I remembered

I don’t remember the day I met him. I don’t remember what he was wearing, or the cologne overwhelming my senses. I remember he was angry. About what? I don’t have the slightest recollection. But shit, he wore anger well. He had my FULL attention. I knew than, he was going to fuck my shit right up.

At first he was just an older boy who wasn’t even supposed to be there. But there he was, not noticing me, but god I noticed him. Introductions were made. I don’t remember the words exchanged. I don’t remember if he even made eye contact. I remember my heart racing. Was it because he was such a rugged specimen of a man? Or because he was also quite intimidating?

Before I knew where I belonged, I had found myself in a toxic spiral. By the time I saw the flames around me, I couldn’t find the path out. He jumped in to rescue me. Or so I thought. He became my rock. Our friendship grew quickly. I found the strength I needed to pull myself from the flames, within him. I don’t remember when it escalated from there. Was it when his relationship fell apart? He was no longer something I wanted but couldn’t have, right? Wrong.

I tried to leave. I tried to burst from the flames and be my own saviour. “If you leave me, I’ll kill myself” I no longer believed what was being whispered in my ears. I tried to leave. Until the fire was found, ready to jump off the cliff. I was too young for blood on my hands. I couldn’t leave. I remember being still while the flames engulfed me, nothing left to hold onto. Until his hand shot through the flames, giving me a lifeline and pulling me to my feet. And so began the affair.

I remember the not so secret glances. I remember the constant late night texts. I don't remember how he felt. But I was wanting to be caught. Being caught meant freedom from the fire. I don’t remember what gave us away, or when. But this was it. The beginning of the end.

I remember the nights under the stars, sharing all my secrets. Laughs, tears, and so much love. Thinking of those nights still fills my heart with more warmth than it can contain. I remember feeling admired, and loved. I remember the night I accepted that I had been raped that fateful day 3 years ago. I remember everything getting dark. Was it nighttime? Or was it just too much for me to process? I remember him holding me, another lifeline. We laid like that for hours, while he littered me with feather kisses, flooding my senses with his reassuring words. “You’re okay. You’re here now. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

I don’t remember when things began to get bad. Was it me? What did I say? I don’t remember the reason for the constant fighting, I don’t remember the resolutions. But I do remember the way his touch left a twinkling trail of sparks as his fingers traveled down my skin. I remember the heat and the passion behind each desperate kiss. I remember the fireworks. I remember the mind blowing sex, bringing us back together each time we fell apart. I remember loving Him.

I remember the first time he told me he loved me, the levels of intoxication taking over the levels of clarity. I remember seeing his face swirl with emotions. Sadness. Anger. I don’t remember why he was so angry with this proclamation. I don’t remember when the yelling started, “God I love you! Just listen to me! I love you!!” Why did he hold so much anger behind these words? Drunken words are sober thoughts, right?

I don’t remember when I started using alcohol as both my escape, and my road back to him. I don’t remember when the eyes looking back at me were no longer those of a friend. I don’t remember - why I was so scared of him that night. Was it the way his fist connected with the concrete by my toes? Or was it the look of pure hatred on his face? He loved me.

I don’t remember when the insecurities and lack of trust took over. Was it when countless people told me of the apparent affairs? Or was it when I noticed the increase in flirtatious encounters with multiple women? I remember finding a shirt in his closet. This was a weird shirt. It was pink, with grey sleeves. It wasn’t my shirt. Who did the shirt belong to? Why was it in the closet? I remember spending more time at his house than my own. How did this shirt get here? I remember confronting him. I remember feeling crazy. I remember feeling worthless. I don’t remember getting an answer to my question. Who did the stupid pink shirt belong to?! It wasn’t my shirt. It wasn’t my shirt, was it?

I don’t remember how things ended. But I remember the broken heart. I remember trying to pick up the pieces. Why can’t I do this? I remember seeing him with other people.. Woman. I remember spending hours trying to convince myself it wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. He loved me, right?

I remember feeling broken beyond repair. I don’t remember how I ended up at that pond, or how I made my way to the middle. But I do remember the blistering cold beneath my naked feet. I remember looking at the snow covered pond I was now on. Had I been there before? I don’t remember how long I had been standing there before the sound of cracking ice filled my ears. I remember falling through that same ice. I don’t remember why I didn’t try to make my way back to the surface. I don’t remember sinking slowly. Why am I here? Why didn’t I fight for myself? Why don’t I remember?

I didn’t remember sinking to the bottom of that frozen pond. But I do remember hitting it. Which by some twisted form of fate, did it. I remembered.