. Robert’s words were like salt being poured into a fresh wound, painfully stinging her soul.

I just need to get some rest; nothing more, nothing less. That’s all. I told you I’ve had a very difficult day. My head is killing me. Sandy held her hand against her forehead. Robert please leave so I can get myself together for tomorrow.

Abruptly lifting his right hand, he struck Sandy on the left side of her face.

Numbed by the violent blow, she fell to the floor. It became apparent, Robert’s dominance over Sandy’s life had never subsided. Gazing up at his towering presence, she muttered to herself, I need to stand up and fight.

Get up BITCH! GET UP, Robert jeered as he pranced around the room like a prized fighter who just TKO’d an overmatched opponent.

Sandy slowly crawled to the center of the living room, grabbed one arm of the leather sofa in an attempt to pull herself up. At the opportune moment, Robert raised his size fifteen Italian made shoe and placed it in the small of her back. Sandy knew that any resistance by her would only frustrate him more. Unable to rise to her feet, she rested her head on the armrest and saturated it with tears of sorrow. This incidence reminded her of how fragile their relationship had been in times past-the seeds of degradation blossomed emitting an unpleasant fragrance. Robert had beaten her down like this many times before-something she vowed would never happen again. Feeling deflated, her inadequacies manifested themselves. She had nothing else left to give.

She cried underneath her breath, Perhaps Robert’s right. I’m not good enough.

The weight of his abusiveness clouded her mind causing her to think, Love is really blind. Why she continued to accept his torturous feats she couldn’t quite fathom.

Intrusively, Robert approached her in a threatening posture screaming, You know what the hell I came here for Bitch.! Don’t act so damn stupid. Now go take off your robe,

he indicated while unbuckling his belt and pointing to the master bedroom.

I’ll be there in a minute and you better be ready, he threatened.

Grasping for every ounce of air she could muster, Sandy folded her hands in the center of her chest acting as one whose lungs were on the verge of collapsing. Miraculously, she garnered enough strength to gain her equilibrium and walked towards the bedroom. Unfortunately for Sandy the evening was still young as Robert’s presence stifled her. How to get rid of him she knew would be repulsive, especially since the night had just begun.

Like a wild beast unleashed from its’ cage after months of captivity, unbeknownst to Sandy, the ‘Beast of a Man’ planned to toy with and devour her flesh. Nothing would satisfy him more than ripping out her emotional heart, leaving her to die. A ferocious intensity completely engulfed him; the savory juices of savagery oozed from his lips as a food depraved animal-each droplet telling its’ own beastly tale. Beholden to her eyes, this left her in a state of helplessness and utter despair. A sense of loneliness reared its’ ugly head within the midst of the chaos, becoming an inescapable enemy for self-assurance. Perhaps, if she wouldn’t have felt so vulnerable, so defenseless, she’d been able to ease her pain and gain her freedom. As an unconscious co-dependent of his inappropriate actions, Sandy needed to severe the threads of dependency. The ties were not for financial freedom like most women she knew. She’d become financially secure in that arena with her real-estate acquisitions and didn’t need Robert’s financial contribution, or no other man’s money. But the emotional bonds she held on to was another question altogether. They appeared inescapable-elusive; her Goliath that she’d been unable to defeat.

Robert made his trek towards the kitchen. Sandy heard the frig door slam shut and what sounded like the top of another beer being opened. Two minutes later she heard an identical sound. In a span of less than ten minutes, Robert had consumed two more twenty-ounce beers, making it a total of four since his arrival. An intoxicated beast was the last thing Sandy needed to confront. She already had deemed herself incapable of fighting one natural enemy, to say the least about adding a foreign substance to her unsolvable equation. Sandy realized that the proliferation of events was eminent. She’d seen it to many times before. Her failure to clear away the wreckage of her past contributed to her current dilemma.

Negotiating with Robert in such a drunken stupor was now out of the question.

Controlling this 6’4" 275 pound determined ‘Beast of a Man’ had taken precedence over her evening and her life. She was now locked into a defensive mode-a position she didn’t want to find herself. The moment now controlled her; she didn’t control it. She now waded in a cesspool of self-doubt thinking to herself, What have I done?

Sandy. Are you ready for me now? Robert’s voice thundered shattering her fragile nerves even more. This was a further indication of his power and authority over her.

Robert’s massive presence now occupied the doorway leading to the master bedroom.

Answer me Bitch!

Sandy avoided his request. Her lips remained sealed from responding. She purposed in her heart that he not get the best of her, Not Tonight, not ever again. Aware of Robert’s in- tolerance for irresponsive behavior by anyone, Sandy knew her failure to answer him only fueled his brazen attitude for irreverence.

When Mr. Porter speaks, he expects an immediate response, she thought to herself. Nobody dare put him off.

Anybody’s no was unacceptable to him. Robert didn’t know how to take no for an answer. Sandy’s irresponsiveness was no different.

Sandy. I know you heard me the first time. ‘Bitch,’ if you know what’s best for you, don’t make me say it again.

Robert was well known for being a man of his word. At his beckoning insult, Sandy briefly stared at his massive presence standing in the doorway, lowered her head, clamored up and covered her face with her hands. She tucked tightly into a fetal position and climbed to the backside of the bed-an inescapable world. It was at this moment, she wanted to die.

***

STAKEHOLDERS

A year has elapsed since that last encounter with Robert. Vaporized by the consciousness of the two uninvited guest of pain and suffering, she enrolled in one of the self-defense classes at the local YWCA. Her reluctance to enroll in it sooner was due partly to her belief in non-violence; a philosophy she inherited as a result of reading books about Gandhi, the Nobel Prize winner for Peace. She also admired Dr. King and knew he had studied Gandhi’s way of life and adapted it as well. It was upon that premise she decided to do the same and had led a life of peace and non-violence for most of her adult years. But something happened to her mindset after that last encounter with Robert. An aura of fear enveloped her life after that dreadful night. Her disposition became vacant as if she’d become a walking zombie.

Her colleagues noticed the drastic changes in her once extroverted personality and commented about it mostly among themselves. Perhaps they were trying to shield her from any further mental demise- a type of protective posture. Any attempt on their part to try and persuade her to take self-defense classes previous to Robert’s assault was always shunned. She always told them, Everything’s just fine. I can handle my business.

Self-denial. That’s all it is, they’d respond. Everything is just fine in your imaginary world, they’d jeer. Eventually, they stopped trying to persuade her to do anything and were shocked to hear her say she’d enrolled in