My jealous boyfriend beat me and tore out my hair and held me hostage after I went to the cops

WHEN Alice Wilson, 27, met Joseph Emery, she was smitten - but things quickly soured.

Over the months to come he manipulated her, abused her colleagues and held her hostage for hours on end where he tore out her hair and beat her.

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He even sent her haunting messages threatening to stab her cat to death.

Eventually, Alice reported him to the police but before they could he he pinned her down and the torrent of abuse began again.

She luckily escaped Joe's grasp and was arrested and jailed for the horrors he had committed.

Now Alice, 27, from Sunderland from, bravely shares her story with Fabulous Digital.

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"I got the job," I told my boyfriend Joe.

His response: "I wonder how many men you’ll sleep with at your new office."

Two years earlier I'd met Joe when we both worked as customer assistants at Sky and had quickly become close friends.

We went on a couple of dates, but it just didn’t seem right.

But he was persistent, and the following year he asked if he could take me out again. This time, the flutters I’d been missing overwhelmed me.

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So when Joe asked me to be his girlfriend weeks later, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. And just six months on, Joe moved into my flat.

But it wasn’t long before I began to feel suffocated.

I shared most of my work shifts with Joe. And now that we lived together too, I began to feel as if we were joined at the hip. So, I relished the odd day off without him.

Yet whenever I tried to relax, Joe would call me, demanding to know where I was. “Who are you with?” he’d seethe down the phone. “You’re with another man, I just know it.”

It broke my heart to think Joe didn’t trust me. He was all I wanted.

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But it seemed the more time we spent together, the more insecure he became. And in the weeks that followed, Joe became even more intense. “I don’t want you speaking to other men, full stop,” he’d sneer, snatching my phone away.

My closest friends were all boys, and Joe manipulated me into thinking that was somehow wrong – that I was betraying him for maintaining the friendships.

So although it broke my heart, I gave him my word that I wouldn’t talk to them anymore.

Still, Joe wasn’t satisfied. He continued to accuse me of cheating, even with strangers we saw on the street. “You’ve had sex with him, haven’t you?” he’d shout if I looked at another man.

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One Friday soon after, Joe said he was going out with some friends. I relished the thought of spending the night alone.

Joe stayed out all night, so I made the most of the following morning too – lounging in front of the telly in my pyjamas.

But then Joe staggered drunkenly into the house.

Then, taking a fistful of my hair, he dragged me off the bed and smashed my head against the floor.

Tearing my hair out in chunks, he dragged me out of the room. “You’re a f***ing slag,” he slurred, kicking me in the ribs with his Doc Marten boots.

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Then, as I looked on hopelessly, he began smashing up my flat. With one swift kick, he sent my glass coffee table flying through the TV screen. As it smashed, he simply continued his destruction of my home. Anything in his path was thrown to the floor, as he muttered furiously to himself.

Running for the bathroom, I rang my mum. And, just as she answered the phone, Joe began screaming hysterically in the next room.

“Please love, call the police,” she begged, horrified by what she had heard.

When Joe finally calmed down, I told him it was over and kicked him out .

Closing the door behind him, I collapsed in a heap on the floor. I couldn’t believe what had happened.

I was heartbroken to think my lovely boyfriend could be such a brute. But whilst his verbal abuse and accusations were one thing, I couldn’t tolerate violence.

But from the moment Joe walked through the door, I felt like I was living in a nightmare.

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I tried to move on with my life, but two weeks later, Joe called me. He told me he was getting medical help for his anger issues and begged for a second chance. “I promise I’ve changed, I could never hurt you again,” he said.

I told Joe he would have to earn my trust and agreed to let him take me out for my birthday. We had a fantastic night, and shortly after, I agreed to let him move back in with me.

But from the moment Joe walked through the door, I felt like I was living in a nightmare.

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He was more paranoid than ever and began to control of every aspect of my life.

I stopped asking if I could go out with my friends – it was never worth it if he said yes. He would bombard me with calls and texts all night, accusing me of sleeping around.

