help emergency

His boss, the chief judge, granted him five minutes to call me today to arrange whatever practicals we needed to. He said, "How could you do this to me? Do you realize the position you put me in?" I said, "Hmm. Do you realize the position you put ME in? That I had to decide to press charges or not, knowing if I did my children and I would be humiliated in front of the entire city--and that if I didn't you might end up killing another woman or your foster child and it would be on my conscience?" He actually said nothing. I would like to think it was a revelation, but I know better. Just pretending to have a soul. Just pretending to give a crap. I could almost hear him thinking about something else while I was talking; could almost hear him wondering how much time he needed to give me to talk to satisfy me and make me think he cared. I went to work tonight and gave a great tour. I'm exhausted but I did a great job and it wasn't awful. It was me, and that helps. When I came home, he was just parking, too. 11pm, walking his five-year-old up to his house, obviously drunk. Obviously learned a lesson--NOT. Jesus.

The pain--physical and hearbreak--is really starting to settle in now. All the bruises, aches and pains: I am in so much pain. I turned in my book manuscript today and I just cried all over it before I sent it: no one to celebrate with, not that he would have cared. But we would have sat on my couch late tonight and drunk champagne and pretended to be a couple. Believe it or not, knowing I will never just sit quietly with him again a few times a week--the only relationship we had--is devastating. I have not spoken to him now in three days. Never so long before. He has been ordered by his supervisors to have no contact with me (ironic, huh?). He lives two doors down and I've watched him go down the street to the park with his foster child, watched them go out yesterday afternoon dressed up and come home at eleven, watched them go out together again tonight. I ache. I wonder, does he care? Does he miss me? Is he sorry? Does he love me? Or is he with his buddies, drinking and talking politics as usual, or with a new girl, cuddling on the couch while "our" son plays nearby? Why can't he even give a message to one of his brothers to tell me what's going through his head? Why do I want him to? Why am I crying?

So after our brawl on the front lawn Friday night and his supervisors calling him in at the courthouse, I go to Mass this morning and I'm leading the singing up at the lectern. It's "Welcome Sunday" where we welcome all the new parishioners for the month. Guess whose name is announced? MY N! This was after three years of him never setting foot in a church, never coming to hear me sing, blowing off my concerns about having his foster child baptized. Two days ago we were "fine" and it turns out he registered to be a parishoner long before to get his child baptized and never told me. Everyone knew he was my boyfriend and they all looked at me like, 'Huh?' WTF? Like I wouldn't find out? Of course he wasn't there--the new parishoners are required to come to a designated Mass to be welcomed, and I'm sure after the brawl he blew it off. I'm sure he planned to just show up with his kid and probably his brother--his "family"--and laugh at me because he hoodwinked me again on my own turf. Turns out he didn't even mention to the priest that he and I were together. Said he had no family and didn't know anyone at the church. Did he think he was going to pick up women at church or something? Do they think that their bizarro imaginary world goes with them everywhere? I SING for all the baptisms! He would have had his child baptized without telling me and I would be up at the lectern, horrified, stupified, mortified, in shock, having to lead the singing and see his "family" and "friends" out there!

So, I'm bruised all over and can barely move or walk, I was up until five un Friday with the evidence technician photographing my body, for God's sake, I worked all day yesterday and had a hundred phone calls from my family yelling "I told you so" at me, but I feel great. The N's brother--who called me crazy for two years and ignored all of my calls and emails about the violent, wacko N--called me yesterday morning saying, "Hi, hon, how are you doing?" trying to get me to not press charges. Puh-lease. I told him I'd be better when his sociopathic brother was locked up and all of his girlfriends read about it on the front page. Then he said the N really wants to talk to me but isn't allowed to until the whole thing is over. Gosh. Sniff. Maybe he still loves me--NOT!

So I didn't go to the party with him last night and he showed up at my door afterwards. I shouldn't have talked to him--NC-- but was exhausted, on edge with a writing deadline, and stressed out from him, and I opened the door. He cried and apologized, said he couldn't live without me, blah blah blah. I didn't say anything, just stared at him. The entire time he was talking, about five minutes, his text alert kept going off. He must have gotten ten texts in that time. I started looking at his pocket where his phone was and finally I just grabbed for it, and he knocked me over. Long story short, we ended up in a knock-down, drag out brawl in front of my house. I'm so ashamed. I don't know what came over me. Just the years of that god damned phone ringing night after night, day after day, all night long, and him keep me away from it at all costs. The hours and days and weeks that were ruined and wasted because of that phone ringing and all those girls calling. I grabbed onto his shirt and would not let go. I was determined to see that stupid phone. He pushed me into the bushes, grabbed my hair and pushed my face into the ground, pushed me over the garden fencing, dragged me down the sidewalk. I ended up pulling off his shirt and he was still there--the upstanding judge--shirtless, holding his phone over his head, with me holding onto his belt groveling on the ground, dirt all over my feet and legs, scratches and bruises everywhere. Several neighbors came out and told him to go home, told me to come in. My poor upstairs neighbors--I looked at their faces, and they'd seen it so many times, and finally I just let go. He said, "No more chances for you!" and went into to his house next door. I debated long and hard and then called the police. What happened last night was totally my fault; though what he did to me was horrible I should not have done what I did. I filed a police report, and the cop told me, "He's a dirty SOB but this isn't going to fly in court." I said I knew it but just wanted a record of it. My body was such a wreck he sent an evidence technician to take pictures. Today, I can barely move. I am covered with bruises, scratches and welts. This morning, the N texted me, "Hi baby." Then "You broke my finger." Then "Can I see you tonight?" Un F*CKING BELIEVEABLE. I'm a mess and have to go to work in two hours. I can't even walk.