I was 19 years old when we met and he was in his early twenties, light skinned, tall and handsome. We met at a public library and he was always there. He offered to help me find the book I was looking for. I can never forget that bright and beautiful smile when he approached me.

“Hey sis, my name is Mxolisi, can I help you? You seem to be lost?” he asked politely.

I told him my name and the name of the book I wanted to check out. Mxolisi did not even struggle to get the book; he seemed to know the library like the palm of his hand. He was very smart and seemed to be very inclined about everything that was happening all around the world.

We engaged in very thought provoking topics from feminism and patriarchy, to politics and the South African law. We became friends, very close friends. We exchanged numbers and met every now and then.

Mxolisi was the only person who seemed to understand me. Our relationship was thriving and we both wanted more. He made the first move a few months later and told me he could not just be my friend anymore, that he desired more than just a friendship. The feeling was mutual and we decided to pursue a romantic relationship.

This was the start of an abusive relationship.

The sweet guy I met at the library was no longer there. My life became an endless cycle of highs and lows. My boyfriend was an alcoholic and he became violent whenever he was drunk, which was almost every day. It did not seem bad at first, but it got out of control eventually.

My best friend, Mahlatse, literally begged me with tears in her eyes, to get out of that relationship, but my boyfriend seemed to have a hold over me.

Eventually, I had to stop spending time with my friends because apparently “they were not good for me”. One particular day he got so mad at me over an “I miss you” text and hit the daylights out of me. He even took my cellphone for two consecutive weeks. My friends would tell me that he was answering my calls and responding to all my texts.

Two weeks later he brought back my cellphone with a box of chocolates and an ‘I am sorry card’. The first few times he sent them I would take his apology seriously, but then I started becoming aware of the pattern and the apologies meant nothing. Somehow in his wicked and twisted mind, he expected the chocolates to mean something to me and to fix everything that he did.

He would wake me up at night demanding to have sex with me. There is no other pain that cuts so deep than a drunk man, smelling of booze and tobacco, pushing himself onto you.

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Tell us: What would you do to get out of this situation?