Warning: This post contains mentions of emotional abuse and domestic violence and may be triggering to some readers.
It was his eyes that scared me the most. They were black, cold and dead. The look of a killer’s. The sound of my voice terrified me too. It was mine, but it wasn’t me. A rasping hiss squeezed out with what little breath was left. “Please, Ben, Please!” I was begging for my life.
‘Die you c***, die!’ Ben* said, as he strangled me tighter. Then came the white tunnel of light I knew was sucking me to my death. Ben’s psychotic face was the last I’d ever see. The man I loved, murdering me. I was 7.5 months pregnant.
Vivian shares her story of family violence on The Split. (Post continues below.)
I was 18 when I first met Ben at a party. He was drop dead gorgeous and a successful actor, so I already had a bit of a school-girl crush on him. When he looked at me with his baby blue eyes, my stomach did a flip. We talked for hours. There were pretty actresses and models there, but to him I was the only person in the room. He was charismatic and charming.
‘He’s the One’, I thought.
Within weeks Ben was declaring his undying love for me. He promised marriage, babies and a long, happy life together. It sucked me in. I thought I’d found what I’d been looking for. Someone to love me, care for me and grow old with me. I trusted him. I let go and allowed myself to be vulnerable with him. Then I met Mr Hyde.