The gun barrel pressed against my left temple. Time seemed to stand still. My heartbeat felt slow, deep, and deliberate: lub-dup...lub-dup...lub-dup...lub-dup. Santos and I stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity but in reality was only a few seconds. It was a Wild West showdown, only I didn't have a gun because Santos held mine to my head. Fucker. Lub-dup...lub-dup. Fight or flight? Lub-dup...lub-dup. There was no way in hell I could fight. Lub-dup...lub-dup. I needed to get the hell out of there. Lub-dup...lub-dup. My survival instinct kicked in. Flight!
Time accelerated to warp speed. Where was my flux capacitor and Delorean when I needed them? I turned to my right and whipped myself around so I was facing the bottom of the stairway. Under different circumstances, I would have looked like an Aveda shampoo hair model - whipping my luxurious locks of mid-back length hair from the center of my back until it rested over my left shoulder - but today I was just a woman attempting to flee domestic violence. Two stairs at a time, I galloped down the stairs like a quarter horse and its jockey vying for first place. When my feet landed on the first floor, I turned left. I didn't look back. I dashed through the dining room and turned left into the kitchen. I looked on the kitchen counter under the phone that hung on the wall, but I didn't see my car keys were I usually kept them. Where were my fucking car keys?! Don't panic! Fuck! Think, think think! Where did I leave the damn car keys?! My purse was on the counter. Why did I leave it there? Flashback: after I went grocery shopping for my girls' night, I unloaded the groceries, put my keys in my purse, and put my purse on the counter. I snatched my purse, rummaged for and found my keys (sigh of relief!), then dashed from the back of kitchen to the door to the garage. The garage was empty and the garage door was closed. What the fuck?! Flashback: I parked the car in the driveway. Apparently it was the day for unusual things. Humph. I dashed back into the kitchen, and scrambled toward the dining room. I turned right. Santos was at the bottom of the stairs, gun still in hand but not pointing it at me. Gulp. He knew he stood between me and my pathway through the living room to the front door - and the driveway where my car was parked. I quickly contemplated going out the garage (and waiting for the automatic garage door - which was slower than molasses - to open) or through the backyard and out the side gate (a long and dark journey that required the key for the side gate lock for which I didn't want to look), and nixed both of those ideas immediately. Besides...no matter which way I went, there was no escaping Santos. Damn it! What about the dogs? I didn't want to leave Bear, Riggs, and 11-week old Riley behind! Shit! I was torn. Did I have time to wrangle up two rather large Rottweilers and their puppy? No. My heart broke for fear of their safety, but I had to get the fuck out of there. Flashback: Bear bit Santos after the last time he hit me. Certain that Bear and Riggs would attack Santos if they felt threatened, and with my mounting concern over my own safety, I took a deep breath and exhaled as I walked quickly toward the living room.
Santos grabbed my right arm to stop me. Full of fury and fear, and the desire to survive, I wrenched my arm free from his grip. I felt my car keys slip out of my hand; they jangled as they landed on the carpet. Ahhhhhhh! Seriously? My life was like a script from a cheesy horror movie. I turned to look at him, uncertain what would happen next. His eyes - filled with desperation - bored into mine. Time slowed again. Lub-dup...lub-dup. No fucking way this asshole was going to take me down. Back into flight mode: I bent down, grabbed my keys, and ran through the living room. I welcomed the sight of the front door. Almost out! I turned the door handle and yanked the door open; it whacked the entryway wall with a loud thud. The cool evening summer air greeted me, but I didn't take time to enjoy it like I normally would. Sorry summer air. Gotta flee.
