Warning: Features domestic violence (both ways.)
The Fireman knocked on my door one night, after the club, just like he had done on so many occasions before… but this time, was different. I’d had a bad day, and then a bad night. The absolute last thing I wanted or needed was The Fireman treating me like some sort of consolation prize because he hadn’t managed to pull anyone else. I was drunk, too.
Me, angry = booze = World War III.
Honestly, I deserved that time I got punched by a fireman.
Let me explain (please!)
Knock, Knock
He’d knocked, and I’d refused to answer. More knocks, more refusal, more knocks. Eventually, I opened the door. I was raging angry and fully prepared for the motherfucker of all fights with him. Apparently, though, I wasn’t prepared enough.
We argued inside The Flat first, then eventually moved outside. I was pushing and slapping him, then he was calling me a “slut,” and then I spilled the beans about his sister and I…
Even as the words fell from my drunken mouth, I knew that I’d made a terrible mistake. Bestie came outside somewhere along the way, and a couple of other of our friends. Our argument was loud, I’m guessing. It was the early hours of a Saturday morning, too.
I remember The Fireman telling Bestie to take me back inside the flat, or restrain me, or something.
“What do you expect me to do, mate?” Bestie laughed.
“Literally pick her up and take her inside.”
Bestie didn’t do that, and perhaps he should’ve done. I shoved The Fireman one, two, three more times. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor. Half of my face was pounding. Three or four men were on top of The Fireman, arms and legs swinging, and another helped me up from the floor. There was no blood, but from the way that my eye, cheek, and nose were throbbing, I knew that I’d have a whopper of a black eye in the morning.
Eventually, The Fireman slinked away. Everyone returned to The Flat. Drinking commenced. I even joked about the episode.
East Grinstead
The next morning, no one was joking. I did, indeed, have that whopper of a black eye that I’d predicted, but there was more: my cheek had swollen terrifyingly, I could barely open my eye, and the pain was so bad that I actually wished for someone to knock me out.
Reality had set in a little, too. He had hit me. The Fireman, the men that I still loved so damn much, had punched me in the face. I was shocked. Beyond shocked. It was the least The Fireman thing that he could’ve done. There were times where we’d gotten boisterous with each other but physically hitting me was just beyond my comprehension. My mind kept trying to rewrite history and turn my memories into a scenario that made a little more sense. It was of no use, though. There were witnesses. I could hardly rewrite their history, too.
Someone called my parents, who then drove me to A&E, who then sent us on a trip to Grinstead, which then resulted in a diagnosis of a fractured cheekbone. Hairline fracture, apparently. There was nothing that could be done to fix it aside from rest, ice, painkillers, and trying not to get punched in the face again. Jokingly, of course. I’d told them that it was a drunken dance move gone wrong. I mean, I could hardly admit that my ex-boyfriend had straight-up punched me, could I? My Pops was right there.
The Fireman was banned from The Flat after that. Obviously. I think Bestie would’ve killed him if he’d turned up again. I didn’t want to see The Fireman, either. My face took months to heal, and the pain still makes me shudder. I lost weight from not being able to eat, at least.
I had to ban that bastard from my life, not just my home. I was more than happy to accept responsibility for my part in what happened, but there was no way that I could forgive him for fucking up my face.
Right?
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Number 20: The Postman.
Thank you so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Would you like to read all about The Fireman’s story, right from the very beginning? You’ll find that right here.
You can also read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here: