I Ain't Me No More by E.N. Joy Page A

time, when he knew his mother would come home from work. Trick of the enemy, and I had fallen for it.
    Since I had already fallen for the hook, just minutes behind came the line and sinker when I promised him I would never leave him. I didn’t say it because I loved him. I said it because I was afraid of what he’d do to himself. I didn’t want his blood on my hands. Why did I keep sacrificing myself to save him when he kept making the same stupid decisions and getting the same results? Hmm, guess Jesus was probably shaking His head, saying the same thing about me.
    Nonetheless, I went back to him. It was now official. I was a bona fide crazy too.
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    â€œThe house looks good, baby,” Dub said as he sat on the couch, which was kitty-corner to the chair I was sitting in. Two-and-a-half-year-old Baby D was sitting on the floor in front of the television, which we were all watching. We sat around like a real family, the makeshift family that we were.
    I looked around. The little duplex I’d managed to rent just two weeks after my eighteenth birthday wasn’t much, but it was clean, just like my ride. Dub’s sister had moved into one a couple houses down. I was most excited when she told me about a place that would charge me rent according to my income. It wasn’t Section 8, but a place that received government grants in order to subsidize the rent of low-income families.
    It was in the hood, but it was mine. Besides, for twenty-six dollars a month, I couldn’t complain. Although Baby D and I were the only ones on the lease who were permitted to claim residence, like lots of boyfriends of women on Section 8 or living in low-income housing, Dub lived there too.
    I felt good about myself. Yes, I’d ended up being a teenage mom just like my mother had, but unlike her, I had finished high school. Not only had I finished high school, but I was now going to college at Capital University as well. And on top of that, I had my own car and my own place. I’d achieved what some people never thought I would after I became a statistic.
    â€œThanks.” I had a proud smile on my face. I had to say that was one of the very few times in the three and some years I’d been with Dub that I was almost content. It had been over a month since he’d abused me last. Back then I thought that perhaps all those pleas to God had finally been heard. People say that God can change things in the blink of an eye. Had He finally shown me so much grace and mercy?
    I got my answer in the blink of an eye, because it wasn’t but a few minutes later when, out of nowhere, I felt a slap across my face. My hand rose to caress my throbbing cheek. I looked over at Dub with a perplexed expression on my face. What had I done to deserve it? I mean, he’d just complimented me on how good the house looked. Maybe it was the laundry I’d done earlier; perhaps I had used too much bleach, and holes had formed in his socks again. Maybe it was the snacks that we were nibbling on, which were spread across the coffee table. Had I put too much salt into the tuna fish salad? Or maybe the Kool-Aid wasn’t sweet enough. After all, these had all been reasons why he’d abused me in the past.
    It was as if Dub could see the wheels turning in my head and they were making him dizzy. “I hadn’t hit you in a while,” he stated matter-of-factly, “but I’m sure you’ve done something that deserved a slap.” Then, just like that, he picked up his glass to take a sip of his Kool-Aid and turned his attention back to the television.
    I wanted to smack him right back, but I knew better. Just trying to fight him off made things worse. I was afraid to see what would happen if I actually ever inflicted pain on him. Anger filled me so much so that I wanted to cry, but at first I just sucked it in. Then I realized that the best thing for me to do would be to let a tear trickle out of my eye