Return of the Douche Bag

Ok, this one isn't paranormal, but I thought it was the sort of thing I should share. It's a little disturbing, in a "crazy ex-boyfriend abuses our star" kind of way, so be warned. But I survived, so no crazy plot twists coming, a la The Sixth Sense.

A year and some change back I started dating a gorgeous guy named Zack. He was an English major (that should have tipped me off) in his sixth year as an undergrad (again, tip off). He wasn't terribly good in bed, about low average, but he managed to do ok because he was so friggin beautiful. I thought it was only women who could get by as a lame lay if they were beautiful, but I guess I proved myself wrong.

Anyway, Zack had some issues. I ignored them at first, for the obvious reasons. But after a while the dominating and bossy personality got old, his lack of depth got old, and I wanted to move on.

One of Zack's issues was fear of abandonment. Another was a borderline personality disorder. The two combined made the breakup extremely nasty. He didn't take rejection well, and we had a screaming match in the middle of the student commons. About a dozen students broke it up, and Zack vanished into the crowd.

Until two nights later.

I didn't even know he had a key to my apartment. But right as I closed the front door, there he was, standing in the foyer less than a foot away from me. He punched me twice, and I was out like a light.

I woke up gradually, in my bedroom, with Zack on top of me, grunting like a drunken dog. The side of my face hurt, and my left eye was swollen shut. I was scared to death, but I pretended to still be out, and he was otherwise occupied so he didn't notice. I let my hand bounce like a rag, but guided it closer to the nightstand where my sketchpad was. When I was pretty sure he was getting close to fire off his load, I wrapped my hand around the pencil I had there, and jammed it with all my strength into his shoulder.

He screamed like a girl. It shook him enough that I was able to get my legs free enough to put him in a scissor hold that I learned from an earlier, much more productive relationship. I squeezed my thighs around his neck as hard as I could, then yanked him over onto his shoulder. He landed on the pencil, driving it in further and snapping it off. He let out a bellow like a wounded sea lion. He managed to get one hand between my legs and was working his way out, so I flipped him off and rolled the opposite way, towards the night stand on the other side of the bed.

As far as I know, there's only one weapon in the apartment that was built as a weapon. It's a collector's item my father gave me when I was entering college. It's a black powder pistol; an 1860 Army revolver, .44 caliber, nickle and gold etched. It's very nice looking, and my daddy taught me to keep it that way, and to keep it loaded. It's totally unregistered, and probably very illegal. I never really checked.

I keep it in that night stand drawer.

I pulled it out and aimed it at Zack, in a kneeling aim. I'm a pretty bad shot, and I've only fired it a few times. I can't hit the side of a barn from inside the barn. But Zack didn't know that. And that gun is big. Google a black powder pistol and you'll see. It's big in Clint Eastwood's hands. In mind it was ginormous.

"Stop," I said to Zack. He looked at me like I was crazy.

"I'll fucking kill you!" he roared.

I fired. It was like a grenade going off in a submarine. I thought it was loud outside, inside it was just plain nuts. I had tried to aim at his foot. The bullet whizzed past his right ear, taking off about an inch of it. He grabbed his bleeding ear, while trying to also hold his bleeding shoulder. With his pants around his ankles.

"You cunt!"

"Zack," I said, my voice rising. "If I see you again I'll kill you. If you come here, I'll shoot you. If I see you on the street, I'll run you down with my car. If I see you in a bar, I'll bribe the bouncer to crack your spine. I'm serious. You better vanish from my life. As of now."

I gestured with the gun. Then I shouted, "I fucking said NOW!"

Zack, crazy as he was, got the message. He started penguin walking backwards, then when I pulled the hammer back again, he hightailed it out of the apartment.

When Mia got home from work, she found me in the kitchen crying. I think I threw up a couple times, too. She put some ice on my face, brought out some chocolate ice cream we save for relationship problems, poured us both some Bacardi and coke, and we watched a Phineas and Ferb marathon until I started to psycho analyze Candace on the show. Mia's the best.

I didn't see Zack for a year.

I briefly saw him yesterday, at a bookstore. He looked up, locked eyes with me, and ran from the store like his hair was on fire. Made me feel good.