Why I Married A Sociopath

Part II of The Girlzilla Robberies.

When I talk to other married men they often say something like “I married for love.” Not me. My wife has never told me she loves me. After seducing, tasering, and drugging me, she stole almost five million dollars from my house. Money I’d worked for a decade to accumulate.

After robbing me, she and her partners took off for the central American country of Panama. It took five years of detective work to find her. And another two years to convince her to marry me.

Long ago, I escaped the streets of Bogota, Colombia, to make a life in America. Success came easy to me. I had more money than I could spend. It was equally easy for me to fit in when I followed Jozefien to Panama. I speak the language and understand the culture.

I cannot explain how I fell in love with a woman who is not capable of loving me in return. A woman who tricked me and robbed me. My name is Alberto Montoya. I am married to a sociopath.

It started in Corona, California. A suburb of Los Angeles. A perfect place for a man like me to succeed in the import business. One of the unfortunate side effects of my chosen career: I work on a cash only basis and cannot keep my money in a bank. It would have been impossible to explain where the money came from and why I didn’t pay income taxes.

I thought the row of fireproof cabinets, behind the false wall in my house, would protect my money. It didn’t. Robbing me was child’s play for Jozefien.

Four young ladies moved into the house across the street from me. I immediately noticed the stunning blonde. The wheels started turning in my head. I would have to find an excuse to talk to her. I saw one of her roommates working on a car in the driveway. I figured, if I get to know her, she can introduce me to the blonde. My interests changed quickly.

The woman was tall, and looked like she could handle the tires she was unbolting from the car. Her face was covered with freckles and she had strong features. Not the beauty queen type, like her roommate. But you’d pick her if you were putting together a basketball team.

Once, I visited the aquarium in Santa Monica. If you’ve ever looked a shark in the eyes, you’ll know what it felt like when I met Jozefien.

The first words my wife said to me were, “I didn’t give you permission to come on my property.” The look on her face made me forget about her roommate. I’d never met a woman who clearly had no fear of me, or apparently, anyone.

And I’ll never forget what she said next. I introduced myself, gave her my best smile, and asked “What will happen if I come on your property without permission?” She pulled a hammer and a hacksaw out of her tool chest and said, “After I’ve knocked you unconscious, I’ll cut off your thumbs. It will hurt a lot after you wake up, if you haven’t already bled to death.”

That was it. I was in love.

I managed to convince her to let me help with the tires. But I struck out after that. No date, no phone number, no second chance. I assumed I was done with her and the ladies across the street. I had no idea how wrong I was.

One evening, my phone rang. It was Jozefien. She invited herself over. The thing about sociopathic women and sex. They have absolutely no inhibitions or hangups. When I woke up the next morning, I knew she was the one. No ordinary woman would do after that.

Usually I am very cautious about how I conduct my business. There are many risks in the import business and one misstep can lead to a problem that can’t be fixed. Jozefien caught me off guard. I was focused on her and washing dishes after breakfast. My assistant showed up, with the morning delivery.

After the incredible experience of the night before, I was no frame of mind to realize the threat Jozefien posed to me. I asked her to stay in the bedroom while I conducted business with Jonathan. I did not know she was peeking around the door. She saw me placing the package he brought in the hidden closet. Even though she didn’t see much, she had no trouble guessing what I kept in the row of cabinets.

She left after a spectacular kiss. And a story about her working in Dallas for a few months. When the phone rang and she said she would be back in town, I couldn’t wait. We had three glorious days together. She knew exactly how to distract me. I didn’t see the taser coming. When I woke up from being drugged, Jozefien and my money were gone.

At first, I was furious. I vowed to find her, and kill her. But I am not the type of man to hold a grudge. And I am very good at making money. I began to rebuild my fortune. My anger subsided with time. But not my emotions. I realized, my desire to find her had nothing to do with revenge. Despite everything, I was madly in love with Jozefien.

Finding someone who has disappeared is no easy task. Jozefien is not much of a talker. She’d never told me her last name. I didn’t know where she was from. She’d never let me take a picture of her.

