Content warning: This story mentions rape and assault.
I wrote this last semester on a past relationship of mine, but I never felt strong enough to put it into the world. Now I feel very proud of it and wanted to share my story. I will be one year “no contact” next week. This could sound silly to some, but it’s still a challenge some days. I hope this can help anyone in a similar situation know that there is a way out. It will be lonely, depressing, and difficult. But, I am here to say it is worth it.
—
Every time you cheat on me, I somehow find forgiveness. I’ve lost count now, I’d guess it’s been five or six times. I wish you had never made me get attached to you. I was independent, full of life and laughter before you changed me. Now it feels like my life won’t exist without yours. That’s why I can’t say goodbye yet. You’re still trying to convince me we will be with each other forever, but “we shouldn’t put a label on us right now.” I’m numb to your excuses and manipulation tactics. We both know you’re lying. You’d never change for me. We could never end up together. But I’ll see how long I can last.
—
I wanted to use up a gift card I had gotten for Christmas. My phone buzzing against the dressing room bench was the only sound that filled the room. I ignored it. I looked down moments later to see my dad calling for the second time. Usually, he calls for silly reasons that never deserve a second call. When I pick up, he doesn’t say hello.
“Is your phone blowing up?” he says.
I answer, “No?”, confused.
“He was arrested for rape and assault.”
Silence.
I sit down on the bench. The sweatshirt I am trying on is halfway over my head.
“He’s in jail, it’s on the news.”
I think he says, “I’m so sorry,” but I don’t hear it.
The silence quickly fills with my sobs, unable to process what I was just told.
When I heard what happened, empathy still came to me first. I don’t know why, but I felt sorry for him, even though he did something terrible. Selfishly, I wonder if this is why he broke up with me and hasn’t answered any of my texts. I found out he had cancelled our date to sleep with someone else on the local news.
Every Snapchat story I saw that night was his mugshot. The picture still haunts me. Dead eyes, no expression, lack of color in his face, wearing a purple work shirt that was once familiar to me. I looked up his name every couple of hours. It felt like a form of self-torture, permanently ingrained in my mind. This went on for many weeks; it was my recommended search on Google. I didn’t want to recognize the face staring at me. But of course, I did. I didn’t want to believe he was capable of hurting her. But of course, I did.
—
For three months after his arrest, I was lying to my family and friends. I told them we weren’t talking, we weren’t hanging out, we weren’t right back where we started. My life became a lie. For the guy who taught me how to lie. I’d make excuses like “I’ll cut him off soon,” or “No one will ever know,” or “I’m just doing this for another week, then I’ll be strong enough to end it.” I was never strong enough. I’ve never looked at myself the same since then. The guilt will linger on my conscience forever. I hated myself for a long time.
Inevitably, my parents discovered my secret relationship with him. With tears in my eyes, I sat in my dad’s car outside my dorm building.
I just sat and listened. No words could defend my actions.
“If you continue to talk to him, I will take your phone and car. I will stop paying for school. You’ll be on your own.”
The realization of what I did hit me in that moment.
I didn’t get to explain or say goodbye. That was the hardest part.
—
After a year of no contact, I still look for his truck in the gym parking lot. I have the license plate memorized. The week before I started my sophomore year, he was parked in our usual spot. I still park there too. The left side of the lot, last row, two spots away from the big tree. My heart raced. I saw him from afar after checking myself in. His hair looked different; he grew it out, as I told him to.
We both follow protocol, avoiding eye contact and any acknowledgement of one another. My heart doesn’t slow even when he has left the building.
I feel the same as I did that day in the dressing room, cemented to the past. My eyes slowly shut, filling with tears. It’s strange, though. I don’t know who he is anymore. Maybe I never did, maybe he had different masks for different people, and the one he wore with me decomposed with the silence. It no longer exists.
—
I wish I had never met you. I don’t have forgiveness in my heart yet. You broke parts of me that were never meant to break. I know I needed you in some ways, I still struggle to admit. If I’d never met you, I wouldn’t be strong enough to know what I deserve in the future. I thank you for making me grow into who I am today. If you weren’t the one to teach me that, someone else would have. I’ll never let anyone teach me that lesson twice.