Chapter 5 - The Killing Of Samantha

Saturday, November 7th, 1987

I have the house to myself when I get back from grocery shopping. I'm never left a note, as to where they might be or be coming home. But I don't have to worry about dinner. I am sure Sabine will wait on JP as always. I sit at the dining room table staring at the bank building when JP walks in the door. He is alone. I try to assess his mood as he throws his keys on the counter. "What's for dinner?" He asks.

"I don't know. Sabine isn't here -" He interupts me.

"They're gone." He quips at me.

I am thrown through a loop. "What do you mean 'they're gone?'" I ask.

"You don't understand English now?" His accent is horribly strong with all the french he has been speaking lately. "They gone. Left! Didn't like you! Like no body like's you!"

My brain is whirling a mile a minute now. I look down the hall and notice their suitcases aren't in the guest room. "Don't be so mean!" I say in a snotty voice. "No one told me they were leaving" I feel like I'm in a daze, trying to gain my stance. An hour ago I was the invisible woman living in this house. What do I do now?

"Make my dinner, bitch!" He orders like he is a king.

"Stop talking to me like that!" I say in a demanding voice. Calming down, "It hurts me when you call me bad words." I'm hoping in a moment of love he will realize what he is doing and stop. I am wrong.

He get's up to my face and starring at me, wave's me off saying "Why do you think I call you those names, bitch?" He walks to the living room sits on the couch and orders me. "Bitch, make my dinner, bitch!"

I grab my purse and fish inside for my keys, I am done. "No! Make it yourself. I'm outta here!" I call out as I head to the door. I am determined, I am leaving.

I am met by Jon Paul, 3 feet from the door. His body slams me against the coat closet doors, his face 1 inch from mine, his eyes now black. "Who the fuck you are?" He yells at me. His breath smells of stahl nictoine as his hands are pushing my shoulders into the wooden doors. "Who the fuck you are?" He screams again.

I am to scared to speak. Words cease to come to my mind. I stand motionless as he is hovering over me.

"That's what I thought!" He yells into my face. "You're nothing! You're lucky I put up with your shit." He pushes me to the ground. Still standing over me, yelling in his Waloon accent. "Look at you! You think a man wants to marry someone like this? You pathetic, sorry bitch. Your fucking lucky I'm taking care of you. Your own family doesn't like you!"

He reaches down and grabs for the keys I am holding in my hand. I hold on tight to them. Curled up in a ball on the floor he pushes my right shoulder down as he grabs for the keys in my left hand and he yanks. I let out a yelp. He bends down close to my ear. Still holding my shoulder "your not fucking leaving me bitch!" he says. "You keep this shit up and I will kill you!" He throws my keys across the room. I try to listen to where they land, as he turns to walk away he kicks my foot.

I am left in the hallway. Close to freedom but with no place to go or way of living. I am far from any friend or parent. Jon Paul goes to the couch sit's down and looks at me "Get out of my site bitch." I pull myself up and walk into the guest room.

I sit on the edge of the bed starring at the wall. I rock myself back and forth trying to breath. The tears are flowing, I can't stop them. I can't stop from shaking either. What have I done? I think about calling the police, but why would they help me. I took him back the first time he did this. Would the same officers show up? or would they be different ones? Would they know about me? Would they even believe me about what just happened? I race through my brain looking for idea's of what to do and nothing comes. I have done this to myself. This is my doing!

I slide off the end of the bed to the floor. I am silent crying, again using my shirt as my tissue. For the first time, I have no idea's.



Monday, November 9th 1987

In the midst of saving my marriage I finally found out what he wants. A dummy girl! Not to dumb. One that keeps the house super clean. Cooks his dinner and serve's him. One not to speek until spoken too. Unless, to make him more comfortable, or to sit next to him and be there for him (but not touch him).

He doesn’t want to be bothered by unimportant stuff. I am not to speak in public, nor in private. I am not to say anything what so ever that might anger him. He is a volcano about to erupt. I am to be ready to leave at the blink of an eye for any endeavor of his choosing. With no question's ever asked.

Yesterday we went to Oakland to see Jude. I was a good girl. I didn't speak. I followed the rules. I was nice to Jude and JP thought I was angry with him. 'Not angry honey, just scared for my life' I thought. Sometimes its hard to sit there and have him make fun of me when I can't fight back. What is supposed to happen to me now? I am used to taking care of myself, now I can't make a move without his approval.

I have to go pee. I wonder when he will let me do that?




Wednesday, November 11th, 1987

I don’t think people understand what it really takes to be married to a Belgium man. A lot of patients, that's for sure.

I was thinking the other day about publishing these books but how could I publish my married life?

Friday, November 13th, 1987

I have been trying awfully hard to do what JP boy wants. Sometimes I forget and I open my mouth. It is important for me for my marriage to work. I’d like to have a family someday.

Sunday November 15th, 1987

We had sex. It seems to be the only time I can have anyone hug me. I miss the hugs my mother would give me for no reason other then she was passing me in the hall. JP got up and went to Rons house to smoke pot. Why does it disturb me when he does that? You don't have to do drugs to have fun in life! I have tried to tell him, but I am the powerless one. He is the one that wears the pants in this family.

If he would only put them on.

I raised my voice this evening. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw his hand twitch, as if he wanted to hit me. I feel like a target. Him being the loaded gun. Me the paper person dangling in front of him. The gun goes off and I die. That scares me. You know, one minute everything is fine, the next word I say - I'm dead. But let’s face the facts, I’m a crazy woman whom loves her husband. Consider it a task if I die from natural causes. I win. If not I lose.

Good morals win a game Sammy!