Fortunately, I am in the import business. I have contacts in a number of different countries. And my contacts have contacts. We have an informal network that spans much of the globe and we are always willing to help a brother out, for a price. I had money to spend.

And I did have a photograph of her, of sorts. The night she first called me, it was a few hours after what was being called the Girlzilla Robbery. The story was on the news while I was cooking supper. I heard the broadcast but didn’t see the footage. I completely forgot about the robbery when the phone rang and it was Jozefien.

There was followup story on the news, on the first anniversary of the robbery. This time, I was in front of the TV, on the couch. They showed the surveillance footage. I jumped up and spilled my drink when I saw the woman, firing a shotgun into the ceiling of the bank. Despite the grainy image, makeup, and wig, I know Jozefien when I see her. Everything fell into place. I had been the victim of an experienced, successful gang of robbers.

That just made me want her more. I copied a photo from the story on the station’s website and emailed it to the people in my network.

Every few days, someone would send me photographs. Months rolled into years as I looked at hundreds of women who weren’t her.

In the end, Jozefien gave herself away. The day I met her, I could tell by the tools she had, and the way she moved around that vehicle. She knew exactly what she was doing. I was fairly certain, no matter where she was, she was somehow involved with cars. She had to be doing something with the money she stole from me. In the emails I sent to my associates, I discussed her prowess as a mechanic, and her interest in automobiles.

I was right. Soon after Jozefien moved to Panama, she bought a car. And turned it into a drag racer. It did not take long for her to work her way into the street culture. A tall, freckle faced American woman stands out anywhere she goes. When my contact happened on her at a street race, he was certain she was who I was looking for. I packed and headed to the airport after I saw the photograph he sent.

As I drove to her house, I thought about what would happen after I knock on the door. I contemplated the odds of getting shot. I figured it was about 50-50. I knew better than to carry a weapon, even though I was certain she would have one. She was the woman I loved. I couldn’t hurt her. On the other hand, she wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in me.

Sure enough, there was a Glock pointed at my chest when she opened the door. I had rehearsed this moment for years and did my best to stay calm. I followed her instructions. She asked questions. I answered. And waited for the opportunity to drop the line I hoped would break the ice.

When she asked me why I was there, I said, “It’s quite simple. For a man like me, making money is trivial. It did not take long to get back on my feet after your little stunt. On the other hand, meeting a woman like you? It only happened once.”

The shark look in her eye softened a bit. I moved in for the kill. “So, I just have one question, Jozefien. Should I get in the car and return to the airport?”

It worked. She put down the gun. We’ve been together ever since.

Loving a sociopath is potentially dangerous. But in some ways, it is simple. She has no emotional attachments to other humans. She couldn’t care less if I remember her birthday or our anniversary. Life has come down to one thing for me. Not doing anything to give Jozefien the shark eye.

When in public with their spouse, some men feel protective, or maybe jealous. I have neither concern. Jozefien can take care of herself, she doesn’t need me. We’ve been together for years and I’m still not certain why she tolerates me. I have no reason to believe she has ever given another man one moment’s consideration.

My only concern, when out with my wife, is for the safety of others. I do not want to have to explain to the police why Jozefien beat up or shot someone who pissed her off.

This is not a theoretical concern. Jozefien had already proven herself in the street racing world of Panama City. Those that crossed her tended to underestimate her. She used that to her advantage and made them pay for their mistake. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

When Raul and his cronies showed up at race night, nobody warned them about Jozefien. They made a big deal out of betting against her. They talked a lot of trash before the race, and unfortunately for them, Jozefien lost. Raul thought that was pretty funny and rubbed it in. He didn’t know he had already sealed his fate.

The next race, Jozefien made a bee line for Raul. She had a smile on her face as she pulled a wad of cash out of her pocket and waved it in his face. “How about it, are you man enough to take a thousand dollars off of me? I say I win my race tonight.”