Standing in the doorway, I glanced over my left shoulder. Santos was close behind. I dashed straight out the front door then veered right across the porch and jumped over the flower planter. I looked over my left shoulder. Santos was in the doorway. Shit! Finally on the driveway, I was at the passenger side of the car. I walked quickly around the front of the car to the driver's side. My hands shook as I inserted a key into the driver's side door. Wrong key! Tick tock, tick tock. Santos was on the passenger side of the car but working his way around the front. Tick tock, tick tock. My hands fumbled with the key ring. I inserted another key and turned it; the door unlocked. Phew! Tick tock, tick tock. I opened the door and hopped in the driver's seat. Santos was at the front of the car. Shit! Shit! Shit! Why didn't he just aim and fire? Tick tock, tick tock. I pulled the door closed and used the automatic door lock to lock all the doors. Santos was at the driver's side door. He yanked on the door handle and stared at me. Ha! Locked, asshole! Tick tock, tick tock. I fastened my seat belt and looked at him. A wicked grin spread across his face. Santos tapped the window slowly with the gun barrel. Gulp. I felt like a fish in a fishbowl being tormented by a siphon. Tick tock, tick tock. Fortunately my fishbowl had an engine and wheels. My hands trembled as I put the key the ignition. I turned the key and the engine thankfully roared to life. Fuck you, cheesy horror movie script! Santos raised his hand and brought the gun barrel down in a striking motion on the driver's side window. Damn script is back. The window didn't crack, so I was spared a gun barrel and shards of glass in my face. Time slowed again. I looked at Santos, my eyes wide with anger. Fucking psycho. Wait? Who's psycho? Him? Or me? No time for an inner debate. Tick tock, tick tock. Back to warp speed. Gotta jet. I released the emergency brake, shifted my car into reverse, then punched the gas pedal. My car zipped backwards out of the driveway. My heart pounded fast and hard. Would Santos shoot me as I drove away? Only one way to find out: I shifted my car into drive, punched the gas pedal again, and sped down Falcon Crest Lane.
We lived in an upper middle class neighborhood. Fortunately it was late and the streets were deserted. I chopped a left on Hummingbird, another left on Bells Vireo, then another left on El Toro. Soon I was speeding through Laguna Canyon, putting as much distance as possible between my psycho soon-to-be ex-husband and me. I continually checked my rear view mirror for his truck's headlights. Santos got more violent after I asked for a divorce, but I never imagined he'd hold a gun to my head. What the fuck just happened? So glad to be out of the house and thankful to be alive, it finally dawned on me: I was driving drunk! I had a few drinks with my girlfriends and was sipping on my third or fourth celebratory pre-divorce cocktail when Santos arrived. For someone who doesn't usually drink alcohol, that was a lot. Drunk driving? Me? But I didn't feel intoxicated - I think the adrenaline or fear sobered me up but that wouldn't register if I was pulled over and given a breathalyzer test. I kept driving. I drove so fast that I caught up with Julie on the highway. Only about five minutes passed between the time Julie left my house and the time I caught up with her on the highway. Five minutes of terror. We pulled over and formulated a plan: I'd go to her place. I followed Julie to her place in my car; we arrived about 45 minutes later. Yes, I survived those five minutes of terror, but, alas, my night was not yet over.
To be continued...
Time accelerated to warp speed. Where was my flux capacitor and Delorean when I needed them? I turned to my right and whipped myself around so I was facing the bottom of the stairway. Under different circumstances, I would have looked like an Aveda shampoo hair model - whipping my luxurious locks of mid-back length hair from the center of my back until it rested over my left shoulder - but today I was just a woman attempting to flee domestic violence. Two stairs at a time, I galloped down the stairs like a quarter horse and its jockey vying for first place. When my feet landed on the first floor, I turned left. I didn't look back. I dashed through the dining room and turned left into the kitchen. I looked on the kitchen counter under the phone that hung on the wall, but I didn't see my car keys were I usually kept them. Where were my fucking car keys?! Don't panic! Fuck! Think, think think! Where did I leave the damn car keys?! My purse was on the counter. Why did I leave it there? Flashback: after I went grocery shopping for my girls' night, I unloaded the groceries, put my keys in my purse, and put my purse on the counter. I snatched my purse, rummaged for and found my keys (sigh of relief!), then dashed from the back of kitchen to the door to the garage. The garage was empty and the garage door was closed. What the fuck?! Flashback: I parked the car in the driveway. Apparently it was the day for unusual things. Humph. I dashed back into the kitchen, and scrambled toward the dining room. I turned right. Santos was at the bottom of the stairs, gun still in hand but not pointing it at me. Gulp. He knew he stood between me and my pathway through the living room to the front door - and the driveway where my car was parked. I quickly contemplated going out the garage (and waiting for the automatic garage door - which was slower than molasses - to open) or through the backyard and out the side gate (a long and dark journey that required the key for the side gate lock for which I didn't want to look), and nixed both of those ideas immediately. Besides...no matter which way I went, there was no escaping Santos. Damn it! What about the dogs? I didn't want to leave Bear, Riggs, and 11-week old Riley behind! Shit! I was torn. Did I have time to wrangle up two rather large Rottweilers and their puppy? No. My heart broke for fear of their safety, but I had to get the fuck out of there. Flashback: Bear bit Santos after the last time he hit me. Certain that Bear and Riggs would attack Santos if they felt threatened, and with my mounting concern over my own safety, I took a deep breath and exhaled as I walked quickly toward the living room.
