Sophie Crockett - Against My Will: Groomed, Trapped and Abused: This Is My True Story of Survival

HarperElement

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First published by HarperElement 2020

FIRST EDITION

Sophie Crockett 2020

Cover layout design HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Cover photograph Alexander Vinogradov/Trevillion Images (posed by a model)

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Sophie Crockett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008347734

Ebook Edition January 2020 ISBN: 9780008347741

Version: 2020-11-30

For Mammy for always being there.

This book is dedicated to every woman who has been failed by the system. We are all survivors and must stand together.

I may not be a lion but I am a lions cub and I have a lions heart.

Elizabeth I of England, Wales and Ireland

Recounting the events you are about to read has not been easy. As someone with Asperger syndrome and a sufferer of post-traumatic stress disorder, revisiting these episodes in my life has been a harrowing experience. Some events are like blocks in my head, others like a continuous flow. At times it has felt like someone elses life, or a dark movie. In order to protect the identities of innocent parties, where appropriate, some of the names have been changed.

I woke at 7 a.m. to the same thought that hit me every morning. It wasnt just a bad dream. It was reality. I was in the same bedroom, in the same house, with the same monster sleeping beside me. My nightmare continued.

And, like every morning, the second sensation to hit me was how cold I was. I was naked, of course, because he hated me wearing clothes.

Then it registered how much my body ached. Not just the odd muscle twinge or stiffness, but bone-shattering, soul-searing agony. I had been sure he was going to kill me last night. Hed come close many times during sex: forcing my legs so wide I thought theyd snap out of their sockets; pushing my head so far into the pillow from behind that I nearly suffocated; tightening the grip around my neck until I was sure the breath that squeezed out would be my last.

But no. Here I still was. Surviving.

Sex makes it sound like it was consensual. Lets call it what it was. Rape. Repeatedly. Every day. Thats what happens when you live with a psychotic sex maniac. He would be like a wild animal, sticking his fingers into my eyes, screaming into my face and trying to rip the hair out of my head. He was so violent I thought at times that my neck or back would break as he threw me around, all the time shouting his commands, Do this! Do that! Youre not moving enough! Then shoving me into the position he wanted. Me, compliant, lifeless almost like the ragdoll he wanted me to be, my body covered in bruises and bite marks.

All the time I would think to myself, Nothing lasts forever, nothing lasts forever, everythings got to come to an end. That was the only thing that saw me through it, the mantra I kept repeating over and over and over.

Its got to stop at some point.

Everything comes to an end.

Nothing lasts forever. Nothing lasts forever.

On mornings like this, with another day in hell stretching out before me, it was hard to believe it wouldnt be like this forever. Every day seemed the same. Sex, humiliation, excruciating pain, the debasing of my very soul. Day after endless day.

The monster stirred beside me. He got up.

Todays the day we die, he said, calm but menacingly. He left the room and went downstairs.

My senses tingled. I forgot about the abject pain. He wanted us to die together. He told me that most days. Only he could decide when, where and how. He didnt want me to be with anyone else. It was part of his many contradictions. He wanted us to be together. Together, together, together. It was all I heard. He demonstrated this by making sure he was with me every moment of every day. And I mean every moment.

I wasnt allowed to go anywhere alone. He stuck to me like a leech, always touching me. If I needed to go to the bathroom, he insisted on coming, watching me or, worse, even urinating while I sat on the toilet. He wished we could be sewn together, and he carried me around like a baby and insisted on feeding me from his plate.

Now it was like being together in this life wasnt enough.

Todays the day we die. My mind buzzed with the possibilities of what he meant. Waiting around to find out seemed the least favourable option, but there was nowhere to run or hide. I thought about escaping out of the window. I was one floor up. Id survive the fall and at least I would be out of the house. How far away would I be able to get before he came after me?

Before I could put any plan into action, he came up the stairs with the same Rambo-style hunting knife he had threatened me with before. His eyes flickered manically. He closed the bedroom door.

Oh my God, I thought, this is it. I am going to die.

What are you doing? I said, trying to reason with him, keeping my voice steady. Put it away now.

He stood there naked, waving the knife in my face. I tensed, waiting for the lunge. Instead he grabbed hold of his genitals.

Im not big enough for you, am I? he sneered.

Instinctively, I tried to move his hand away, but I grabbed the blade and sliced my hand open. He twisted me around and pinned me to the bed, his 16-stone frame crushing my body, which was barely half his size. I couldnt move from the neck down. He had the knife to my throat. Sweat was pumping off me. If I showed any fear, though, I was sure he would push the blade into me.

I tried to remain as calm as possible. I knew what he wanted more than this sudden blood lust. It was what he always wanted. Somehow I managed to talk soothingly, longingly whatever it would take to instigate sex.

He released his grip, put the knife on the bed. While he was distracted I pushed the knife off the bed with my foot.

He grabbed me and put me in a headlock. We fell off the bed with such force it was sent flying across the floor on its wheels. He still had my head in his grip.

Ill do anything, please, I said. Just leave me alone.

He got to his feet, still holding me around the neck, and dragged me downstairs. He was rambling about this fantasy he had of me being abused as a child. It wasnt true, but he would go on about it constantly.

I wished Id known you as a kid, he panted. I would have totally fucked you.

He was beyond sick. I kept trying to remain calm. I knew that showing any emotion would make this perilous situation even worse. I was shaking, though. My brain went dead. I felt numb, like I was not part of my body anymore.

Knock, knock.

What was that? There was somebody at the door. Thank God.

He answered it. It was Mum. Had she just happened to be passing? Had she sensed my distress? What a relief it was to see Mums face, but I could see the worry in her eyes. She knew something serious was happening.