DON’T BREATHE, LOU!

He was having another bad day. He seemed to be having more and more of those. I did everything right. I made sure the house was clean, and his food was ready exactly how and when he expected it.

No makeup, long pants only, and mouse-quiet behavior always had worked before. There was a different look in his eyes this time that I had never seen before. I was worried. I smiled anyway and did my best to be as agreeable as possible. He often became violent.

My husband. His wife. I assumed that everybody had sex for 2 and 3 and 4 hours every time. I guessed that a weekly beating was because of something I had said or done. I had to be the reason this was happening. I had to try and stop what I feared the most.

His violent behavior was getting more and more dangerous. This was the night it would all come to a head.

Everything was fine and dinner was done and everything was perfectly clean. I washed my hair and began drying it. It was to my waist like he liked it, but it did take a long time to dry. That was the trigger. I took too long to dry my hair.

He leaned into the room about halfway, and I just said I would be done soon. Soon was not the correct answer. He came inside, picked me up off the floor, and threw me across the room. I was tossed into a large mirror, then slid down to the floor. I did the one thing I had never done before. I stood back up.

I can't explain why. I stood back up. He knocked me back down, much harder this time. "God...why do I keep standing up???" Yes...I stood back up again. He left

the room. He brought back a gun. Grabbing my throat, he forced the barrel down my throat until I began to choke. I knew that my life was going to change at that very moment, one way or the other. I was either going to live and survive, or I was going to die right there at the end of that gun.

He looked at me and the last words I remember hearing that day were:

"I DARE YOU TO FUCKIN' BREATHE."

(1978, based on a true story)