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I am Gone

Published by Nathaniel Christian IV

Copyright 2017 Nathaniel Christian IV

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Notice to the reader:

I am Gone is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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I am gone,

Forgive me, but I am leaving this life behind. I have all of my things -- at the least the bare essentials I would need to go on without you; my heart and my children. Not even a six bedroom house, push button on a Mercedes truck or a set of keys to a lake house in the mountains would be enough to change my mind. I’ve made it up. I am tired.

I used to believe that all I needed in this world was us and that making sure we were good was my only priority. You took care of me, took me in when my life felt incomplete and tasted me beyond my wildest dreams. I set fire to the sky, pretending to smile on Instagram, showing all of my followers and admirers that I was somebody. It was all good once the cameras were rolling, but once they turned off I returned to uncontrollable sobbing at my fractured life.

It wasn’t worth it. Not having to work, losing my friends and family because they felt too sorry for me to keep giving a shit because I didn’t. No amount of money is worth all of that, I am sorry. In fact, you can take it all back, I am done. I am gone and this is my goodbye.

I once prayed that you would give me an undying love, one that would make me proud to bear your children and I did. Our two little precious girls are what makes this twice as hard. Honestly, I had never wanted children until the day that I met you. I feel ashamed to know that someday their mom will have to explain this letter, but I will if necessary. I admit, I saw your tokens of affection as a symbol of your love and I was wrong. That’s okay, though. Today, I take a stand for something I should’ve done a long time ago. Forgive my handwriting, it’s hard for me to see and not because I’ve been crying as you probably would think, but because of what you’ve done to my face.

The first time it happened, I was like, ok, maybe I was wrong. He didn’t mean it. I deserved what had happened to me. My friends all thought I was crazy when I asked them not to get involved and to mind their own business. So, they did, before it continued and eventually our relationships crumbled because they grew sick of seeing me in sunglasses…

I did it for you. What happened on Friday, July 23, 2004 inside of my car out in the parking lot after Jill Scott’s concert was our business, right? Then I showed up the next day at your mother’s house and that was when you kissed me and told me you were sorry. You said that I was your “main girl” and I believed that. I hanged on your every word, although I knew in the back of my mind that I wanted to be your only girl.

That was fucked up and you knew it. I should’ve left then but I was young, nineteen-something and didn’t yet know my place in the world. I put that on you. I was foolish to believe that it was your responsibility to rescue this lost child who grew up without a father to show her what a real man is supposed to be.

We both cried that day. I assumed we were a reborn couple, six months into a relationship that should’ve ended the first day I met you. A year later, at my hospital bedside, you wept in front of my family after my “fall” at the lake house up north. Again, I thought I was protecting you, but I had become an enabler. We both know the real story, don’t we?

I am not going to sit here and say that it was always bad. You’d read my poetry, call me beautiful and introduced me to a life I didn’t think I was capable of living. Through you, I had found my identity, as long as it was only once in a while that I had to live in fear standing beside you. I worried about igniting you and danced around the subject with friends of how long I could keep this charade up. “Forever,” I told them, on my way to Dubai, flying first class in a private jet with your name tattooed on the back of my shoulder. It felt good and for those who didn’t know our history, they all said we made a great couple and told me how lucky I was to be in love so young. I believed in you and wanted to be with you more than I loved myself.

Perhaps, I was in love with being in love. It became obvious when on Christmas Day in 2007, I convinced my family that I couldn’t fly back home to Boston for the holidays. The reason? I had too many fresh bruises that were noticeable. Looking back on it, I wish I had flown to Boston because that was the last Christmas my mother ever saw…

You were there for the funeral and had been a gentleman to me all week. Opening my doors, pulling out my chairs and there to dry my crying eyes. The same eyes that swelled from your closed fists and all the hurt that you’ve caused. You embraced me in your arms -- killing me with your unimaginable charm. Three months later you asked if I would marry you and I said yes.

We wedded privately -- I didn’t even invite my family because I was too afraid of what they might think or say. It hurt me to have to do that, but I posted the pictures to my Facebook account anyway. I figured that the attention was all I needed to convince me that I was happy because I really wasn’t. Days after we eloped, during our honeymoon, I went through your phone and saw text messages from your ex-girlfriend and that was when I lost it.

