Bonnie Teen Domestic Abuse

Bonnie was only 13 when her teen domestic abuse started. She came from a supportive home and had her life planned out and dreams. But her reality soon turned into a nightmare of teen abuse, sexual and physical violence, threats and stalking. Here is Bonnie's story:

It all started when I was 13. I suppose this was the one thing that always convinced me that it was my fault. I was young, naive, and had been bullied all my life. I think that's what made it so easy to fall for him. Peer pressure had made me an outcast and everyone's favourite victim. My best friend always liked older boys. But the oldest she went was 18, and the fact that he was nearly 19 was what made me, for once, go against her. I loved her, she was like my sister, but I didn't want to see her hurt. He was surely going to go off to uni and eventually, because I know she wasn't ready for sex, would cheat on her. I never met him, even after months of them going out, but apparently all of his friends knew me.

That's when it really started.One of his mates had become OBSESSED with me. She thought it was a good thing; I hadn't really taken a lot of interest in boys. I've always wanted to achieve big, and do years of schooling and get loads of degrees and make the best of what I thought was worthless. My friend had finally decided that now that I was nearly in year 10, I had to get a boyfriend. I couldn't care less really, boys were always something I knew I'd wait until I was in college or uni for. Get the GCSE's out the way first then do about a year or two in college and then start dating.

I think my friend was immature but old, if that makes sense. She was still only 14 (she was about 4 months older than me) so she was immature and I know she still giggled in sex ed because I could hear her across the classroom, but she was old in a way that most things she'd do, you would expect a college girl to do, like date older college boys.

The bad thing was that after I had finally given in to start dating the boy that had become obsessed with me, I was starting to doubt my sexuality, which everyone could understand because we were just at that age. I started to notice girls, but I still noticed boys, so it was REALLY confusing.

I had never done a long distance relationship before. I had never really done a relationship before, and this was all too new for me. Apparently he hadn't done much dating either, so I was a bit more confident. I had never liked my body much and I knew I wasn't that confident, but he built me up and I think that's what made me like him. He was the first person, other than my mum (but mums have to), to say I was pretty.

I think I should have known the relationship was going to be controlling when we lived cities apart, but I never knew that it was going to be THAT controlling, and knew nothing really about teen domestic abuse. Deep down I know I had my doubts, partially because the first words my friend had told me about him was that he was obsessed with me. That right away was a scare for me. Then he started to get controlling. I was going through a rough time at school and he knew about my sexuality doubts. I had said that we could break up until I got that problem sorted, but he said no, so that was on him, and he knew that I was thinking of moving schools. That was the second thing that made him controlling and abusive.

Note that I said that was the SECOND thing. The first was how he held and kissed me. It was always so forceful and tight, but again I did not recognise it as abusive or a warning sign of teen abuse. I would have finger marks after he had grabbed my wrist from answering a phone call from my mum when I stayed with him for a weekend. Separate beds, of course; I wasn't ready for that. I had told him that it was my mother and I had to answer it, that something could be wrong. I had gone through a rough time with my mother. She shouted at me and I shouted back quite a bit when she divorced my dad, but when this boy shouted at me that I was with him and my mother didn't matter, I got scared. I was only about a inch away from him, but he was still grabbing my wrist tightly, leaving marks with his fingernails. My phone was still ringing and tears were welling up in my eyes. Now, I never stood for men thinking that they are superior. I liked to think that everyone was equal, and I knew I shouldn't take that rubbish from him, so I snatched my arm away from him, leapt up and answered my phone, eyeing him from across the room whilst walking downstairs to get some breakfast. As I stood in the kitchen telling my mum that I was fine and I would be home around 1pm, he came into the kitchen and put the kettle on. His mother was still asleep and you never really saw his dad around since he worked in another city and late at night.

I knew that he was possessive, controlling and obsessed with me, so I tried not to talk to anyone around him, not even my mother. He would call and text me excessively and wouldn't leave me alone, and if I went out with anyone, even my mother, he would get jealous. He would constantly say whilst I was out that I was cheating on him, and he would want to know where I was every second of the day. I know I shouldn't have, but I knew what it was like to feel like I wasn't worth peoples' time. Months passed (our 'relationship' had started in October, and Christmas had just passed) and I had gotten out of school now, waiting to be accepted into another school. So in the mean time I was being home schooled. I really don't think I should have done that though, because now, he belittled me and because of what he's done to me, I am being home schooled again. I'm too afraid to walk out of my front door without my mum 'protecting me' so that he or someone else doesn't end up waiting for me.

