My Life in Reverse (15 page)

3 months ago…

All actions have consequences. Every last one. So it’s no surprise to me when mine do.

My close friends have been keeping an eye on the asshole’s social media pages. So I know right away when
he
finds out where we are.

My first instinct is to panic. I know this man better than anyone. Despite whatever mask
he
may be showing the outside world, inside
he
rages.
He
thinks I belong to
him
, that I’m some object.
He
also thinks I took what’s his.

Every word
he
ever uttered about what
he’d
do to me races through my mind.

Yeah, panic seems rational at this point.

MFA seems a little excited at the possibility of kicking
his
ass. It’s certainly something we’ve touched on before. If
he
comes here and tries to hurt me or the kids,
he’s
likely going to get
his
ass handed to
him
.

Even though it’d probably be hella-satisfying and fun to watch, I don’t want
him
causing any problems for anyone. I refuse to let
him
complicate one more second of my life than absolutely necessary.

I have to tell my oldest just to be safe. Awareness is key. The look I receive in response breaks my heart. The fear is present there. And I know that feel too well.

As a mother, I feel like a failure in that aspect. I should’ve done more, sooner. I thought I shielded them better than that, but I know now that it was impossible. All I can do now is try to make up for it. Try to show them the right way to go about things.

Try to make it better.

2½ months ago…

“Hey! There’s a sheriff here looking for you,” A friend and neighbor texts me.

Fuck.

We’ve been staying at MFA’s place because the kids have more access to the outdoors. In addition, my place turns out to be kind of ghetto. Beautiful apartment? Yes. Secure building like they claim? Not so much. Not unless two chick fights outside my door and a shit-ton of blood in the lobby equal secure. They sure as fuck don’t in my book.

“Thanks for telling me.” I answer.

I’m sure that I know what it’s about. My inner circle has kept me up to date on
his
posts. Bragging about court has been a thing lately—that and seeking as much sympathy as possible. It’s better than in the beginning when
he
kept insinuating I lost my marbles.

Better, but scarier.

Ten to one, this motherfucker is trying to have me served. Well, they can’t serve me if they can’t find me. Good luck with that.

It sucks that I have to act like a damn criminal, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. I won’t fuck around when it comes to those kids. MFA insists I take his car if I need to go anywhere. He also suggests I shouldn’t go to the apartment without him. I agree and also decide to pick and drop the kids off from school each day, rather than having the bus drop them off there.

When MFA gets home, I apologize to him for all the bullshit.

“Stop that.” He tells me. “You don’t ever need to apologize to me for stuff like this.”

“It’s stuff you wouldn’t have to deal with if it wasn’t for me.” I point out.

“I don’t mind.” He assures me.

I crawl into his lap, still feeling guilty while I worry about what tomorrow may bring.

2 months ago…

Every time I see a cop my heart falls into my ass and it’s something that gets old quickly. It also aggravates the fuck out of me. Why should I have to be the one to hide like this?

Suddenly my phone explodes. Apparently now
he
has some post about winning custody of the kids. I’m not sure how that’s possible when I still haven’t been served with any papers. What court in their right mind would give a two-time felon recovering heroin addict custody of anything?
He
doesn’t even have a place of
his
own!

Or does
he
? Marissa texts me that
he
has a new girlfriend—the poor thing. I wonder if she knows what she’s in for. Likely not. I almost feel bad for her…almost.

So
he
does have a place, but still the circumstances seem odd. The kids are with me, safe and enrolled in school. Why would a court do that?

I just don’t understand.

But I
do
decide to take action. I contact a local lawyer I’ve spoken with about my impending divorce and retain her.

Fucker wants to play?

We’ll play.

Suddenly every picture and screenshot I took to remind myself of my sanity has a new meaning. It sucks to have to put it all out there—embarrassing, really. Embarrassing, but necessary.

I’ll do anything to protect these kids, including bruise my ego.

That’s just what parents do.

2 months ago (mid-week)…

He’s
coming. The screenshots of
his
post come pouring into my phone. A panic attack fully ensues. What in the actual fucking fuck?

A million thoughts race through my mind. Sure,
he
can’t find my exact location—not since we’ve moved again—but that’s still too close for comfort.

