I told a friend the other night of what happened that morning.
I drove over with a sweater and movie in hand to drop off on your doorstep, because you wouldn't see me for three days. I wish I had just left, but I turned the doorknob and it was open. I walked into your room, which was the immediate door on the right. You were in the shower and so I sat down on your bed to read your phone. It was texts to her, the one I had always compared myself to, and you knew it. I realized quickly that you would be out soon, so I took your phone and read the rest in my car. You said you loved her. You said you missed her. You said you loved her curly hair and that your lip was swollen from the other night. I couldn't breathe.
The walk back into your place is blacked out, but I do remember throwing the phone at you. I do remember you thinking it was your roommate barging in, and quickly realizing it was me. The next thing I remember is you holding me against the wall and clamping my mouth shut. I dug my nails into your side. I can't remember how we made it into the bedroom, but I remember you holding me down on the bed and telling me to be quiet. I told you I couldn't breathe. I can imagine my eyes were insane. You told me to get the fuck out and I said give me my things. You said no, but I tried anyways. More grabbing, more scratching. You said multiple times that you would call the cops, so I left crying. Crying is an understatement.
I sat in the rocking chair on my porch, where my friend came to comfort me. He picked up my things from your house later that day. It didn't matter, but at the time I thought it did.
I loved you so much. I can't believe you let it go on for as long as you did. Me, a fucking dog on your tight leash, that you didn't even want anything to do with. Such a goddamn pathetic shame. You are why I have had to rebuild, and I hate you for it. I know I am to blame, as well, and I know I can emerge. It's a sad thing, I know-- I still can't breathe.
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