It was when he hit me in the face. Then I said "That's it!", smacked him over the head a few more times to get him to stop (the bed is broken now from his tackle and the subsequent grappling), grabbed my cell phone, and left.
I told him I was calling the police (I didn't - I can always call them later). He stopped. I got a few things together (including my medication) and waited outside while I called my aunt and uncle.
I got paid recently. I still have most of my money. I have my pills, and good old Puppy, the stuffed dog. No cats, and I'm worried about them. They're tough, and Ron wouldn't dare hurt them, but I still worry.
Part of why I'm glad I'm away from him is the overwhelming homicidal urge to beat him …