Santos grabbed my right arm to stop me. Full of fury and fear, and the desire to survive, I wrenched my arm free from his grip. I felt my car keys slip out of my hand; they jangled as they landed on the carpet. Ahhhhhhh! Seriously? My life was like a script from a cheesy horror movie. I turned to look at him, uncertain what would happen next. His eyes - filled with desperation - bored into mine. Time slowed again. Lub-dup...lub-dup. No fucking way this asshole was going to take me down. Back into flight mode: I bent down, grabbed my keys, and ran through the living room. I welcomed the sight of the front door. Almost out! I turned the door handle and yanked the door open; it whacked the entryway wall with a loud thud. The cool evening summer air greeted me, but I didn't take time to enjoy it like I normally would. Sorry summer air. Gotta flee.
Standing in the doorway, I glanced over my left shoulder. Santos was close behind. I dashed straight out the front door then veered right across the porch and jumped over the flower planter. I looked over my left shoulder. Santos was in the doorway. Shit! Finally on the driveway, I was at the passenger side of the car. I walked quickly around the front of the car to the driver's side. My hands shook as I inserted a key into the driver's side door. Wrong key! Tick tock, tick tock. Santos was on the passenger side of the car but working his way around the front. Tick tock, tick tock. My hands fumbled with the key ring. I inserted another key and turned it; the door unlocked. Phew! Tick tock, tick tock. I opened the door and hopped in the driver's seat. Santos was at the front of the car. Shit! Shit! Shit! Why didn't he just aim and fire? Tick tock, tick tock. I pulled the door closed and used the automatic door lock to lock all the doors. Santos was at the driver's side door. He yanked on the door handle and stared at me. Ha! Locked, asshole! Tick tock, tick tock. I fastened my seat belt and looked at him. A wicked grin spread across his face. Santos tapped the window slowly with the gun barrel. Gulp. I felt like a fish in a fishbowl being tormented by a siphon. Tick tock, tick tock. Fortunately my fishbowl had an engine and wheels. My hands trembled as I put the key the ignition. I turned the key and the engine thankfully roared to life. Fuck you, cheesy horror movie script! Santos raised his hand and brought the gun barrel down in a striking motion on the driver's side window. Damn script is back. The window didn't crack, so I was spared a gun barrel and shards of glass in my face. Time slowed again. I looked at Santos, my eyes wide with anger. Fucking psycho. Wait? Who's psycho? Him? Or me? No time for an inner debate. Tick tock, tick tock. Back to warp speed. Gotta jet. I released the emergency brake, shifted my car into reverse, then punched the gas pedal. My car zipped backwards out of the driveway. My heart pounded fast and hard. Would Santos shoot me as I drove away? Only one way to find out: I shifted my car into drive, punched the gas pedal again, and sped down Falcon Crest Lane.
We lived in an upper middle class neighborhood. Fortunately it was late and the streets were deserted. I chopped a left on Hummingbird, another left on Bells Vireo, then another left on El Toro. Soon I was speeding through Laguna Canyon, putting as much distance as possible between my psycho soon-to-be ex-husband and me. I continually checked my rear view mirror for his truck's headlights. Santos got more violent after I asked for a divorce, but I never imagined he'd hold a gun to my head. What the fuck just happened? So glad to be out of the house and thankful to be alive, it finally dawned on me: I was driving drunk! I had a few drinks with my girlfriends and was sipping on my third or fourth celebratory pre-divorce cocktail when Santos arrived. For someone who doesn't usually drink alcohol, that was a lot. Drunk driving? Me? But I didn't feel intoxicated - I think the adrenaline or fear sobered me up but that wouldn't register if I was pulled over and given a breathalyzer test. I kept driving. I drove so fast that I caught up with Julie on the highway. Only about five minutes passed between the time Julie left my house and the time I caught up with her on the highway. Five minutes of terror. We pulled over and formulated a plan: I'd go to her place. I followed Julie to her place in my car; we arrived about 45 minutes later. Yes, I survived those five minutes of terror, but, alas, my night was not yet over.
To be continued...
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