My love story is unique. My love story is like no other. I fell in love with a beast. It is a tale of magic and deception. A tale of pain. A tale of epic pain. It began with “Once upon a time” and ended with a plot twist of betrayal. I lived the tragic narrative, and I survived it.
It began one summer night. I met a mysterious stranger with a Smirnoff in his hand. I wanted to know more about him, so I befriended him. I grabbed his hand and pulled him into my world; he held my hand and entered with malicious intentions.
We first kissed at a stoplight. I wanted the light to stay red forever. I wanted the magic of that moment to last forever.
Our first time having sex was both chaotic and safe. It was peaceful and wild. It was beautiful. I loved the feeling of my body next to his, of my skin touching his. I smiled. I laughed. I looked into his eyes and felt the universe.
I remember the day we toured his first apartment. We ran up the stairs like children, and I stared out the second story window watching the city lights flicker at dusk. He put his hands around my waist and held me close. He kissed my check and whispered about the future.
I remember the day I learned that he cheated on me. I sat in a chair next to him with tears rolling down my red cheeks. He said it was a mistake. He grabbed my hands and begged for forgiveness. He begged me to stay. I couldn’t look at him. I stayed.
Our first “I love you”: He looked at me. He said the three most magical words. I smiled and the words fell from my lips — I loved him with every bone in my body.
I remember the first night I slept over. In the middle of the night, I felt his arm tapping the side of the bed. It hit my shoulder and he pulled me in close. I kissed his cheek and went back to sleep.
I glanced at his phone. I saw a text from her. I felt my heart shatter. I felt my lungs collapse. He said he stopped talking to her. He said she was blocked. On this day, I learned he was a liar. I heard him running down the stairs. I ran. I did not look back. I felt his hand grab my arm. I didn’t stop running. He begged me to stay. I stayed.
Every Thursday we watched a movie; my head rested on his chest as we watched a scary film. I heard his heartbeat. I felt his heartbeat. It was comforting, soothing, relaxing.
I can still hear the tone of his voice. It wasn’t our first fight, but it was the first time I absorbed every despicable and vicious word that rolled off his tongue; the first time I absorbed all the guilt. The first time I accepted the blame of the past.
I looked at him from the passenger seat. Our first drive in his new car. The sun beamed on his skin. He smiled and blasted the latest hits. I laughed and danced. I didn’t want to get out of the car.
Our first spring morning together. I woke up and smiled. I loved waking up beside him. I loved seeing his face next to mine, seeing his body so close.
We sat on his leather couch with sushi in our laps. It was his first sushi experience. I burst out laughing as he dropped each piece on the floor. I encouraged him to keep trying. He started to grab the sushi with his hands and threw a piece from the floor at my forehead.
I remember the first time we broke up. I walked away. I walked away in pain. I went a week without him. I was happy for that week. The moment he called, I came back. I hugged him. I kissed him. He was home.
We sat in bed criss-cross applesauce, planning our future. It was the first time we discussed a future together. We argued back and forth about where we would build a house and what we would name our children. I jumped on top of him, expressing my love and excitement. I wanted a life with him. I wanted a forever with him.
I remember our first screaming match. His face turned a deep shade of red. He yelled. And I yelled back. I ran into the next room, grabbing my belongings screaming at the top of my lungs. Then I stopped in my tracks and staring into his soul. We went to bed and woke up like nothing had happened.
This is my story, our story.
I stayed in a toxic relationship for over a year. A relationship composed of unhealthy ups and downs. A relationship that took away my self-esteem and self-respect. I lost myself. I am still lost. Although I survived, I am a skeleton. I feel empty inside. I feel guilty. And I ask myself, why? Not why I stayed in this relationship, but why I entered it.
At night, I see these memories in my head. I shared small chapters. I experienced pages upon pages. I cry at night. I am not sad, I am emotionless. I do not know why I cry. I do not know why I replay these tales. There is a lot I do not know.
I am not healed. I may never heal.
However, I do know that I will never relive these chapters. I start today with a blank page. I choose to start everyday with a blank page.