That night, you knocked my both of my front teeth into the back of my throat and had the audacity to dial 9-1-1.

“Ma’am, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I fell. Mind your business.”

For close to ten years, I tried to give you a baby, but God wouldn’t accept your seed. The whole time, I thought it was me and something I had done. Meanwhile, while you were away making babies elsewhere, I cried myself to sleep at night, feeling inadequate. Sometimes I’d dream of holding onto a faceless child.

My world was empty. I wore a mask inside of my own home -- the one place I should feel safe and secure. After our fights, I’d vacuum pieces of my hair from our rug and wipe away blood stains from the walls after I had threatened to leave or you drank too heavy. In the shower, I’d wail for hours until there was no more hot water, as I tried to rinse your venomous semen from my body. I prayed and asked God to take my life but instead, my God did something else remarkable for me.

On February 4, 2017, God blessed me with twin angels. You promised once again to change for the better and said that Soraya and Madison would be the turning point in our lives that we needed. I thanked God for my two babies and believe it or not, I thanked God for you, too. In my final attempt to reconcile with my past, I thought that forgiving you and that living according to the word would be all the faith I needed to raise my two little girls, but I was wrong.

In April of that year, you did it again. Only this time, while I was holding Soraya in my arms. I did as the bible suggested which was to turn the other cheek and watched as you stormed out of the house that morning on your way to work. By then, I was numb and used to your antics. Living on eggshells was just a part of the world I had become familiar with. Then, after you left for work, the most amazing thing happened to me later that day.

As blood trickled down my sore face, falling past my shattered heart and onto the forehead of my precious Soraya, my little girl giggled. I wasn’t laughing, though. That morning, I looked down at Soraya and saw what everybody else had seen throughout the years, but me. How dare that I explain to my girls someday that it’s ok to wear lipstick to cover up a busted mouth? Glasses to conceal swollen eyes? Or to cover up a broken heart with expensive clothing, pretending that life is good? No! Goddammit! No more! That was the day I decided that I had a responsibility to live for my two girls.

You came home later that night to an empty house and two uniformed police officers waiting for you to show up. Whereas some of your beatings before when the cops said that it was no evidence to support my claims of domestic abuse, the universe bled me so that others could see your wrath.

I guess it took me long enough for me to arrive at this conclusion, but I am gone. You see, unlike my mother, God rest her soul, who leapt from one bad train to another until her tired heart couldn’t take it anymore, I’ve got a lot of life to left to live. The buck stops here; I want my girls to grow up knowing that no relationship is worth all of that. In other words, it’s better for me to have no man at all, than to have no man at all.

I am gone

The end


To my beautiful wife. Thank you for believing in me throughout this entire journey. Our love for one another keeps us bonded, but it was the spirit that drew me into you and keeps me grounded.

To my mother, for instilling the importance of education in me at an early age and for never giving up on me.

Last but not least, Thank you to all of my fans and supporters for continuing to download my works and helping me strive to be better.

Get to know the author

Born in Washington, D.C., Nathaniel began journaling early throughout his teenage years before discovering his passion for writing. Thus far, Nathaniel has self-published several short story titles under both the non-fiction and creative-fiction genres.

Last year, Nathaniel self-published Stroke of Luck, a tear-jerking account about his wife's battle to overcome a cryptogenic ischemic stroke. The book was widely praised and went viral, eventually earning the newlywed couple a segment on WJLAs Good Morning Washington, News Channel 8. Since the exposure, Nathaniel and his wife, together, volunteer their free time to speak publicly about their story, hoping to raise awareness of the onset of stroke in young adults.

Other books by this author

Engaged and soon to wed, author Nathaniel Christian IV narrates his fiancé’s struggle to regain her quality of life after suffering a brain-stem stroke just six months before their big day.

Stroke of Luck (Nonfiction)

The young lives of two best friends are forever changed when money comes between them in this urban drama taking place on the streets of Southern California in 1990.

Little Brother (Urban fiction)

A 30's something, dark-haired, phenom commands readers attention as she describes her journey to an earth shattering "O" in this exciting erotica fantasy by author Nathaniel Christian IV

P#ssy, Prose & Satin (Adult literature)

A mistress's startling revelation shatters plans for a wedding scheduled in two weeks.

Thirsty (Adult literature)

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