I was trying to find ways to cope. I had numbed myself emotionally and had become adept at twisting the tables on The Rock verbally. He would start an argument and I would end it by saying the meanest things (true or false didn’t matter) I could think of and causing him to cry.
One day, my supervisor asked me how things were going at home. She asked if he’d physically attacked me since the last time I’d talked to her about it. I told her he hadn’t touched me but was going out drinking regularly. I told her I had started keeping a kitchen knife under my pillow in case he came home in the middle of the night and started to assault me. She told me if I used the kitchen knife I would go to prison for murder because it showed premeditation by having it under my pillow instead of leaving him now.
Well, I didn’t want to go to prison. I did love The Rock, but I had no idea how to show him love or be the wife he wanted or how to build a successful marriage. I didn’t want to go to prison for him.
The next time he was sent away on a mission, I moved out. I didn’t have much financial resource, so I was staying on the floor at a friend’s economy apartment. This friend would have married me and taken care of me in a heartbeat, but I wasn’t interested. He was a perfect gentleman. My intent was to get my own place with my next paycheck.
The Rock returned and found my note explaining I was leaving. He was furious. He began calling and trying to find me. I spoke with him and told him I wasn’t coming back. He wanted to know where I was staying. I wouldn’t tell him. I believe he followed me from work to the apartment and then he accused me of having sex with my friend. I denied his allegations.
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