My Life as a Statistic
A story of abuse and survival.
On the 20th of October my life changed forever. I was the victim of a shooting. The perpetrator in my case was my long-term, live-in boyfriend, Jake. Jake and I had been in a relationship for six months the first time he hit me. The abuse continued throughout our 4-year long relationship. I left him several times. But he always managed to talk me into going back home. My mom told me that if I didn’t get away from him that he would eventually kill me. I didn’t believe that…or I didn’t want to believe it. That all changed the day he shot me.
The day started like any other day in our household. I woke up before daybreak and started making Jake’s lunch and preparing his clothes for the day. I laid his clothes out on the ironing board, located in our bedroom like he told me to. I made his favorite lunch of roast beef on wheat, lite mayo. His lunch was placed in the refrigerator on the second shelf, like always. I remember that I had to make his sandwich twice that morning because I was in a hurry and got too heavy handed with the mayo. Jake hates when I do that. So, I ended up packing the first sandwich for my lunch. After I finished getting Jakes’ things prepared for his day, I began getting myself ready for work. It took me twenty minutes to pull on clothes and grab my sack lunch from the counter. I left Jake in the bed, like always, and I made certain I didn’t close the door too loud when I left the apartment.
I knew the day was going to be a bad one when I received my first text from Jake that morning. I had already gotten to work, and Jake had texted me to let me know that he didn’t have any sodas in the refrigerator. He texts me at least twenty times telling me how his day was ruined because he didn’t start his day with his usual soda. How could I have been so stupid?! I don’t drink his sodas, but I always check his soda box in the morning to ensure that his morning drink is there when he awakes. I was running a few minutes behind that morning because I had forgotten to dry Jake’s favorite blue jeans the night before and then I had messed up his lunch and had to re-make it.
I spent the day obsessing over my many mistakes and trying to think of a way to make Jake happy when I got home. I decided to make his favorite dish for dinner, homemade lasagna, the way his mother taught me to make it. I stopped by the market and picked up all the necessary ingredients. The unplanned trip to the market took 20 minutes which set me a half hour late to return home. I hoped that Jake had worked late and wouldn’t notice that I was a few minutes late. It was a surprise for him after all, right?
When I got home that evening Jake was sitting in the chair in the living room. He was watching ESPN and had an open beer in his hand. I also noticed that there were three empty beer bottles on the table beside his chair. I walked into the house with my arms full of bags from the market. I quickly sat the bags down on the kitchen floor and walked over to give Jake a kiss. He allowed me to kiss his cheek, but he didn’t respond. I decided to just go into the kitchen and start dinner without engaging him any further.
I had just finished putting the top layer of cheese on the casserole when Jake entered the kitchen. He propped his large frame against the door jamb and crossed his arms. I immediately stopped what I was doing and turned to ask him if he needed me to do something for him. Jake was silent for a moment before he asked, “Why were you 30 minutes late?” I started to tell Jake about the unplanned trip to the market and my lasagna surprise when he interrupted me with a slap across my face. I stumbled slightly and struck my thigh on the open drawer to my left. I knew better than to continue so I waited for Jake to speak. Jake told me that he had a bad day at work that day and had gotten into an argument with his manager. He told me that the argument had resulted in him losing his job. Jake proceeded to tell me how the fact that I had not left him a chilled soda in the refrigerator had caused him to be in a bad mood which ultimately lead to his argument with his boss, and his termination.
I quietly allowed Jake to finish telling me about his day, before I began to apologize for my many mistakes. Jake hit me a second time and I stopped talking. I should have noticed that he wasn’t right. There was a gleam in his eye that I had never seen there before. He looked like a man who was about to win a prize. Jake walked toward me. When he was within arm’s reach of me, I noticed the gun in his hand. It was small, silver, with a black grip. I knew guns because my dad had taught me to shoot when I was a kid. It was a .38 caliber, snub-nosed revolver. The sight of the gun shocked me. Jake didn’t own a gun, he didn’t even know how to use a gun. I asked Jake where he got it. Jake told me that he had purchased the gun the year before. He told me that he knew he would need it one day. Jake then told me that he knew that I had stopped on the way home from work and met up with another man. He told me that he knew that I was a whore the first day we met. But he had hoped that he could force the slut from me. I adamantly denied seeing any man and again tried to tell him that I had only went to the market down the street. I offered to give him the receipt with the date/time on the top. Jake hit me a third time. This time I fell to the floor.
