Sarah felt sick at the smell of his foul alcoholic breath and she squirmed as she felt his spit splattering her face as he spat the words “slut,” “slag” and “slapper” at her.  She had no idea what had caused this latest onslaught but she knew that her fiancé Greg was spitting blood as saliva seeped out of his mouth during a stream of obscenities, only ending when he’d struck her several times about her face.

            She slumped back in her seat, stunned stinging and silently screaming.  Vomiting fury, Greg then got up, grabbed their leftover Indian curries and decorated Sarah’s living room walls and furnishings with it.  Nothing was spared.  Even the baby blankets turned mustard yellow.  He then suddenly stopped, came to his senses and staggered over to Sarah.  Sidling up to her on the sofa and throwing his huge muscular arm over her slender shoulders whilst nudging his large beer-bellied frame into her slim body said, “Oh God, I’m so sorry, so sorry, so sorry.”

            It was a typical scenario.  Earlier on he’d been lovingly planning a great future with her.  He was a ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ character and Sarah had stomached his sensational mood swings for some time.  It was as if he got some sadistic delight out of playing with her emotions by building her up one minute and giving her hope for the future, and then slapping her right down the next.  It was a sick, sordid game that could only have been played by a psychopath.  She’d left him before - several times, but somehow he’d always managed to sneak back into her life.  This was the final straw though, she decided, as she sat with her pretty, fair-skinned thirty-six year-old-face throbbing, swollen and bruised and her lounge streaked and stained and reeking of stale spices.  She was sick of his empty promises to change his bad habits, such as controlling his temper, drinking and spending.  She’d heard all the pathetic promises of reform and lame excuses of ill-health countless times before, and had given him ‘one last chance’ once too often.  She’d done everything possible to support him, including sitting with him at Alcoholics Anonymous and the church, but after only a handful of sessions he’d quit and was back to his favourite pastime of terrifying the living daylights out of her and her kids.  It seemed leopards cannot and do not change their spots.  Her fiance was nothing but an idle, alcoholic spendthrift and a woman and child abuser.  Sarah decided that her roller-coaster ride had finally come to an end and she bravely told herself, ‘To hell with the consequences and his abhorrent threats.’

            Despite his alcoholic haze, his awareness was razor sharp.  He could penetrate her every thought and he immediately reacted by thrusting his flushed forty year-old-face into hers and boomed, “You’re planning to bin me off, aren’t you?  Well I’m not going to let you.  You and I are together forever.  You are GOING to be my wife and we will never be parted.  You, my precious, belong to me.”

            Sarah stammered something about them both being very tired, that he should go home and that they should talk in the morning.  Greg flashed her a knowing, arrogant smile; he fondled her long blonde hair, tenderly cupped her aching face and gave her a lingering sloppy kiss full on her swollen lips.

            “Can’t drink and drive - I’ll have to stay the night with you, love.”  He menacingly asserted.

             “You c-could…. sleep in the car,” she timidly suggested, while struggling to keep her composure and contain her revulsion for fear of provoking him into another violent outburst.

            “No chance sweetie,” he retorted, taking her gently by the hand, leading her towards the stairs and smacking her gently on her backside.

Suddenly Sarah stopped, gathered up all her strength, looked her tormentor in the eye and said, “I want you to go.... NOW.  I want to be left alone.  I’m in pain and I.... just want to sleep.  If you don’t, I’ll call the....”

            Before she could finish he had her pinned against the wall with his hand cutting into her neck until her face transcended all the colours of the rainbow and she began spluttering.

            “Don’t bother calling cops, darling,” came his eerie warning.  “They won’t help you; they’ll just laugh at you.  They didn’t help Cara either; they just called her a lying cow.  You see sweetheart, cops won’t touch me; they wouldn’t dare.  You don’t know who I am.  Just don’t cross me. OK?”

            As she gasped and struggled for breath, she recalled the numerous times that he’d been stopped for speeding and reckless driving, yet he’d never been brought to book or even been breathalised despite being as drunk as a lord.  She recollected that all he had to do was show the officer a ‘number’ and he was immediately waved on like he was royalty or some VIP.  She remembered that he’d always park wherever he pleased even if it was illegal, saying that they wouldn’t dare give him a ticket.... and they didn’t!  He always used to say that he was ‘one of them’.  Well he was - in the sense that he was a Special Constable, but he’d only joined as a SC two weeks ago.  That had baffled her and had stoked her suspicions that he was a law unto himself.  She’d wondered why he’d been deemed fit enough to be accepted into the police when he was claiming incapacity benefit for a myriad of ailments, and why he is still being allowed to claim benefit when he was quite clearly fit and able enough to recently pass the police’s rigorous fitness standards.  She’d thought he was just like her - a single parent bringing up kids alone after his ex-wife Cara had fled.

            Greg suddenly released her and began caressing and kissing her all over.  His voice softened as he said, “Stop fighting me Sarah, you know I love you.  I worship the ground you walk on.  I don’t mean to scare you but you just rile me sometimes and I’m in a lot of pain with my stomach so I get irritable easily.  I’m sorry if I hurt you.  Oh God, I don’t mean to.  I love you so much.  I couldn’t bear to lose you.  Let’s stop all this stupid talk and go to bed.  Why don’t you go on up and I’ll bring you a nice cuppa.”

            She nodded reservedly, waited until he’d gone into the kitchen, then with tears rolling down her cheeks, her heart racing and her hands all clammy and shaking so much that she could barely dial, she began to phone the police.

            Within seconds he was lurching towards her and with a face like thunder, snatched the phone from her, gripped her arm so tight that she almost blacked out and barked, “What do you think you’re bloody doing?  Don’t try to be smart with me, bitch.  I won’t let you go.”  Then just as abruptly his voice suddenly softened.  “I can’t live without you.  Please.... Let’s work this out.  I’ll do anything you ask.  I’ll go for counselling.... yoga.... Whatever you want.    I’ll go to AA again and I promise I’ll never ever ever in a million years drink another drop.”  Then he stopped babbling, began crying and begged, “Sarah, say you love me.  I know you do.  We’ve got two gorgeous babies together; don’t throw it all away.  I need you.... all of you.  I think I’m dying.... Don’t look at me like that.  I hate it when you give me that look that says you want to squash me under your foot.”

            Then the threats came.  “If you try to leave me there’ll be the biggest blood bath you’ve ever seen.  You’ll be sorry.  I’ll kill you.  You and your horrible brats will die a horrible death.  You’ll see.  But first I’ll make sure I get custody of Jason and Jessie and you’ll never see them ever again.  You’re a lousy mother.  The court will believe me, not you.  You’re known around here as the local bike.  No one likes you.  I’ll stop everything you try to do; just you watch.  I’ll make your life a living hell.  You’ll never be free of me.  I’ll make sure social workers never leave you alone.  I’ll make sure you never work again.  I’ll see to it that Glen gets custody of your two brats.  I’ll make you suffer so much you’ll be begging me to take you back.”

            Sarah pleaded with him to be allowed to just go for a walk so that she could clear her head.  He bellowed, “Oh go on, tart, go carrying tales to that interfering friend of yours, Lorraine.  That’s all you do when you have problems.  You run away.  I’ll tell everyone that you care so little about your children that you go out, leaving them all alone in your house.  I’ll tell everyone, including social services, about your addiction to alcohol and that you leave your ten-year-old kid to baby sit while you’re out in the pubs all night entertaining different men....”