He walked out; slammed the door which shook the whole flat. He left me as he always did, battered and bruised, I sobbed, I felt weak, I was afraid and I was lonely.
Let me tell you what led up to that particular day.
I never saw him apart from once at the end of every week - on payday. He usually wait's for me to get home on Fridays in my flat. I'm always petrified of going back home to my flat on payday, as I know he would be there.
From when I get off the bus and walk the ten minutes back to the flat, I shiver, shake and perspire. It never ends well. He's there for what seems like ages but in reality only fifteen minutes may have passed.
It was Friday, I got the usual brown envelope from work - my pay check and I waited at the bus stop. It was a half an hour journey to home, only one more stop and then it's my stop. My stomach started to pain, my hands and my head started to perspire. I felt sick and was very hungry at the same time, I hadn't had a proper lunch - I never did.
I work in an office building as a cleaner, my name is Adel and I'm fifty five years old. Never married, but had a son. I lived alone in a one bedroom council flat in a high raised building. The father of my son left me when he found out I was pregnant. I brought up my son Mitch... on my own; he's twenty two and lives... not with me.
I walked up the dimly lit street, abandoned cars lay everywhere and yet again another car burned nearby. Not the best place in town, renowned for its drug dealers and the low lives that haunted the place. But it was home for me, it's the only thing I had and the only place I could afford - free by the grace of the city council. I say free but it just comes out of my allowance.
As I approached my building, one of five tall buildings, I looked up and there he was, leant over the balcony, smoked and looked down at me, made sure I came straight up. The lifts didn't work, they hadn't done in years. I walked up ten flights of stairs before I walked along a long narrow pathway.
To one side was the wrought iron railing 'The balcony,' this looked out to the depressing car park and tonight's entertainment yet again was a burning car. To the other side were the black doors to each of the faceless flats. I saw him in the distance as he puffed away and smiled cynically. He waited for me to get closer. The door to my flat was open, he had a key and I was too frightened to ever get the locks changed. If I had he would have just kick in the door and beaten me up more for doing so.
I'd had a particularly hard day that Friday and the smells of the cleaning fluids were much stronger around me. I was used to it and could not distinguish it from perfume. My eyes closed upon his sight and the closeness of him made me panic. I physically shook and I could not speak properly around him.
I walked at a laboured pace, I was so tired and had no strength. I was just a few meters away when he rushed towards me and grabbed my arm, he pulled me along and in through the door, he said, "Come on hurry up you stupid cow."
He kicked the door closed behind us; he pushed me by the hold he had on my arm and then let go. He said, "Well where is it," as he held out his dirty open palm.
I could see on his badly tattooed outstretched arm, the needle marks blatantly evident of his abuse of drugs. He always seemed on a low when he came to see me, well, not to see me but to extort my hard earned money.
I reached into my handbag and he said, "Come on hurry up, I haven't got all fuckin' day. And you fuckin' stink, been rolling around in shit again ave yeah!"
My hand trembled as I reached in; I looked into my bag and saw the unopened brown envelope. I had just got hold of it when he lurched forwards and grabbed the bag. He put the cigarette into his mouth and got the envelope out himself. He threw my bag back at me and said, "Stupid cow here it is... couldn't you see it! You blind fuck."
I bent down to pick up my bag and he ripped open the envelope, he said, "So how much you got this week?"
He took out all the money and threw the ripped empty envelope in my direction and again he said, "Stupid cow! Is this all of it?"
It was all I made in the week; I never opened the envelopes, because I knew he'd beat me up just for doing that. He counted out the money then looked with anger at me; he came forwards and slapped me. I almost fell to the ground.
He said, "That's not all of it! Where's the rest you cunt, been drinking it away!"
I could not speak; I cowered and shook my head as if to say no. He asked again, "Come on then bitch, where's the rest?"
He slapped me again and I fell to the ground, he was going to kick me so I brought up my legs to my chest and his kick landed on my shins. He wore hard cobbled boots, they cut me and my legs started to bleed.
He bent down and shouted in my ear, "Where's... the fucking... rest?
I had my hands raised up across my face, I didn't look up but just managed to say, "I only worked from Wednesday, I wasn't well."
That was a lie, although I was well I had bad bruises on my face from his last visit and I was too embarrassed to explain that to work colleagues.
He picked up a bowl from a table nearby, he threw it at my face, I managed to move but it hit the floor and smashed, a piece flew and cut my cheek.
He turned and said, "Lying bitch."
He put most of the money into his pocket and just a small amount on to the table as he said, "Ere that's yours, you're fuckin' lucky to get any this week. Shit! You had better make sure I get more next week, you hear!"
He lit another cigarette, drew a big breath on it. He bent down and blew smoke into my face, I held my breath but I still coughed from it. He stood tall over me; with one of his boots he pushed on my knees, to make me lower them. He then lightly tapped at my pussy and said, "Give that stupid job up, you should whore yourself out, you'd make a fuck load more money."
He kicked my legs again, oh hell that hurt. He walked out slamming the door... that was Mitch... my son.
So after he left I cleaned myself up and had something to eat from what little he left in the fridge, just some odds and ends. I went to bed and stayed in my flat for the whole of the weekend. I tended to my wounds. If it were not the wounds, I would have stayed in anyway - I had no real life outside these four walls.
I can always hide the cuts and bruises on my legs; the cut on my cheek was not too bad. So Monday I made my usual miserable journey back to work. When I got to work I was told that two cleaners had left and another was off sick. Shit! That meant I would have to do much more... again!
But then I was told that there was someone coming in to help, just one person the agency had sent to cover the three that were not there, great!
I had just finished cleaning one of the ladies toilets and I walked out into the corridor, I was pulling out the trolley, I had my back into the corridor. I bumped into another person who also came out of the other toilets, the men's. And we both bumped our arses together. We both stood up straight and looked at each other. He put out his hand and said, "Sorry... Keith... sorry."
I had slightly wet hands so I just sort of clapped and rubbed them together and took hold of his to shake. I said, "Adel... probably my fault, I'm sorry."