Raul laughed and said, “You’re on, b***h. I’ve got your thousand covered.”

Jozefien put the money back in her pocket, as slowly as she’d pulled it out. Raul was giving her his best ear to ear macho grin. When her hand came back out of her pocket, it wasn’t moving slowly, and it wasn’t empty.

The chunk of steel she’d machined in her shop fit her hand perfectly. And it was heavy. When she punched Raul in the stomach, the blow knocked the breath out of him. He collapsed on the street.

That was with her left hand. Her right hand aimed a can of pepper spray at Raul’s posse and got all three of the men in the eyes. She clocked the first one in the stomach just like Raul, and he went down. The other two ran off. She turned her attention to Raul.

I was watching all of this. It only took a few seconds. By the time I realized, my woman is in a brawl, she had mounted Raul and was pounding his face bloody with her fists. When I pulled Jozefien off of him, he was unconscious.

Raul and his boys disappeared. I don’t know anyone who crossed Jozefien twice. On the way home that evening, I was having a hard time reading her. I wasn’t sure if she was mad at me for pulling her off of Raul. As usual, she showed no emotion. She didn’t look or act like a woman who had just beaten the crap out of four men.

I was stunned by what she said when we settled into the couch. “Alberto, I owe you one. I appreciate what you did tonight. I would have gone too far if you hadn’t intervened.”

That was amazing. It had been two years since she’d allowed me to move in with her. After all that time together, and countless romantic nights, that was the first time I’d ever heard Jozefien say my name.

Not one to pass up an opportunity, I asked the question she’d declined four times already. “Jozefien, will you marry me?”

I was floored when she laughed and said yes.

A woman in a successful marriage takes her relationship and her husband very seriously. My friend’s wives often brag about their husbands. I also hear about the problems. Through all the good and bad, marriage is important to women. Most of them.

I would recommend against asking Jozefien a question about me, or about being married. She would probably get the shark look. To her, I am a useful tool. She doesn’t like to talk about her tools.

Jozefien is quite passionate in the right circumstances. I’ve got good reasons to put up with the extreme behavior she exhibits at other times. I’ve learned I don’t need romantic small talk to be happy. This is how she finally said “Yes”, when I asked for the fifth time:

“Sure, I’ll marry you. You’re the only man I’ve ever met that doesn’t constantly piss me off.”

The night of our wedding was glorious. Despite the emotional detachment that was her trademark, the ceremony and the commitment had to mean something to her. The next morning, this is how she greeted me. “I’ve decided, if I ever get tired of you, I won’t kill you. I’ll just make you go away.”

With time I’ve learned better how to keep my mouth shut. Not then. “But Jozefien, I’d rather be dead than live without you.”

The shark look told me I’d fucked up. She laughed and said, “Sorry Charlie, this isn’t about you.”

Even with behavior like that, the advantage of being married to a sociopath is evident. In some relationships, this kind of confrontation may impact the relationship for days, months, or even permanently. You never know what will tip the scales in something as complicated as a marriage.

But I knew, Jozefien forgot about it as soon as the words had come out of her mouth. She had won, and it was over. My wife lives strictly in the present. To her, the past is gone after it happens.

I am learning how to not push my wife’s buttons. It isn’t that complicated. I just have to be smart. At best, I am Jozefien’s favorite tool. I will never be anything more. As long as I keep that in perspective, I’ll be okay.

Somehow, I have survived several bone stupid episodes. The worst was the time I asked Jozefien if she and her friends were the Girlzilla robbers. I knew they were, but we had never talked about it.

I’d never seen the shark look so intently. It was like Death was in front of me, face to face. She spoke calmly. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll answer your question truthfully. But then I’ll give you ten minutes to pack and get out of my house forever. Or, you can agree to never ask the question again.”

It goes without saying how that turned out.

So I knew I was in trouble, a few months later, when she came to me with a grin on her face. “Remember that time you asked about the Girlzilla robberies? The girls and I have been talking. Alberto, we’re bored…”