Ricky didn’t say a word as we drove home. His silence felt utterly terrifying, cold and deadly. I sobered up fast. Twenty minutes later, we got to the house, and I didn’t want to go inside. Bad things waited inside. So he came around the passenger door, ripped it open, and again he wrapped me up and took me bodily inside as I squirmed and fought and screamed.

The light was off in the hallway. The strap on my dress had torn, and I was half-naked in front of him. He was in shadow, full of primal rage, completely out of control. A tiger. Slowly, I backed away, but he advanced toward me. There was a little lamp from my father on the table near the door, and Ricky picked up the lamp in a rage and threw it to the floor with a crash.

He was going to kill me. I knew that.

He was going to beat me to a pulp, and then he was going to kill me. I turned and ran for my life. He charged after me, yelling the most horrible things, calling me awful names. I ran up the stairs, but he was right behind me, catching my heel and trying to drag me down the steps. I kicked and broke free. I got to our bedroom and slammed the door shut and locked it, but that wasn’t going to stop him for long.

I went to my dresser and wrenched open the top drawer and reached for the gun inside. By the time I had my service revolver in my hand, Ricky was kicking open the door. It flew off the frame, and there he was, his eyes black with rage, his fingers curled like claws. I lifted the gun and pointed it at him.

“Stop,” I shouted.

He kept coming at me.

“Stop!”

This time I fired. Not at him. Over his head. The explosion sounded like a bomb, loud enough that I thought my ears would bleed. Plaster and dust cascaded on him from the ceiling.

“The next one goes in your head,” I told him.

Ricky stared at me, and he knew I was serious. He put up his hands, but I could tell that he wanted to put those hands around my throat.

“We’re done!” I hollered at him. “We’re over. We’re through. I never want to see your face again. Get out of here, Ricky. I want you out of this house. Leave right now and never come back.”

He backed away. I went toward him, my gun leading the way. I kept it level, my arms rock solid. He turned around as he headed down the stairs, and we crunched over broken glass in the hallway. I’d lost a shoe during the chase, and my foot began to bleed.