This story will not be like the others.. Mostly because I still can't bring myself to think on the details of all that happened over those nine months of hell. But this will give you an idea:
I was seventeen years old and had my first real crush. The boy was a year older than me and absolutely gorgeous. His black hair barely brushed across his forehead, he was a soccer player, and he was a Christian. I mean, what more could a girl ask for right?
After a few short months of texting and meeting up in the lunch room we decided to date. It was exactly what I needed! A hot distraction from a terrible home situation. My father was still holding to the belief that I was dead, my mother didn't want to speak to me because I had joined a church she didn't like, and my brothers were mad at me for disrupting the peace. A distraction was perfect.
I ran away to his house quite a bit in those first several months of dating and he became my closest confidant. It was all going great. Until we had been dating for about 4 months and he started wanting to paw my chest and between my legs. He was my first real boyfriend and I didn't see anything wrong with it - it's what guys and girls do right?
Well, pawing quickly escalated. Gone were our nights talking, gone were our fun trips to the park, gone were our evenings just laying awake talking on the phone. Now every time he saw me, all he wanted was to get his hands under my clothes. But he cared for me. At least he wanted to see me, whereas my family had made it clear that they did not...
A month or so went by and it wasn't fun for me any more. Now some of the things he was doing hurt me. No longer was it pawing and kissing, now he was biting and leaving bruises on my skin. Now I was having trouble walking without a limp. Now my backpack's straps hurt as they pressed against cuts and bruises he had left the night before.
But he loved me.
Another couple months go by and it just keeps getting worse. It was a challenge to him - to see how much pain he could cause me before I couldn't take any more. A sick, twisted, challenge. And as my pain tolerance grew, his methods got more creative. It was normal for me to go home with blood running down my legs. I started wearing padding under my bras so that the blood there wouldn't seep through. Pain was my constant companion. Pain and fear.
Emotionally, I was a wreck. Physically, I was as well. But don't get me wrong. I am a fighter. At that point in my life, I had no idea how to fight, but I tried. Boy, did I try! But you know how I told you he was an athlete? My tries were futile against him, and they only served to tick him off. I learned that the harder I fought, the more pain I would go through.
It took me 9 months of dating him before I finally broke it off and fled. So easy, looking back on it. So easy to leave, and yet it had been so hard.
This happened the year of 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment