When I left home, "easier" turned out to be the boyfriend that beat the crap out of me daily because of my clothing, the way I looked at someone, or when he wanted sex and I wouldn't succumb to his needs.
Monte (name not changed to protect him, because he doesn't deserve that respect) was your typical Saskatchewan redneck boy. He drove a big pickup truck with big tires. He was the tough guy with the cute girlfriend (me) and I would never, ever, ever disrespect him; not in private and definitely not in public.
I'm not even sure HOW we ended up dating. I vaguely remember one of my best friends dating his cousin. I was dating the sweetest, most thoughtful, respectful boy at the time, Brad. Brad bought me earrings for Christmas the first year we were dating. Who does that at 15? I do remember that every time my friend would be out with Monte's cousin, I would always be tagging along, because she "didn't want to be the only girl there". So being the good friend, I tagged along. After a few parties with Monte, he went to my then-boyfriend's work and told him that if he came near me again, he'd kill him. Nice guy, huh?
Brad tried on a few occasions to see me, and he ended up having a beat up car because of it. We're still in touch to this day, and have chatted about the details of our "forced break-up", but there's alot of hurt still. But that is a whole other blog posting.
Monte started out as a nice guy. That's how these kind of guys "rope you in". They open doors for you, take you out to eat, buy you things. And once you're hooked, they strike like a cobra eats a mouse. At first, it was a stern, controlling attitude. He told me who to hang out with, who I could associate with at school, what I could do in my spare time, and it escalated. He began driving me to and from school each day to see what I was wearing. If it was something that didn't make me look absolutely perfect, I got a slap and was told to go back into my apartment and change. One time he slapped me so hard, I cracked the window behind me when my head hit it. Then he punched me in the gut for breaking the window.
The controlling got worse as our "relationship" progressed. He would drive out to the country where nobody would hear my screams and sodomize me, using hair gel as a lubricant, in the cab of his pickup truck. Bleeding, crying and with a red face from being shoved up against the window, he would finish his job and toss me aside. He got off on the tears. And if I cried too loud, he would slap me on the back of the head to shut me up. I got real good at stiffling my tears as he had his way with me.
We went to a party once, where my friend and his cousin were going, too. Another friend of Monte's was there, too. I remember thinking, "good, there's going to be a lot of people, so maybe he won't hurt me tonight". But Monte had plans. When my friend was passed out from too much alcohol, Monte, his cousin and his friend took me to a wooded area, and Monte held me down so that his cousin and friend could take their turns at me. Then he finished me up himself. They left me in the trees after they were done and went back to the party.
Everyone always asks me, "why didn't you leave him?". Until you've experienced it first-hand, you have no idea how hard it really is. I would avoid his calls for days, locking the doors of my apartment, hoping he would just go away. But he never did. He would sweet-talk his way into the apartment and kick the door of my apartment in, and grab me by the hair and smash my face into the walls. He would push me to the ground and kick me repeatedly. Then he would force me down and rape me. Nobody left Monte. I could leave when he was done with me.
One time, when he was working in Peace River, Alberta, he brought me with him. His father got wind that I wanted to leave him, and held me down on the ground like an animal with his boot on my throat and put a shotgun to my head. He told me that Monte loved me and that if I were to break his heart, he would hunt me down like an animal and blow my head off. That's motivation enough to just put up with it, don't you think?
The police never did anything, either. They would pull him off me at parties, as he was kicking and punching me, and all they ever did was throw him in the drunk tank for the night. Then I would be in for a real beating the next day, because he spent the night in jail.
I graduated from high school on a Friday night. By Sunday morning, I was on an airplane to Toronto. It's the only thing I could do to get away from him. He came looking for me, beating my location out of my friend. Thank g_d, by that point, I was seeing my now husband, and he was able to scare Monte off. It's been almost 20 years now, and I have never heard from him again.
His father beat his mother, too. And his sister found a loving husband that beat her too. It is a cycle in that family that will never end. I'm told he has a family now, a little girl. You have to sit back and wonder what that will be like for her, living in that hell all her life, watching her mother be abused emotionally, physically and sexually. My friend ended up having his child the year I left. It's hard to look at this beautiful girl and think she was a product of Monte forcing my friend to have sex with him. I only hope that bad blood doesn't flow in her viens, and that she turns out to be a successful, strong, independent young woman.
Monte's cousin died in a drunk driving accident about 10 years ago. I received a phone call from my cousin, the only person that helped me patch walls and clean up blood, telling me that Monte and his cousin were in an accident. My first question was, "is he dead?"; wishing, hoping for some justice. Monte was fine. What a shame.
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