Content warning: references to sexual violence.
Author’s Note: This is not about one particular person, but a compilation of memories from various people I’ve met. I wrote this piece to share my experiences and thoughts about dating and relationships, and to use this piece to finally let go and free myself from the difficult memories I’ve been keeping inside of me for so long.
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My bed seems a little emptier now that you’re gone. The outline of your body is still pressed into the crumpled, untucked sheets. The scent of your neck and my favorite cologne is left behind and is only noticeable when I roll onto your side and press my nose against your pillow, which I try to avoid so as not to ruin the rest of your contour.
I ask if I’ll see you tomorrow, but you don’t answer. I’m asking what you have planned for the rest of the day. All you answer is “I’m very busy today.” It’s like you’re just brushing me off, enough for me to understand and not ask you to dinner later. When you leave, you look outside to make sure my roommate isn’t there so you can leave without a trace, to make sure the only people who knew about us were you and me.
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My fingers tingle as their tips reach your warm skin. Without much thought, I draw little hearts on your back and gently rub my thumb over your soft lips while your eyes are closed. We lay, as vulnerable and exposed as possible, on a double bed that was too small for either of us, let alone both of us. You hold the most fragile part of me, broken by years of heartbreak and bruises, in a hug and you have no idea. I can’t imagine how much pain my hands felt from being pressed. No idea of the residual pain from the half-closed seal left on my mouth from all the hands pressed against my lips to stifle whatever came out. You have no idea that you are the first person to see me and hug me after what happened. And I don’t know if you ever will.
~~~
You were looking at me. You really looked at me. Beyond the mascara smudged deep in my eyes, the dark color of which you always loved because they were so much darker than yours, and past the old dry contacts and the redness they caused, found beneath all those black layers of grief and worry, lies something open and bright . A space that has yet to be defiled, untouched by your hands and the damage they will inevitably cause. And you smile at me. The smile at first was filled with excitement and delight. A smile of comfort, tenderness and purity. A smile that quickly turns to arrogance and control when you reach that open space of hope and innocence and fill it with your dark self. But I keep them open. I don’t close them.
I leave them open to you.
~~~
You asked me if I ever dreamed about you. – Once, – I said. I lied because I didn’t have the nerve to tell you what it was about. Even though you deserved to hear every painful detail of the effect you had on me, how could I explain to you as you towered over me that the dream was a nightmare? And repetitive, for that matter. How I would wake up in a panic at the thought that you were still a daily part of my life, breathing hard, gasping for breath, quickly looking for the light so I could turn on my side and make sure you weren’t really there. How would you react? Would you be angry with me or just disappointed in realizing what my dream said about you as a person?
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Innocence. That’s what I first thought when I met you. That’s what I liked about you. Curly hair, curlier than mine. Sweaters, pants and tennis shoes. A sweet smile and a comforting look. The eyes are round, bigger than mine. You listen to me talk for hours on end with nothing on your face but interest mixed with nervousness that we are alone. I read the smile as kind. A touch steeped in romantic hesitation and awkwardness. I don’t know what happened. Why did you suddenly become like everyone else, and then worse, like your friends? Was it my fault? Am I the one who took away your innocence, or was it something bigger than me?
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My roommates weren’t home, all four of them. It was just you and me, there was nowhere to go. You knew it. You knew what that meant. But I ask you, do you know what you left me with? When you walked away hours after seeing tears in my eyes, pretending you never saw them. After I heard my voice break and my body shake the whole time you were around. Do you know what happened next? Second, I closed the doors and locked all the locks in case you just decided to turn around? How I sobbed in the shower as I scrubbed away the red skin? How could I not wear my favorite shirt for over a month? How did I avoid anyone new for over six months for fear they would be like you? How would I walk the campus every day in desperate search of you, hoping that my eyes wouldn’t stop at your black jacket? How do I still almost cry when someone else reminds me of you and that day? How can I not go even a couple of days without being reminded of you?
Is what happened ever remembered? Are you convincing yourself that nothing happened and that I just stopped responding? Do you point me out to your friends when you see me walking? Or do you pretend I don’t exist like I tried so hard to do with you?
~~~
Is it love? Is this what love is? Meeting all these people who will end up the same. Are those tender feelings that you describe as the greatest feeling in the world? Must we destroy ourselves until nothing remains but the outer shell and puddle of who we once were, all in search of who we have created an image of in our heads? What we painted them as cute, romantic and intelligent: the perfect person to share your life with. We idolize them, and at the end of the day, they’re just human. They are scarred and bruised and you leave before they get a chance. They’re just another memory you try to escape from, sitting a few rows behind them in class. And if it’s love, do I really want it?
MiC Assistant Editor Roshni Mohan can be reached at romohan@umich.edu.