At home he’d pin me to the walls. “You’re a dirty, cheating s***,” he’d sneer, slapping me hard across the face.

Then, he’d hold me prisoner for hours on end, hiding my phone so I couldn’t call for help. “You deserve this, you filthy slag,” he’d say, throwing brutal punches at my face, neck and chest.

Slowly, Joe isolated me from every friend I had. I didn’t feel strong enough to walk away from him but knew something had to give.

So, I decided to apply for a new job in recruitment. At least if we don’t work together, I won’t have to spend all my time with him, I reasoned.

Slowly, Joe isolated me from every friend I had. I didn’t feel strong enough to walk away from him but knew something had to give.

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I was overjoyed when I was offered the job and hoped things would improve at home, too. But instead, Joe became possessed by the idea that I was sleeping with my new colleagues.

He would call the office, demanding to know which staff members were in work. He managed to track down a couple of my male colleagues on social media and even began threatening them

After a while I called the police and made a statement about Joe.

But the next time he snatched my phone, he saw the call in my log and flew into a fit of rage.

And six weeks on, I told him we were over – and this time, it was for good. “I’ll get help, I’ll change,” he vowed. But this time, his empty promises just weren’t good enough. He could manipulate me no longer.

In the days that followed Joe bombarded me with calls and texts. He even sent videos of himself, showing himself crying and begging for forgiveness. “There’s no going back this time Joe, we’re done,” I told him, proud of my strength.

But he started texting my sister Have ya told ya c*** of a sister to wind her neck in cause I will honestly break her f***ing ugly c*** face, it read.

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And, stupidly the next time he turned up at my home, I buzzed him in.

As soon as he was through the door, the red mist descended. Grabbing me by the throat, Joe forced me to the floor, pinning me down.

“You’re a f***ing nasty slag,” he spat. “I bet all your friends are laughing at me now, you’ve ruined my life.” Then he punched me in the face.

Before I could beg him to stop, he pulled me to my feet by my hair, pulling out a huge clump. Then, grabbing the back of my head, he smashed my face into the living room wall, before pulling me back and repeating the sickening action again and again.

For four hours, Joe held me hostage. He confiscated my phone so that I couldn’t even call for help.

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“Please Joe, stop,” I pleaded. Instead he dragged me to the sofa, where he pinned me down and strangled me until I blacked out.

For four hours, Joe held me hostage. He confiscated my phone so that I couldn’t even call for help. Then, Joe continued to beat me – my desperate pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears.

Suddenly, Joe stopped his attack. “I’m so sorry for hurting you,” he said.

It felt like days passed as Joe abused me until, finally, he seemed to calm down. “Move your bed in front of your door so you can’t escape,” he ordered. “I’m staying the night.”
Eventually, Joe began to snore – and I saw my opportunity to escape. Still wearing my pyjamas and slippers,

I snuck out of the door and ran as fast as I could.

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I called the police who took my phone. Joe had sent a series of messages.

A photograph of my beloved cat and a kitchen knife had been sent to my phone, alongside the harrowing ultimatum: "Two options right now, I kill the cat and myself or you come back home."

At first, Joe claimed I’d inflicted the injuries upon myself. But he later changed his story to one even more ludicrous – that he was to blame, but they had been inflicted during kinky sex. The very thought made my stomach churn.

Eventually, he admitted assault and sending malicious communication.

At Newcastle Crown Court Joseph Emery, 29, from County Durham, was sentenced to 18 months imprisonment, suspended for two years, with rehabilitation requirements, a 12-month evening curfew and a five-year restraining order.

Judge Julie Clemitson told Emery: “She was absolutely petrified of you. You made reference to a lady tragically murdered by her partner and that can only have added to her fear.”

Now, I am sharing my story in the hope I can encourage other victims of domestic violence and abusive partners to walk away before an abusive situation escalates.

I brushed over so many red flags and, looking back, I wish with all my heart I hadn’t. In doing so, I allowed this to happen to myself.

I sincerely hope my story will be a clear warning to other young women.

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