Brave: How I rebuilt my life after love turned to hate

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Brave: How I rebuilt my life after love turned to hate
Adele Bellis

Control. Jealousy. Isolation. Blame. Anger. Violence.The inspiring true story of a young woman who suffered a terrifyingly abusive relationship culminating in a horrific acid attack from the man who claimed to love her.Adele was just 23 years old when she was scarred for life by an acid attack arranged by her ex-boyfriend, Anthony. The attack left her partially bald and she lost her right ear. This was Anthony’s attempt to stop her from ever being attractive to another man – a final act of ‘control’ over her and the horrific end to a terrifying case of domestic abuse.The acid attack came after she had ended her relationship of several years with Anthony Riley, the man who said he couldn’t live without her. Anthony Riley was convicted in October 2015 and was sentenced to a minimum of 13 years in prison.This is Adele’s brave story, the story of one woman’s incredible fight to recover from the most appalling injuries and to decide that she would not be controlled, she would be strong.

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Copyright (#u5267be30-3979-51c5-bacd-7dff8fa89951)

Certain details in this book, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect those involved.

HarperElement

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First published by HarperElement 2016

FIRST EDITION

© Adele Bellis 2016

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

Front cover portrait © Johnny Ring; newspaper headlines © News Syndication

A catalogue record of this book is

available from the British Library

Adele Bellis asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008182090

Ebook Edition © September 2016 ISBN: 9780008182083

Version: 2016-09-14

Contents

Cover (#uff2d8e23-6dfd-5ba2-b3e0-2df903424b8e)

Title Page (#ulink_f54a8f78-b2c9-5035-b878-fd12c145104a)

Copyright (#ulink_ea45f9c8-a0f9-50e8-a94f-e258bba52f1d)

Prologue (#ulink_0e0fe6f0-b47e-54be-a61b-9ae4c764a748)

1 Intensity (#ulink_aaf5b6db-7abc-5c02-b449-2202ddc55439)

2 Control (#ulink_8a57b196-0fd6-55cb-903c-7818b1a9026f)

3 Jealousy (#ulink_86a96dbb-8ea4-5400-9aaf-a73d4cd41f43)

4 Isolation (#ulink_31b00e08-2bb8-5241-9b69-e2234960d32a)

5 Criticism (#ulink_68bd49bc-3ef8-57d0-acd1-630ea8e11152)

6 Blame (#ulink_8ef9b27d-7545-5bb4-af94-8bc1ed6bc7d9)

7 Sabotage (#ulink_0fd505f4-7ff0-521f-9279-e6d9c6c0899d)

8 Anger (#ulink_ce415a28-490b-5320-ab7d-4252cdb31ffe)

9 Hostage (#ulink_bb47d24d-4d5c-5623-b4fa-09f984cf4ed3)

10 Revenge (#ulink_e1918d2e-1f4d-5315-aac6-7835385d7436)

11 The Attack (#ulink_6de378de-0981-5f72-ba7e-f771996bdb86)

12 The Hospital (#ulink_0b3271af-ddd9-5d98-9bf6-21bbb7fdd09d)

13 The Recovery (#ulink_3b43817f-72fd-5042-8e00-4fddb7201839)

14 The Court Case (#ulink_24c6e0bd-2eef-535a-802a-1624c5797fc4)

15 A Real Future (#ulink_94b52b00-69b4-5547-af53-2d419d17d03d)

Acknowledgements (#ulink_4411df23-77f7-5087-8853-7cd6ae01a066)

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#u6541d139-c712-5947-98dd-067905631fe7)

About the Publisher (#uc7833ca0-432b-5d1d-848c-b4778c8537d9)

Prologue (#u5267be30-3979-51c5-bacd-7dff8fa89951)

There was smoke, I remember that. As I ran into the road, my body consumed by pain, my flesh, my hair, my clothes were actually smoking. The rest of it still comes to me in flashes … The eyes of my assailant, a look of pure evil in those deep, dark pupils buried between his hoody and the black scarf covering his mouth and nose.

I can still remember those first horrifying split seconds, that exact moment when I realised that the liquid that was dripping down my hair and through my skin wasn’t water, but something much, much worse. And by the time my brain had scrambled enough sense to find a name for it – acid – every nerve in my body was screaming in pain.

I remember the old woman who I ran to. Moments before, she had just been any other person waiting for a bus and she could now have been my saviour. Except that when I grabbed her hands, pleading – begging – for her to help me, she looked down at her own flesh where the acid from my skin had seeped into hers and she cried out terrified as she watched her own flesh disappear.

I remember screaming for water.

I remember running into the road, weaving among the traffic, trying to get away from myself.

I remember feeling my ear melting from my face. I remember the sense of it shrinking and shrivelling on the side of my head. And the smell, I remember the smell, but I couldn’t describe it here on these pages. The smell of your own face melting is not something anyone should ever have to attempt to conjure up in their mind. Not that part of an act of pure evil.

Yet among all that pain, that searing, scorching-level pain, I knew exactly who was responsible. My brain cut through that raging heat, the white fire that seemed to engulf every nerve in my body and reminded me of one name.

I remember that name more than anything.

I was struggling so hard to survive, just to live, not to melt away, although that’s what I was doing in that moment; running like a wild woman into the road, seeing the horrified faces of strangers who had stopped to help and now ran from me to save their own skin. Literally.

But say I’d been able to pause that scene. Say I could have stopped it there and then, just for a minute, just for a second, I could have had one logical thought that wasn’t consumed by pain. I’ve no doubt as to what it would have been. I would have thought: how did our love come to this?