We were going to a club in NYC for NYE. I was really excited about it and so was he, we were looking forward to this since last year when we went to one of these venues. Last year was absolutely magical. And I was so thrilled to spend it with him. Shit started hitting the fan when I forgot my ID and we almost missed the train and he started getting mad at me and speeding in the car. (he always speeds, calls people faggots and cunts on the road, gets really pissed off) Anyway, we make the train and we go to the club.
We both get WASTED. The most wasted I've ever been in my life, because my boyfriend likes to steal drinks because we're under 21. Yeah, it's fucked up, but he never had an issue with stealing from people. So me being drunk already off of some beers he brought, didn't care where the alcohol came from and just guzzled the shit down with him. At one point I went to the bathroom and asked him to wait for me, and when I came back he mentioned that some girl complimented his hat (some new years hat he was wearing). This made my OCD spike again and i started getting really nervous and asking all the questions again.
He went to the same club over the summer so i asked him if anything happened last year and he vehemently said no. I kept pushing and he told me I should be grateful he even mentioned it, and I got mad saying that he's supposed to tell me these things (we had agreed that if a girl flirts with him he would let me know, and vice versa) I kept pushing it and he blurts out "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" at the top of his lungs.
Then he slaps me. In front of everyone at the club. I was so drunk but I remember seeing some people staring, their mouths agape. I kept pushing him with my questions and arguing and he slapped me again, I think three times total. Then he stormed off and I had to follow him through the crowd, begging him to come back. Then at some point, I can't remember when or what I said, he punched me in the stomach. Hard enough for me to keel over a little and feel pain for a few minutes. And at that point, a bouncer came over to him and saw he was underage with a drink and started escorting him out of the club.
I followed blindly, being shocked that this was happening. My boyfriend told me I was a stupid bitch because I got him kicked out of the club. I told him it wasn't my fault that he had a cup of alcohol in his hand and he was underage. And that HE punched ME. The bouncer said I could go back in the club if I wanted to. All these guys outside started mumbling, "What a douchebag" "She should get a new boyfriend" "Go back in there! Forget about him!" and all that stuff. They seemed genuinely concerned, I was a wreck crying, my boyfriend livid as he hurled more insults at me.
Then once we got our coats back, we left. My boyfriend walked briskly in front of me, kicking one of the iron gates that they put up to block the streets, making some women scream who were getting into a taxi. I follow after him, begging him to come back, but he screams SHUT THE FUCK UP! at me again and keeps storming off. He tells me I'm a fucking bitch again. He kicks a trash can over and it lands on the pavement with a loud clatter that I'm sure everyone could hear. We turn a corner and then the world stops.
My world stops.
The rest of this feels like a movie.
Three cops are walking down the sidewalk toward us. Two of them surround him and go "hey hey hey don't move" and then one of them pushes me away from him. At this point I'm in tears, screaming at my boyfriend, he's hurling insults at me. They separate us and my boyfriend--the man who wants to work on Wallstreet, the man who goes to one of the best universities in the country, has never done drugs, wears only button downs and khakis, is standing there dumbfounded as he gets injected with a dose of reality. His hands are cuffed. I am staring at the man I once revered, once thought was so much better than me, in handcuffs, as the officers berate him for abusing me.
I look at him and start screaming (I was really belligerent at this point) yelling "YOU PUNCHED ME IN THE STOMACH! YOU GAVE ME BRUISES BEFORE! YOU HURT ME ALL THE TIME!" and my boyfriend stares at me wide-eyed, begging me to shut up so he won't get in trouble, but I was too upset to even think about hiding it from the cops. They start calling him a piece of shit and try to get me to calm down, I'm apologizing excessively for being a nuisance, I'm crying. They ask me if I want to press charges. They can have him arrested, right then and there.
I say no. I don't want him to be arrested. It would ruin his life. They take me back in a cop car, I give my boyfriend one last look of anger and complete betrayal as I see them uncuff him and let him go on his way. I get driven to the local station, end up talking to a nice officer for 2 hours while I fill out a domestic harassment report. He tells me that he would have arrested my boyfriend but since they let him go, they can't. And that if I didn't keep changing my story (I didn't want to get him in trouble) that he would have been arrested right then and there.
The police officers said they would have roughed him up too. According to my mom (who came to pick me up from Connecticut, an hour drive away...imagine getting a phone call that your daughter is at the police station at 1 in the morning!) the guy said they were going to "have fun" with him because they hate men who abuse women.
TL;DR: Boyfriend punches and slaps me in a club on New Years, gets kicked out, cops find him outside yelling at me and handcuff him, I decide not to press charges