My First Fiance Was My Most...

My first fiance was my most trusted confidant.  Not only were he and I romantically involved, we were best friends.  Towards the end of our relationship, he started hitting me.  The first time he ever did it was when he claimed that he was asleep.  Him, I, and some friends were sitting on lawn furnature outside of his home.  He "fell asleep" during the get-together.  I attempted to wake him and he punched me in the face.  I started to cry, got up, and ran into the house.  I locked myself in the bedroom for nearly an hour.  When I came out, he had just entered the house and inquired as to why I was crying.  I told him what had happened and he just shrugged and said, "Well I didn't know what I was doing.  I was asleep."  I knew something was up when he didn't at least apologize as he always did, even for things that were beyond his control.  A week later he was napping in the living room.  I attempted to wake him because he had to go to work in a few hours.  When he wouldn't get up, I tried pulling the blanket off of him.  He then thrust his heel out and nailed me right in my bad knee.  I hit the ground and screamed.  He acted as if he were slowly coming out of a deep slumber.  I still gave him the benefit of the doubt even though I realized that if someone were in proximity to me screaming their head off, I'd be jerked out of sleep.  There were a few other incidents like rough housing that got a little too rough, but I wrote them off.  A month or so later he dumped me because he had found my replacement while I was on a trip to Florida.

After his new love fell through, he sought me out again.  This was nearly 6 months later.  Like a fool, I fell for it.  We started just dating again.  He would get ridiculously drunk and slap me around.  He'd pretend that we were playing or engaged in foreplay that he'd take it too far.  There was one incident where I cut him off in a conversation during a card game with friends and he slapped me across the face.  At this point I had enough.  I whipped around and slapped him right back.  He gazed at me horrified and retreated to his bedroom.  I folded like a house of cards.  I went into his bedroom to console him, although he started the altercation.

This type of abuse went on for a few more months.  We would lay in bed and he'd punch me "in his sleep".  He would threaten me if I behaved in any way he disapproved of.  It went as far as emotional abuse when he didn't feel that physical abuse was getting through to me.  He treated me like a ragdoll.  It was worse than getting treated like a piece of property.  At least people generally care for their belongings.  I was the ball to kick around.  I was the old favorite T-shirt that became a wash rag.

I recognized this behavior, but I couldn't seem to break free. I still loved him.  Or at least I thought I did.  He abused me in every way I could think of.  He abused my love, trust, heart, soul, and body.  He used me.  I just couldn't accept that for three years he was a wonderful person and then all of a suddent he wasn't.

The final straw was Valentine's Day of 2004.  I went over to his apartment to see him that evening.  By the time I got there, he was already drunk.  He practically forced liquor down my throat.  He buttered me up.  When we got into the bedroom, he asked if we could experiment with anal sex.  I voiced my concern but ended up folding in the end.  He had this incredible hold over me.  He started to do it and it wasn't so bad.  But then he started thrusting harder.  I asked him to slow down and not penetrate so deeply.  But I was ignored.  He went at me like there was no tomorrow.  I started crying hysterically, begging him to stop.  I should've screamed for help.  I knew his roomate and my friend were within proximity.  But I was too embarassed by what was happening to me that I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself.  I just wanted him to stop.  Then he forced my head into the pillow in order to muffle my cries.  He finally finished and I pulled myself up and screamed, "I told you to stop!  You hurt me!  It hurt!"  He lit up a cigarette, shrugged and said, "You liked it..."

I showered shamefully.  There was hardly any soap so it was nearly impossible to get all of the lube off of me.  And there certainly wasn't enough soap to cleanse myself of the shame and hurt.

I guess that's why it wasn't so incredibly painful when he broke up with me over AIM because he had already gotten himself a new girlfriend the very next week.  But all of those memories still haunt me.

theophania theophania
22-25, F
May 10, 2007