I am not certain what came over me in that moment, but something snapped inside me. When I hit the floor, I jumped up and took off running in the direction of the front door. I heard Jake behind me, he was attempting to cut me off in the living room before I got to the door, he failed. I got into the hallway and started running in the direction of the elevator. I heard it when Jake got into the hall behind me. He was breathing heavily. I heard the sound of the hammer when he cocked the gun. I didn’t have time to react before the round tore into my back and through my throat. I collapsed in the floor of the elevator.
I didn’t wake up until three days later. I was in ICU at the local hospital and there was a woman sitting in a chair beside my bed. She identified herself as Stephanie. She told me that she was a victim advocate and worked for the local “Family Crisis Center.” Stephanie told me that she was there to help and asked if I wanted her to get a nurse. I shook my head no. Stephanie then explained that an investigator was waiting in the lobby to speak to me. She told me that my boyfriend Jake had been arrested and was being held at the County Jail with no bond. I wasn’t really sure what she meant by the word “bond.” But I knew by the look on her face that she knew I was panicked. She assured me that I was safe and that the Sheriff’s Department would take care of everything. I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t want Jake in jail. I couldn’t pay the rent and all of my bills alone. How was I going to support myself without Jake. I didn’t have any family close, since we had moved three states away from my entire family the year before.
Stephanie could tell that I was not happy. She told me that she was going to bring in the Investigator and let her explain things to me. Stephanie left the room and re-entered with a woman. She was tall, with dark framed glasses, and a tired expression on her face. When our eyes me she smiled at me. The investigator identified herself as Investigator Kelsey Ryan. She told me that she was an investigator with the Sheriff’s Office and had been the officer that had responded to my shooting. Inv. Ryan informed me that she had also been the one to arrest Jake shortly after I was transported from the scene to the hospital.
I didn’t know how react and I was unable to speak so I simply laid there and listened to the Investigator speak. Inv. Ryan surprised me when she asked if I was able to use a pen and notepad. I nodded yes. She asked if I would be willing to answer some questions. I nodded a second time. She pulled a small purple composition notebook from the black bag draped across her body. She also handed me an ink pen. Inv. Ryan then asked me where my family was located and who she should contact for me. I wrote down my mother’s name and phone number. I then wrote down the words “I don’t want him in jail.” Inv. Ryan informed me that due to the nature of the crime and the severity of my injuries that the state was going to pursue charges against Jake. I then asked, “what are the charges?” Inv. Ryan informed me that she had charged Jake with Domestic Violence-Assault and Attempted Murder. She told me that due to his violent criminal history and the nature of this case that Jake would not have a bond. When I started to cry Inv. Ryan excused herself and left a business card on the night stand. She told me that she would come back the next day and we could talk some more.
When the investigator left Stephanie stayed with me until I fell asleep. We communicated briefly by her speaking and me using the notebook Inv. Ryan had given me. I told her that I was scared and that I didn’t know how I would survive without Jake. Stephanie informed me that there were resources to help me with housing and other necessities. I told her I didn’t want to live in a shelter. She told me not to stress that they would find an alternative when the time came.
It took 18 months for Jake to stand trial for his crimes. In that time, I underwent two surgeries, I was evicted from my apartment, and I lost my job. If it hadn’t been for Stephanie and her co-workers at the Family Crisis Center, I don’t know how I would have survived. I did live in a half-way house for abused woman and children for a while. I can honestly say that it saved my life. I received counseling and I met my roommate/best friend, Becca, there. She has a three-year-old son and we live together in a townhouse on the other side of the city. I am taking it one day at a time, but I can honestly say that I am in a better place. I haven’t dated anyone since Jake.
Jake was eventually found guilty and was sentenced to five years in prison. I can’t say that I am happy about the sentence, but I am relieved that it is over. I still talk to Stephanie. I am in a group therapy session that she leads for survivors of crime. The group meetings help. But I still have nightmares about Jake and our time together. The scars he left on me are ugly, but I am happy to say that I survived. I am just living one day at a time.
