it was prefaced by something i can’t remember. but this is where it started to get bad.
she looked at me with the utmost disdain and asked, “what’s wrong with you?”
i sat down on the bed and curled up into the smallest ball that i could. “i…i saw my rapist on the train today. i had found her on facebook a few weeks ago, and she kind of apologized to me…which was weird…it didn’t really make me feel better, but i guess it made her seem like more of a person than an event. but-“
“how did you find her on facebook?”
“i was looking for naomi…your friend who came and stayed with us last year.”
“why the fuck were you looking for her?”
“i was curious about how she was doing. she did get extremely drunk and piss on our floor and puke all over us and then you renounced her friendship and kicked her out when she disrespected me.”
she started pacing back and forth in front of me. “why would you want to talk to her?”
“i didn’t. i just wanted to see if she was doing alright.”
“whatever. don’t try to talk to her. she was my friend, not yours. i don’t want you talking to her.”
“jesus. fine. ok. whatever. the girl who raped me is named naomi, and i guess we had a friend in common, so when i started to type in the name, she came up. and my morbid curiosity got the best of me.”
“you’re a fucking idiot.” she laughed when she said it.
“thanks. i appreciate your fucking sympathy.”
“well, what do you want me to say?”
“i don’t know!? maybe something like ‘i’m sorry you had a panic attack when you saw the girl who RAPED YOU on the train. i’m sorry i wasn’t there to hold your hand and make you feel better. i’m sorry i’m being a FUCKING ASSHOLE right now instead of asking what i can do to help you.’”
and then the yelling began.
she threw her arms up in the air, rolling her eyes and over-dramatically, mockingly apologized. “oh god. i’m sorry you’re such a fucking pussy that you can’t deal with seeing some broad you fucked when you were 15. you need to man the fuck up if you want me to take you seriously and stay with you.”
“are you fucking kidding me?! what the fuck is wrong with you? i’m having a panic attack and you’re telling me to ‘man up?’ and she isn’t ‘some broad i fucked,’ she raped me. do you have any respect for me? at all?”
“do you have any respect for me? do you know how much weight you’ve gained? why do you think we’re not having sex? you’re not my type when you look like that.”
“what. the fuck. what?”
“you’ve gained a bunch of weight. and i don’t find you attractive when you look fat.” she paused and looked around while i sat, stunned, wondering who the fuck i was talking to. “you know that every five pounds you gain, you lose a half inch of the length of your dick, right?”
“what the fuck is wrong with you?! you don’t say shit like that to someone who has had eating disorders, while they’re in the middle of a nervous fucking breakdown. OR AT ALL. EVER.”
“i can say whatever i want to you.”
as quietly as i could, i spat, “no, you can’t. if you have any respect for me at all, if you love me at all, you’ll stop.”
she didn’t stop. she kept drilling into me. i started bawling at some point and didn’t stop for about two hours. i tried to sleep on the couch that night, but she wouldn’t let me. as soon as i came to bed, she stubbornly relocated herself to the couch, as if it would prove something. the next morning brought no apology from her…just more venom and bile, meant to break me down and force me to submit to her will. she threatened to end things, but my desperation kept me clinging to her. i pleaded with her to give me time to change, to be better, not acknowledging that the change needed to occur in her. her stubbornness to compromise and grow intertwined with my stubbornness to allow her to assume any blame for her wrong-doings and dragged us deeper into our own hell.
“love is suicide”