[EXCLUSIVE] Read the First 2 Chapters of La Toya Jackson's Book

LaToya Jackson is starting over 

Page 5 of 11

he had good days and bad days. Maybe this was a bad day. Or, maybe there was no explanation, and he was just mean. I couldn’t understand how he could live with himself after doing such horrendous things to me.

The beating went on and on. He kept kicking me, until there was blood everywhere. I was bleeding from my face, stomach, and vaginal area. As the blood spread around me on the floor, I drifted in and out of consciousness. I came to when he finally stopped beating me. That’s when I heard him talking about how he thought he had killed me.

My blood was everywhere. As I lay there, motionless, the woman who was our live-in help got a towel and wiped up the evidence of what Gordon had done to me. She immediately washed the towel in the washing machine, so no one could see how badly I had been hurt. I’m dying, and she’s already helping him to cover up the evidence, I thought.

Gordon had hired this woman to be my assistant and housekeeper, but I knew her real purpose was to watch me for him. Still, we spent a great deal of time together, and I was always pleasant to her, even though I didn’t trust her. What hurt me more than anything else that night was the fact that she did nothing to protect or help me. Just like all of the other workers, she was Gordon’s friend from Las Vegas, where he had a great deal of power thanks to his little mob connections and other shady dealings. Before I met him, he served six months in prison for attempting to bribe the then-Chairman of the Nevada Gaming Commission Harry Reid, and he was later suspected of putting a car bomb on Reid’s car. So this woman was completely on Gordon’s side, and probably feared him as much as I did.

I was in so much pain that it was hard for me to focus. The next thing I knew, several policemen entered the room. That must have been the phone call that Gordon made. But I couldn’t figure out why he called them, when he would surely get in trouble. Then, I became aware of an object in my hand. I had no idea how it had gotten there.

One of the police officers squatted down near me, so he could check my injuries and question me. I tried to focus on his face as he spoke, but everything was blurred.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

I knew better than to tell the truth because Gordon had often warned me that if I ever spoke of his abuse to anyone, he would kill me, or even worse, kill Michael.

But I didn’t have to say anything. “Who did this to you?” he asked again. “I did it,” Gordon said. “Put your hands behind your back,” one of the cops said to Gordon. “You’re under arrest. You’re going to jail.”

They didn’t know Gordon like I did. He had prepared for this. He pointed to the knife someone had put in my hand. “She came after me with a knife,” he said. “It was self defense.” I couldn’t believe he would try to assassinate me, and then my character, in an attempt

to avoid blame for his awful abuse, on top of everything else he had done to me that night. I would never have come after him with a knife, even to save my own life, and he knew it. I wanted to shout out that it wasn’t true, but I could barely breathe, let alone speak. And of course, I never would have dared to disobey Gordon, especially in front of the police. Luckily, the cops weren’t impressed with his story, and they handcuffed him and led him away.

Gordon knew better than to threaten me in front of the police officers, but he gave me a warning look that told me I’d better not say a word, OR ELSE. Those of you who have been through abuse, or are going through it now, know what those unspoken words meant: I’d get a worse beating than the one I had just received if I didn’t obey him. Not that he needed to warn me. Like so many victims of domestic abuse, I always protected my abuser. Even after he left the room, it was as if he was still watching me.

I was certain I was dying. My ribs felt broken, and the pain in my sides forced me to take short, shallow breaths. Big chunks of blood were coming out of me and forming new puddles on the floor.

And still, I was covering up for Gordon. I didn’t want to answer any questions. I didn’t want to go to the hospital. I just wanted everyone to go away,