Jealous brute

Brute threw our cat out of the window, then turned on me

The bar was heaving. It was Boxing Day night last year, and there was one face that kept catching my eye… I knew Daryl Mathews, 28, through friends. Good looking, with the gift of the gab, he was just my type.

‘Let me buy you a drink,’ he smiled.

The bar was owned by my mum Charlie, then 49, and I was lending a helping hand. ‘Maybe later,’ I told him. Over the next few days, I couldn’t get Daryl off my mind. A single mum-of-three, I hadn’t had much luck with men. But Daryl made my heart flutter.

When he wasn’t working as a welder, he was at the gym. And it showed. His rippling muscles sent my pulse racing.

Over the New Year, we began exchanging flirty messages.

Weeks later, we met for drinks – and, before long, we became a couple.

Inseparable, Daryl spoiled me rotten, buying me gifts, taking me for dinner…

He made a real fuss of my kids, too. And we soon moved in together.

So then it was just me, Daryl, the kids, and our little kitten Rainbow.

Perfect.

In July, Daryl and I went for drinks with some mates, while the kids stayed over with friends.

Daryl knocked back drink after drink and, before long, he was very drunk. I’d had enough, so I called a cab.

‘Come on, let’s get you home,’ I said to Daryl. In the taxi, I got chatting to the driver.

He’d driven me home before, and we always had a good natter. There was nothing in it.

But, back at the flat, Daryl went berserk.

‘Are you sleeping with the driver?’ he yelled. I tried to calm him down, but he was convinced I was having an affair. Shouting and screaming, he picked up a vase and threw it down the hallway.

There was a crash as it shattered into pieces. ‘Daryl!’ I yelled. ‘Please stop!’ But he was like a monster, possessed. As he marched around the living room, he caught sight of little Rainbow.

Still raging, he grabbed her and opened the window. ‘No!’ I screamed. But he tossed Rainbow out onto our first-floor balcony. I ran and peered out. It wasn’t far, so, thankfully, she seemed OK.

But the poor little mite was shaken, and whimpering to get back inside.

Only, instead of letting her in, Daryl reached out and threw her into the air, and I could only watch in horror as Rainbow tumbled to the street below.

My heart lurched.

It was a long way down...

Choking back sobs, I ran to th the balcony and saw Rainbow ly lying motionless on the pa pavement below. Daryl found it hilarious. ‘Well, that’s it! Your cat’s d dead now,’ he sneered.

I felt sick with shock and d devastation. But then Rainbow b began to wriggle to her feet.

By some miracle, she was s still alive.

Racing downstairs, I scooped h her up into my arms and took h her back inside, hiding her in m my bedroom.

But Daryl knew that, by h hurting Rainbow, he was h hurting me. So he suddenly m made a grab for her.

I stood in his way, and he p punched me hard on the top of the leg.

As I fell to my knees, he

I watched in horror as Rainbow tumbled to the street…

kicked me. And, much as it hurt, I wasn’t surprised.

If he’d been willing to hurt innocent Rainbow, then nobody was safe. I was just glad the kids weren’t there.

I tried to stagger to my feet, but Daryl threw a hammer at me, narrowly missing my head.

He’s going to kill me,

I thought, panicking.

Then he kept pushing me, spitting at me, throwing drinks over me… Horrific.

Eventually, he stopped, fell asleep. But I was too scared to call the police – and, anyway, my phone had been broken during the attack.

Next day, Daryl erupted again over nothing. He was throwing drinks, knives, glasses, hitting me, kicking things over. He even sprayed aerosols everywhere, knowing that I was asthmatic and it’d irritate my lungs.

Then he went into the bathroom and I heard water gushing from all the taps.

He was purposely trying to flood the place to cause even more mess.

I grabbed a mop and bucket, but water had already started seeping into the flat below.

Moments later, my landlord knocked on the door. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘Just get out!’ Daryl yelled. But the landlord must’ve phoned the police because, next thing, an officer knocked.

‘Is everything all right here?’ he asked. ‘Of course,’ I said nervously. But I stared at the police officer, pleading silently with my eyes. I hoped he might see the bruises on my arms and legs, smell the cider and lager Daryl had poured in my hair.

The officer handed me an ipad and asked me to sign electronically, so the incident could be closed. This is my chance, I thought. Hands shaking, I scrawled Help me on the screen, and handed it back.

Seeing my message, the poli police offi officer walk walked into the fl flat and asked Daryl to leave. As soon as he was gone, I broke down. My nightmare was over. Outside, Daryl was arrested. Shaken, I gave a statement, and, at hospital, my injuries were seen to. Fortunately, other than a few cuts and bruises, I was OK. And, to my relief, Rainbow was unscathed, too.

In September, Daryl M Mathews appeared at L Liverpool Crown Court.

He pleaded guilty to coercive o or controlling behaviour, two a assaults by beating, and ill t treatment of an animal.

He was jailed for 10 months and handed a seven-year restraining order.

So he’ll be back on the street in months. His sentence is nowhere near enough.

He put me through hours of hell, savagely attacked me. Even my poor, innocent kitten had borne the brunt of his vicious behaviour.

I’ve never been so scared. And I’ll never get over it.

I still suffer nightmares and flashbacks.

I thought Daryl was the perfect boyfriend.

But meeting him last Christmas turned out to be a nightmare.