It was now about January and although the abuse hadn't gotten to a physical or sexual level yet, I tried to break it off with him. BIG MISTAKE! That got him more possessive. He started calling me a slut, telling me I was only using him for sex (where he got that from, I don't know because I hadn't done anything but kiss him, and even then that was him forcing me) and he told me if I broke up with him he would kill himself. Now, I didn't care about the rest (I had been called a lot of names in the past and it just didn't really bother me anymore) but I did care about him killing himself. Whether he'd do it or not doesn't matter, but it caught my attention. I knew what it was like to not want to live and it wasn't a nice feeling. But it wasn't really that. I was now 14 ( my birthday was in December) and I was too young to be responsible for someone's death.

I still had dreams of becoming a psychiatrist (still do, after everything) and I knew I couldn't do well in life with a criminal record (OK, I was young and stupid and I thought I would be put in jail if he wrote in a suicide note that he'd died because of me) so I said I loved him and agreed to stay with him. Like I said, big mistake on trying to break up. He held me tighter, kissed in front of people (I still can't stand to be kissed, it makes me want to vomit), but now it got worse. This is when he started hitting, kicking and tried to get me to have sex with him.

I hardly remember the reasons. I think it was after I would say no to him. No to something, no matter how big or small. I would say "no, I don't really like/want to do that", and suddenly I was on my back, the air knocked out of my lungs, my back hurting, me hissing in pain, and I was shoved onto the cold, hard flooring of his room. He would have my arms pinned above my head, I can still feel his breath moving down my neck to my cleavage. He would use one hand to keep my arms above my head, whilst his other hand would slowly move down my body, gripping me tightly. I would be squirming to try and get out from underneath his body. I think he took that as a cue to hurry up or something. He would just feel me up with my clothes on for a while. Say I have a nice body, and then hit me. My ribs would ache and I would be trying to get air quickly. His breath would still be on my neck, breathing down my top. I wasn't one to take abuse just like that, well not at this moment in time (later on I would discover I didn't care anymore and I would just lie there crying silently) so I kicked and screamed.

I would cry, thrash, lash out trying to get free. Surely his mother would help? Fat lot of good that did. She just shouted up from the bottom of the stairs telling me to be quiet and it was OK. I wanted to shout "no it isn't, your son's hitting me". I think he knew I would say something or be more likely scream, so he would put his hand over my mouth and nose and I would feel my lungs burning to get oxygen before my natural instincts would kick in and I would do something (like hit him in the stomach just so he would let go). I would gasp for air and hide either under the bed or in the corner so I would be safe. I think he got his quick fix after that, though, because he would come over to me and hold me whilst I cried. After the first incident I looked back at our relationship and saw that he was actually quite violent. If he got angry, he would punch or kick something and it nearly always broke or ended up damaged. He got into a lot of fights with his dad and I sometimes wondered if he got the violence from his dad - his mother was actually quite caring.

I must admit, I was scared for my life. So many times had I thought he would kill me, that I was too scared to move. It became my daily routine. Accept to go to his house on a weekend due to blackmail and threats, and fight him as he held me down to do some type of sexual act I was disgusted with (he would never actually try to rape me, since I was under-age and he wouldn't be able to deny if he had). It went on like that for a while. I would see him almost all the time (I had come to think that I deserved the abuse, that it was my fault).

I remember the first time he forced me to do a sexual act for him. Of course, I was still a curious teen and I was going through puberty, so my hormones were out of whack, but I still didn't say yes when he told me to give him a blow job. It was disgusting to even think of something like that. I had always had a sort of old-fashioned mind. I wanted to save my virginity for my husband and I wouldn't do any of these sorts of acts until I was over 18 and was in a serious committed relationship, not some high school fling my friend had made me go into. So, after he gave me the guilt-trip and I was starting to back down, he forced my head down there and pried my mouth open with his fingers! He told me that if I bit down, I wouldn't be able to get up tomorrow - and tomorrow was the day I had to go home! I just sort of shut down, I suppose, and I let him "f*** my face" as he liked to call it. After a while, his breathing increased and I realised he wanted me to swallow. Ha! As if I'd ever do that. Well, apparently I would. I began to struggle as he began to cry out my name and pump into my mouth faster. He roughly grabbed my hair and made me look into his eyes. He was moaning constantly now and I was trying to get away. Even though previously warned, I scraped my teeth against him but that just made him cum. He even screamed! Before I knew it, all I could hear was a "God Yes!" and suddenly he was cumming down my throat. It tasted horrible. I felt disgusting and felt like I was going to vomit. Luckily he released me, because that's exactly what I did after I ran into the bathroom.

