I remember things we did. Well, things he did and I stupidly went a long with. I remember his red hair and his right ear lobe piercing. I remember him taking my hand in church, taking me to the front, sitting on our knees and pledging ourselves to God. Him, for the first time. Me, for the last time. I remember many things and many things I should forget. Right?
I donāt think Iāll ever forget the look in his eyes of possessiveness. The feelings of being unwanted and confusing this as love. The feeling of being held tightly and told Iām loved when I know itās the last thing this is. The feeling that I canāt leave him.
My parents they were there. They knew of the situation. But they also knew if they told me to stay away I would crawl even closer to him.
Half the times he touched me I didnāt want but I gave him permission still. Thinking this was the love of my life. Our first kiss was on church property. We were walking with some friends and they all stopped, looked at him, and took off running. He grabbed my hand pulled me in for a hug. He put his arms on my shoulders. I put mine on his arms, trying to keep distance, church property and all. He asked when I was going to kiss him. I jokingly said maybe never. He said how about now? I was already trying to go back to the chapel, at this point. He said weāre going to kiss now and started to lean in. I dropped my arms and stopped there, prepared to give him a little peck and leave back to my friends as I felt threatened. His grabbed my face pulled me close, going for a long deep sensual kiss. I pecked him and tried leaving. He said I was inexperienced. I giggled, grabbed his hand and walked off into church.
For April Fools Day, he said he got another girl pregnant from his last relationship. I said āOkay, go be with her. Weāre done here.ā He grabbed my arms said no weāre not and told me it was a joke. That he didnāt get her pregnant.
His sister messaged me on Facebook warning me away from him, as did one of his exes. I ignored them, thinking the ex was jealous and the sister was lying. I started catching him in lies.
He got a tattoo. It was a barbed wire band on his upper arm that didnt connect because it would have been considered a sleeve.
He wanted to be a marine. I was comfortable being a military wife, as my mom was. He went to boot camp, came back with āa leg injuryā. Come to find out he had sleep walking problems and some mental disorders that wouldnāt allow him to be in the military.
All the time he was dating me, he was fucking my best friend at the time and one other girl.
For valentineās day, he pulled me a weed flower from the ground and handed me the candy I absolutely hate. Iām not picky when it comes to romance and valentineās day or anything but come on. At least try. He wrote me a letter once. I still have it somewhere. It explained to me why the first time he said he loved me was a lie. But that he loved me now. It makes me cry when I clean out things and reread it for some godforsaken reason. I canāt get myself to throw it away though.
I remember his handwriting and how beautiful I thought his spidery letters were. I remember loving the words he used. He had a nice vocabulary, though he cussed a bit.
I blamed myself for years. I still sometimes do.
Sometimes I think back and regret it. But itās turned me into the person I am now. And I guess thatās a good thing. Right?
jacobvanloon
gummygunk
stormborns
