When I was 16 and a sophomore in high school, I got my first official job. I was nervous, and clueless about interacting with adults in that environment. I really only started working because my dad told me to, so it added to my nervousness because I didn’t really want to be there. My brother’s girlfriend got me the position, and it was fine, I guess. I didn’t have a car, so I regularly rode my bike a couple miles to work. I was a bit pissed because I didn’t see the point of spending all this time working when I wanted to focus on school and be around my friends.  

Eventually, I got into the culture of the workplace. I started talking to and hanging out with the people there. There were at least 3 other women I went to high school with who worked there, all a year older than me. My workplace hired several guys from a halfway house in town, and they started dating – and having sex with – all the young women at work.  

Eventually, one of these guys turned his sights on me. He was 21 and just got done serving 5 years in prison. We started dating. He pressured me a lot into having sex with him. I didn’t want to, but I eventually gave in. I never liked it, and he was often pissed that I wasn’t more enthusiastic. He regularly said awful things to me and made fun of me. He especially commented negatively about my body, saying my breasts were ugly and my stomach was too hairy. I didn’t like it, of course, and I’m still not sure why I stayed with him. I guess hearing the way my dad spoke to my mom made this feel normal to me.  

Eventually, he told me he went to jail because he shot a man while driving, and the bullet went into his jaw and out his opposite cheekbone. It seemed like he thought it was funny. Prison didn’t rehabilitate him, I guess. I was shocked to hear this, and a little scared, but I still didn’t break up with him. My parents forbade me to see him, but that didn’t matter at all.  

One day, he came to work on his day off. He had 2 or 3 friends with him. I was working that day. He asked me to come outside and talk to him. I can’t remember what we talked about. He said something rude and I rolled my eyes then turned to walk away. He grabbed my hand and pulled me back. He was laughing a little and acting like it was a joke. He placed my hand on his cheek, moving it toward and away from his face while saying, “Does that make you want to hit me? Go ahead and hit me.” He was smiling, so I thought he was joking about what he said and about asking me to hit him. I smiled, too, then pushed my hand lightly into his cheek.  

He responded by slapping me hard across the face. I held my face in shock and balked at him. I didn’t even see it coming. I went back into work and into the bathroom. The mirror showed me that I had a huge, red, handshaped welt on the left side of my face. I was on the verge of tears, but had to go back to work.  

I went back to the front, and he sat there with his friends. They were all glaring at me. I don’t know what he told them, but I felt so intimidated and scared. They just sat there and glared at me for about 20 minutes, then they got up and left.  

Sometimes, I still see his face in my head, especially how it looked gleeful when he said mean things or when he hit me. I may never be able to scrub his memory from my mind. 

-Anonymous