After that, he thought I'd do anything for him, and at any time. After that first time, he decided that blow jobs were my speciality and that they were his favourite. He always touched me and made sure I was naked almost all our time together - unless out in public of course: he was still very possessive. After a couple more repeats of that, I had finally started looking into moving schools. He said that he didn't want me to go to school; he said I only wanted to go to school to cheat on him and have sex with boys. I said I would go to an all girls' school if it made him happy, but he knew I liked girls too. He just wanted me to move into a house with him. It was at this time I found out he was even more obsessed with me becoming pregnant by him and me marrying him. He would stroke my stomach and say how it would look sexy swollen with his child. I know I've always wanted children, but at 14 I think it was a bit too early. However, he didn't seem to think so. I even woke up one night to him talking to my stomach, saying to an imaginary baby to "stop kicking, mummy's asleep, don't worry, daddy's here". I felt absolutely sick. It was starting to creep me out. Surely an 18 year old boy couldn't be this obsessed with kids. Wasn't it women who were obsessed with having children?

I spoke to him about it once. I asked if he was OK about never having children. He flipped out and shouted that "I would have his children". This was the first time he ever tried to have sex with me. When we had done a task day about obsessions in people at school, I read that they had shown that some people are so fixated on a subject that they actually think it's true. Like when he was stroking my stomach telling a baby that wasn't inside me to stop kicking. I told him to stop, that he didn't want this. The next thing I knew, I was on the bed, his and my trousers off, him rubbing against me frantically trying to convince me it would feel good when I gave him a child. I told him we could get him help, that it wasn't good for him to pretend I was pregnant. I was struggling a lot and he just kept taking off our clothes. I was bone dry and I thought he would take me then and there, I knew it would hurt even more since I was dry.

What he did though made me even more disgusted with myself. I felt as if my body was covered in dirt and germs. He didn't want this to hurt for me though, so he started touching me, caressing me, making it feel good. I could have thrown up right there and then, but my body betrayed me big time. Did I say I was going through puberty and my hormones were totally out of whack? He kissed me slowly, down my jaw, neck, to my breasts. He suckled on them and kneaded the one that wasn't in his mouth. I felt disgusted with myself. I wanted to get up and scrub my whole body until it was raw, I wanted no trace of his touches. He moved his hand and circled my clit. I screamed for him to stop, that I wasn't ready. All the way through I just kept repeating no. I hated what he was doing to me, my breathing was increasing now and my hips bucked into his hand. I didn't want to do this with him. I wanted to do this only with my husband, which wouldn't be for another 10-25 years. I didn't know what was happening any more.

My body was tensing; I thought I was going to be able to get free, my body tensing and all but then everything just felt so good. I was moaning now and I wasn't enjoying this, no matter how much pleasure was coursing through my body. My head was tilted back now and I was shaking my head. All I can remember was shouting "No, no stop!" before my tight muscles got to a point I thought they would snap and then I exploded. That was then I knew what was happening. Of course we had only been taught this a few months ago, so I knew I had orgasmed, but we had never been told what it felt like. I think I even blacked out for a while, because when I opened my eyes he was positioned at my entrance, slowly sliding into me. He slid in and out of me a few times, time and time again stopping just short of my barrier, then he went to tare through that barrier. Like I said before, I don't think he wanted this to hurt so when I felt him touch my hymen (I'm still not sure if he broke it or not) I screamed. It hurt so bad, he jumped away from me and I clamped my legs shut. I was sobbing now. All I could feel was the pain, I couldn't bare to sit any more so I jumped up, a little blood was dripping down my leg, so I went to the bathroom with my panties and put in a pad and slipped them on. I couldn't help but feel relieved that he hadn't go through with it. I instantly felt ashamed, guilty and dirty.

