The apartment looks utterly different post-war. I wish that I could just pretend that everything that happened was just a bad dream… a nightmare. We did not sleep on the same bed. He left this morning without a single apology. I said nothing.
You never would have considered him hitting you… until he does. And he did last night. More than once. Even when I was pleading for him to stop. I try to justify that he did not exactly hit me. He pointed at me, threw towels at me, grabbed me, pushed me. He. Hurt. Me.
He used to be the person I was most comfortable with. He was my protector. Whatever scared me – the dark, ghosts after watching a scary film, mascots, clowns – could not equal the fear that I felt last night. What hurts the most is that I was afraid of someone who I thought loved me enough not to hurt me.
I expected him to feel sorry. He was crying. I don’t know if it was because he was too mad at me. I want to think that he felt sorry and just did not have the courage to say it. Is that enough?
We. Are. Done. There is no going back after this. How could he do that? I know that I was acting completely ridiculous, and his intentions were good for preventing me to leave home, but how could he hit me? How does someone gather enough rage to hit someone that they love?
Yes, I still believe that he loves me.
I still believe that he is a good guy.
This is one mistake among many things that he does right. How could a day that started with him worried and taking my body temperature end in this? What did we do wrong? What just fucking happened? Can he do that again? Will he?