Surviving Domestic Violence Pt. 2

Trigger Warning- This post contains explicit descriptions regarding domestic violence, emotional abuse and substance abuse.

If you or someone you know is in a dangerous situation, please don’t wait. Call the National Domestic Violence Hotline 1-800-799-7233

Abuse is weird.

Somehow it becomes integrated into your life like breakfast, or exercising, or making your bed. It’s a big deal, but it feels like a normal part of life at some point. And for me, abuse had become a part of my life and a part of this relationship with Frank.

In the beginning, the physical abuse was minimal. Although I did know that Frank was still cheating on me, that was obvious. I just didn’t have a plan for what to do next. A week would go by and nothing would happen, and everything seemed fine, and so my plans of escape or kicking him out of my house became obsolete. Those plans didn’t seem to matter when the physical altercations were nonexistent. And truthfully, aside from the cheating and the abuse, our interactions were typically positive. We would laugh, and we would listen to music, because we both loved music. We met in the studio, so it makes sense that it was something we bonded over.

But I did live in fear of it happening again. And I knew when to walk on eggshells, and when the waters were calm.

This next instance was a turning point, because this was the first time that law enforcement got involved.

March 15

It was the beginning of March. I don’t remember the day. If I go back and look at the case files, I’m sure I could tell you. But Frank and I decided to go to The Corner, which was a diner/bar/club on 18th and Vine. At the time, we went to listen to live music, which was something that we both enjoyed. And I think Frank liked being on 18th and Vine because he was always surrounded by his peers—people who thought like him and dressed like him. It was truly his environment. It’s where he felt comfortable.

But nevertheless, I ran into an associate at the time, Johnny. And as Johnny always does, he greeted me with very warm hug, asked me how I was doing, and we proceeded to talk about how we needed to get together to collaborate on a song-- as musicians do when they see each other. As we conversed, Frank caught wind and approached Johnny. I don’t exactly remember the words that were said. However, I do know it was something along the lines of him beating his chest and letting Johnny know that Audri was taken by him. So, he needed to lay off.

I was trying to convince Frank that Johnny and I were just friends, and this was just a friendly conversation. But he was not accepting that answer. So, he grabbed me by my wrist and dug his nails into my skin and told me to sit down. He physically made me sit down. We were yelling and going back and forth, because of course I had had a drink, and only God knows how much he had to drink. Security approached us at this moment because we would not stop going back and forth, and the scene was building.

Essentially, we were kicked out of the club that night.

This made Frank so mad. And I was upset too, because how embarrassing was that? I can’t even go to a club and speak to my musician associates without Frank getting in the way and feeling intimidated. Which is laughable when you think about it, because I knew that he was cheating on me. And maybe that’s what made him feel even more insecure.

Nevertheless, we were walking back to the car, and I started to go to the driver’s seat. But of course, he snatched my keys out of my hand and told me to go into the passenger seat. And I knew where this was going at the time, because he was drunk. And if I’m being honest, I think he had done cocaine.

Sidebar: it took about a year for me to learn that Frank dabbled in cocaine, which is not unheard of for people who are alcoholics. For some reason, cocaine and alcohol balance each other out. So, you can continue to drink alcohol, do a little bit of cocaine, and then function throughout the day. I did not know this at the time. But I do know that there were certain places where he was able to get cocaine, and those typically resulted in me feeling his wrath later that evening. It was a pattern that I picked up on. And I just knew that if we went to certain places, after we left there, he was a very angry person. It wasn’t until I put two and two together that I realized it was the effects of alcohol and cocaine together that made him such a violent person.

The Assault

On the way back home, Frank was swerving from lane to lane on I-35 South, going back to our apartment in Overland Park. I was nervous, because I knew he was drunk, and he was driving, and he was angry. And he was not hiding any of those facts. He was driving with one hand on the wheel and restricting my airways with another. His hands were clenched around my throat. I would even attempt to climb into the back of the car, but he was too strong for me and would rip me back into the front seat. And it was just easier to curl up and take the blows than to try to run away from them.

It seems trivial, but as soon as we arrived at the house safely—thank God—the first thing that popped into my head was, “I have to pee.”

And I just kept saying that to him. I have to pee. I have to pee. I have to pee. So that he would leave me alone and I could run up the stairs, go to the bathroom, lock the door, pee, and have peace. But that was not my reality.

He unlocked the door and barged in while I was on the toilet. I quickly finished, flushed the toilet, and said, “I don’t want to argue anymore. I don’t want to argue anymore.” But he insisted on turning this episode into some type of sexual fantasy.

I apologize at this point, because I know this is going to be graphic. But it is for the sake of you understanding exactly what happened.

Frank thought, for some reason, that I wanted to be intimate with him.

But I did not, and I made that very clear. How could he even think that after what just happened it in the car??

I asked him to leave me alone. I asked him to stop touching me. I asked him to just let it go. But he wouldn’t. He took his hands, placed them on my hips, and propped me on the bathroom sink. He then lifted my ankles onto his shoulders in a matter of three or four seconds.

I was in a dress that night, and my undergarments were on the floor because I had just gone to the restroom. He then attempted to perform oral *ex on me. But I was pushing him off of me, and I told him I didn’t want that. He did not listen and continued to try to please me sexually.

And I just cried. For a moment I thought I didn’t have the strength to fight back. With the little strength I did have in me, I would push his head away from between my legs.

He then got angry because I kept pushing him off of me. But his grip was too strong.

And in his anger, he bit down on my genitals, and blood started to pour everywhere.

I was already crying. But now with the sight of my blood on the bathroom sink and floor, it made me cry even more. I tried to wipe it off, but it wouldn’t stop bleeding. I ran down the steps, and midway, I could see through the window on my front door. There were blue and red lights flickering. And I heard a voice say, “Police, open up.”

I don’t know how long they’d been outside, but I could tell there were a lot of them.

By this time, Frank was on his way to the bottom level of our townhome. But I could still see him on the staircase. He said, “Don’t answer the door Audri.  Don’t answer the door.” But the police continued pounding. I was stuck for a moment, because I didn’t know whether to open the door or not. Do I open the door and let these police in? Or do I act like no one is home?

No. I answered the door.

I don’t know where Frank went after I answered the door. But I do remember four police officers rushing into the house. The last two were women. And the lady officer looked at me and said,

“Ma’am, are you on your menstrual cycle?”

I said no. And I broke down in tears, because I hadn’t realized that the blood was all over my legs. And I knew exactly how all of this looked.

I won’t get into too many details about what happened afterward, because much of it is a blur.

But when the police left, I was alone. And that house felt like a horror scene.

The police took pictures of me and the bathroom.

But when it was all said and done, I just wanted the house to feel like a home again.

So, I cleaned.

And when I did, it was almost as if nothing had happened.