I had an experiennce similar to this once. A guy made me feel like this, but then I heard from a friend about how his mom had checked into a local womens shelter beccause of abuse. It made me think about what made him the way he was. This is twelve plus for language by the way. So here's the story:
I walk slowly by his locker, hoping he will turn his head in my direction causing that glossy blonde hair to fall over his beautiful blue eyes. Carefully, I put one foot in front of the other, as if strutting down a runway. This is my school, I tell myself. He is mine.
And then I trip. My Converse come untied, and I fall to the hard, unforgiving ground. He turns his head, and a strand of glossy blonde hair falls over his crystal-clear blue eyes. I sigh, in a daze. Those perfect lips part and his blinding white teeth come into view. My heart quickens. And then he laughs. I lie there, completely still while I watch him look at me with those jeering blue eyes. And his perfectness only makes me cringe with disgust. His eyes hold no magic for me. They hold only unwanted memories; memories that trickle from my mind as I pull the plug on my admiration.
Now, I walk slowly by his locker, hoping he will turn his head in my direction so that I can ignore his presence and cause that glossy hair to fall over blue eyes brimming with confusion and hatred. And that gives me some sort of sick pleasure, for I am no longer his. In a way, he is finally mine.
It is a feeling I relish, owning someone’s insecurities, manipulating them, like I do now. It may be sick, but it is still a pleasure to mold his soft heart to my will. He deserves this. He deserves this torture. There is nothing wrong with giving him what he deserves.
But today, today things are different. As I walk past his house on my way home from school, I hear a shout. I hear a voice that demands respect- a voice that demands it but should not have it.
“You little slacker!” it screams. “Do the damn dishes again!”
It is a male voice. It demands to be listened to. I peer into the window at the side of the house.
“Damn it woman! Do them again!” It is the boy’s father. He strikes the boy’s mother. He yells derogatory, patronizing things at her, and then I know.
My heartbreak was not the boys doing. My heartbreak was the father’s doing. The boy was just practicing what he had been taught.
And once again, the father makes my heart break into a million pieces, but this time for his son, who will never know what it means to love. He will only know what it means to hate.
And so I walk. I walk by the bright green trees of the suburbs. I walk by my house. I walk until my heart quickens and I am in a daze. In my mind, I send him a message- a promise. I say, he taught you wrong, but do not be afraid. I will help you. You will never be alone. Confusion and hatred will haunt your eyes no more. You will be free of the web of convictions he spun around you, squeezing you into submission. Do not be afraid. I am here. As long as I’m alive, you will never be alone.