I felt ashamed because other girls hadn't been so lucky, guilty because it should have happened to me like to other girls, and I had felt relieved that it hadn't. Just because of that thought, I felt even more disgusted with myself and dirty because he had touched me in places I hadn't even touched myself - not even when showering. I sat on the toilet seat just quietly sobbing, the bathroom had a lock on it and I was grateful he hadn't tried to open it. I pulled my knees up and I rocked myself until I heard a knocking. I jumped and screamed, I thought he was coming for me to try again. He just muttered sorry and went downstairs. I stripped off and grabbed the soap and jumped into the shower. I didn't come out for two hours, I had scrubbed my skin till it was red, and my legs and arms were bleeding a little. I stopped the water and got out, put a towel around me and grabbed some clothes and got dressed. Thankfully he stayed away from me the rest of the weekend, except when I had nightmares about him nearly raping me and he would come over holding me saying he was sorry. I thought that it should have happened to me, it should have. What right did I have to escape it when so many others hadn't? I went home that weekend and for an entire three months I believed it should have happened.

I think that was when I finally knew I had to get out. Because I had ran away once or twice to get away from it all, social workers were involved and I was seeing a support worker. I hadn't told her of anything. I felt disgusted. I knew she would blame me and would think I was a slut. Of course she would. Who wouldn't? And despite everything he had done I still cared about him. He would even go so far to self harm in front of me, maybe to keep me in line.

I remember when I was at home talking to him after just coming home from being out with my support worker, he asked me if I loved him. I wasn't sure if I loved him, I knew I cared deeply for him and liked him, although I hated him at times, I didn't want to get in trouble so I said yes. He asked if I would do something to make him very happy. I was thrilled at the idea of finally doing something right. Maybe he wouldn't hurt me this weekend. He asked me to take naked pictures of myself and send them to him. I didn't know what to do. I knew that those pictures could end up anywhere, but I also knew that he'd done much worse things to me. However I wish I had never sent them to him because they came back to haunt me in a couple of months. After I gave into that though it just kept getting worse. He would ask me to strip for him on web cam. Then it would go up a level and he would ask me to touch myself for him whilst on web cam. I felt disgusted, but I was scared he would kill me. What else could I do?

I was enjoying school, but then he started following me after school. He would just turn up, saying he loved me and wanted to see me. He said he missed me. I wanted to keep him away from school, I knew he had contacted my old friends from my previous school and had threatened them. After a while I was contemplating whether or not to get a restraining order against him. I told him not to turn up at school any more. I was getting scared now. After I had gone out with my support worker I received a text my four of my friends (all girls) saying that he had contacted them on facebook and had threaten them. I was terrified now. I didn't want him hurting them. I don't remember exactly what he had said, but it was implied he would kill them if they didn't leave me alone and not be my friends anymore.

Because it involved my friends now, I told my support worker. I wish. All I told her was that he was stalking me (well, he was) and that he had threatened my friends. So she got the police involved. This is where those pictures came back to bite my behind. He knew that the police would get something on him when they checked his computer, I suppose it was to take the heat off of him, so he told the police about those pictures. Apparently he said I had sent them to others and him. I don't even know, I was so in shock when my support worker said it that I didn't even hear his excuses. I was scared. I wanted to tell her the truth, but if she felt disgusted with me for sending the pictures to him, what would she say to all the other stuff he did?

We had a few meetings where I had to sit in with my whole family, his family, the support workers and police. I remember as I sat in that room, thinking what if they knew? Would they still be here to protect me? I could feel my breathing picking up and the tightness in my chest was getting tighter. The tell-tale sign of me having a panic attack. I had had a lot of them over the 10 months of our relationship. All I could see was him smirking, daring me to say something. I ran out. I ran so fast, but the tightness was easing. I kept running, all the way through town and I hid behind a deserted construction sight. I just sat there sobbing, pulling my legs to my chest. I think it was hours before anyone found me. The policeman that was there ran up to me and lifted me up. All I could think though was that it was another man touching me. I couldn't think anything else. It didn't matter that he was trying to help me or that fact that I think he was married. Just the fact that a male was touching me and I couldn't stand it. So I jumped out of his comforting hold - it was quite comforting even though he was male- and I ran away. Luckily it was my support worker that found me this time so it was OK. I walked back and my dad took me home. My mum wasn't talking to me. We were still going through a rough patch. So my dad took me to my house, I packed a bag, said goodbye to my step dad - whom I love nonetheless but we're quite distant- and I slept at my dad's that night.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. All I know is by September 2012 I was free! The police didn't arrest him, we just broke up and they said he couldn't go to the town where I live any more. Still, no one knows, and I don't think I will tell anyone ever. I'm still scared I will walk out of my front door and he will be standing there smirking and say "Thought you could run away, did you?"

~ Bonnie.

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