M is for Monster... A - Z Challenge

In my 13 year relationship with Roscoe, also an alcoholic --- during our last days before the final break ---he became a monster to me.

I never thought I'd be with a guy who'd hit me.

Grant it, I hit him first on all occasions. After he called me a fat ass, stupid whore, fucking cunt, alcoholic bitch...berating me every chance he got. Worse names than I'd been called in my school years. It hurt even more being called those names by a guy I've stood by, even in his darkest moments (4 DWIs, and a hit and run........................I'm ashamed to even admit that I stayed with that piece of shit).

I felt like an abused dog that finally attacked its owner after 11 years of torture. I started hitting him after I couldn't take the pain anymore. Our last two years were a fucking nightmare. I didn't care anymore.
I **wanted** to abuse him. And that's when he started hitting back.

Oh so many black eyes I had. And I didn't give a fuck. Hitting him gave me a release I cannot describe. Almost a high.

However, it was the silence after I hit him....when he took pause to compose himself and gather strength to attack me harder......**that** was the worst part. WAITING to be hit. His hits always hurt more than what I unleashed upon him.

That motherfucker.

I think I'm more angry at myself that I stayed with Roscoe so long. As two alcoholics, we fed off eachother. Keep in mind, my alcoholism truly started after I couldn't change his binge drinking. One day I decided, fuck it -- can't beat 'em, join 'em. A grave error on my part. I couldn't keep up with his drinking, although I tried my best.

Let's call a spade a spade -------he had a big dick and was good in bed. Also very handsome. Women (sluts) flirted with him whenever we were out in public. He was a skateboarder and possessed many cronies (guy friends)....they all knew me. Finally, I was accepted into the popular crowd. After years of being an outcast in my school years. When we went out together, I was finally "known." Acknowledged. Even respected. Because I was with Roscoe. A mid-western legend of sorts. Everyone who is anyone -- knows him.

I clung to that.

Truth be told --- he was an asshole....a prick to me....always cutting me down and trying to control my every move. While he did whatever **he** wanted.

I never thought he'd cheat on me though. However, eight years into our relationship, he did. With a 21 year old slut....whom he left me for....for over a year. Devastated doesn't even begin to describe how I felt. Traded in for a younger woman.

We got back together a year later.

And I'm pretty sure that's when I desired to abuse him. Maybe why I welcomed him back in my life. I beat him with a golf club. He beat me with his fists. I hit him with brass knuckles (which belonged to my grandfather)....he dragged me down the stairs and tried to gouge out my eyes with his punches. I kicked him in the balls. And I fucking enjoyed it.

Fuck this, I thought. Next time....I will kill you.

God saved me from that nightmare. In all honesty, I couldn't kill anyone. But I do enjoy exacting revenge on those who deserve it. Roscoe deserved it -- that motherfucker. A monster, and that's a kind word for him.

Writing about this seals the deal. I would never take him back.

I never thought I would say that.