My lawyer is doing her thing as fast as she can. I just need to figure out how to buy more time.

I do what I always do when I’m upset. I clean. I clean everything my hands can reach. Then I climb on things and clean more. It’s then I have an idea.

It’s one hell of a longshot, that’s for sure. For it to work,
he’d
still have to be stalking me online. I’m not sure how, since I have
him
blocked every which way ‘til Tuesday. It’s worth a shot, though.

I begin to message the friends I’ve made, the people I’ve helped all across the country. I give a brief explanation of what I need and why. The positive response I get overwhelms me.

It’s simple, really. It turns out
his
little order is null and void until
he
serves me. In order for it to work,
he
has to find me. Basically I see it as my right to make that as hard as fucking possible.

With a deep breath and a prayer to above, I post about visiting a friend. I go on about a “road trip” and where I plan to go next. I make it public and cross my fingers.

My back-up plan is way worse, for the record. It consists of mouthing off to
him
until
he
puts
his
hands on me—preferably in front of some type of law enforcement. I know I could get
him
to do it. I just hope it doesn’t come down to that.

7 weeks ago…

Well, dip me in shit and roll me in oats—damned if my little “road trip” plan doesn’t do the trick. Like I’d really drag the kids across the country like that. Marissa is dying as she tells me about
his
latest post, that
he
can’t find us.
He
even goes so far as to post the court order publically and threaten to call an amber alert.

Dumbass.

Amber alerts are for abductions when the child’s life is in danger—which is not the case here.

As for posting the order? Thanks for the favor, asshole! I’ve been trying to get a case number all damn week. I get the picture to my lawyer immediately and reach out to a judge from my home state.

I’m so glad that I do. With the case number he can confirm that I have nothing to worry about if my lawyer is successful here. In just three weeks I’ll have a court date of my own.

I just hope I can keep up my online farce until then…

6 weeks ago…

MFA and I take the kids camping with his family up north. It’s relaxing and wonderful—and a first for my kids. We swim, fish, grill and hike. It’s kind of perfect.

We run to the store and when we walk out I say how bright it is. MFA stops to grab cigarettes next and comes out of the gas station with a pair of sunglasses for me. It may seem stupid or like just a little thing—but it’s so much more.

See, little things add up into big things. Little things (like buying sunglasses, or bringing someone coffee in the morning) add up to much bigger ones. It means that they’re thinking of you. It means that your well-being is important to them.

It means the world.

I’m still not used to being taken care of, but I like it. Much like me telling him he’s crazy every time he says I’m awesome. And I swear the man is on a mission to feed me. He doesn’t stop cooking delicious food.

On a related-note, I’ve gained a few pounds. My ribs no longer protrude from my sides. So I guess his mission is working.

It’s been a struggle to fight the demons at times, but I’m learning. I’ve also accepted that fact that others are allowed to think I’m great if they want to…even if I’m still on the fence about it sometimes.

Our vacation isn’t going to last forever, so I enjoy every second while I can.

5 weeks ago…

We return home to two very happy dogs. As much fun as it was to go away, it’s just as nice to be home again. MFA has a couple more days off of work. We spend them lazily—a small staycation if you will.

Reality sets in sooner than I like, as it always seems to do. Soon MFA’s back to work and my court date looms near.

The court date is bittersweet, too. I have no idea what the outcome will be. This is by no means a typical case. Even though I hope for the best, I fear the worst. And the worst is even suckier than you can imagine.

Sure, they can rule against me. That’s a definite present fear.

What’s scarier?

He
knows exactly when and where I’ll be.
He’s
been served with the papers, unlike
his
order.

I don’t know what I fear more,
him
showing up at court, or
him
waiting outside to follow me and take matters into
his
own hands.

See, this guy has never played by anyone’s rules but
his
own. I watched
him
work the system for five years on probation.
He
had the means to show up here once. What’s going to keep
him
away now?

Sometimes life can be scary. Really scary. This is one of those times. Only I know how strong I am now. My self-doubt may be righteous in many aspects, but I know how much strength I hold. What I’m capable of.

I’ll do anything for my kids. Including risk my life to secure they’re safe.

And if
he
does want to show up—in any way, shape, or form—I’ll be ready.