Then there was the car ride back. He sat behind me, next to the coach’s 6-year-old son. The boy wouldn’t stop poking, kicking, pinching, punching, and messing with me in everyway possible. It stung only when Sam encouraged him. The little boy kept announcing Sam liked me and I liked him. I hated hearing it because I wished it was true, but I knew it wasn’t.
I leaned forward, resting my face in my elbow. I was tired of plastering a fake smile on my face, and I gratefully pulled myself out of the range of the little boy’s nasty fingers. Then Sam got hold of Chrystal’s camera, and no distance between us could save me from his comments. Every picture I was in he had something to say about me. My legs were fat, my face was ugly, I was awful in some way, and there was no sparing any part of me.
In the dark of my elbow, my long hair hiding my face, the sadness took over. My protector was encouraging some little kid to beat me up. My brave hero was listing all the things I had once been embarrassed about and had fought so hard to overcome. I was so sick of this guy; tired he had the power over me to hurt me. I had opened myself up to this guy, I had made myself vulnerable to him, and in return he uses my sensitivity to hurt me.
Tears ran down my face. And then I felt water trickling down my arm. I realized I was crying for him, not me. All the hurt and pain and lies, had been because of some way he had been hurt. Continuous torture, because I didn’t want to feel sympathy for someone who had the power to hurt me deeply and only use my care to his advantage. He was just sitting there, uncaring that I was hurt, a gloating king of his world. I cried silently. Salty water dripped off my fingertips. I was hiding my tears in shame, I would not give him the glory of thinking he had won. I was strong; I would not let him know.
Then the little boy wanted the camera. He grabbed for it, missed, and punched Sam in the face. He got a bloody nose. I smiled, it was karma. Chrystal, who was sitting next to me, handed him a tissue. My nose was running so I asked her for one too. She handed it to me, and then gasped. There were giant blotches appearing on her sweater in the dark. We flipped on the light to realize I had a bloody nose as well. I stopped crying and began apologizing for getting blood all over her sweater. Sam’s nosebleed stopped. I ran out of napkins and we had to pull into Burger King to get more. Ten minutes later, we got back to the car, it was still going strong. It kept going, for another ten, and then fifteen. This was the buildup, this was the breaking point.
He was a major stress cause in my life, and it as not healthy I kept him where he was. I started plotting what I would say to cut him from my life, and save myself from further hurt. I came up with this: “Hey will you do me a favor?” And he would say yes, because he did everything for me. “I need you to delete my number from my phone.” Give him pause for it to sink in. “I need you to block me on facebook, and I need you to ignore me when you see me.” Give him a second to take it in. “I’ve come really far. I feel like I’m worth something now, I enjoy life. Falling in love with you was one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, but if your threatening to take away my self respect, then I want you out of my life.” And then I’d turn my back to him and walk away.
But thinking about him out of my life made me want to cry. So my mind went on and on in dreadful cycles, and I was miserable the entire ride back, where I did not say anything to him, and the anger remained churning inside of me.