Colors

Yellow

When she first saw him, he was smiling at her. It wasn’t a normal, friendly-stranger smile; it made her feel safe and welcome. She couldn’t help the question that knitted into her eyebrows when she noticed him looking at her, but he either didn’t catch it or didn’t care. He kept on smiling at her—a smile that felt like the sun.

He watched her for a while longer. To her, he seemed to be memorizing her movements, memorizing the way she held her coffee and the way her lips perched on the mug’s sides. She couldn’t really say she felt uncomfortable; he was a handsome enough man and he just kept smiling that charming smile.

She tried to focus on her laptop or the chatter of the other guests in the coffee house, but she couldn’t. Her eyes and heart kept gravitating back to him and that smile. She tried not to catch his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t really smiling at her and she would look stupid and weird just staring at him, but she risked it. She raised her eyes from her screen and caught him staring at her. His smile grew, and he stood up, taking steps towards her.

Green

It didn’t take long for him to ask her on a date. Something simple, he had said, something they both could enjoy without spending a fortune. Naturally dinner and a movie were out of the question. Besides being crazy expensive, it was something she had done before and found boring. The monotony of watching someone grasp a fork and bring it to their lips was almost nauseating to her. Not to mention the conversation would be stiff as it would be only about things they could think of their selves (restaurant environments aren’t known for their conversation starting ability). The movie would be just as bad if not worse; they didn’t know each other well enough to be able to comfortably agree on a movie. She hated action films, but if he suggested one she would cave out of politeness and end up wasting two hours of her life on something she couldn’t stand.

Going to a park was his suggestion. She thought it was a pretty clever idea, so she instantly agreed. She always loved a good outdoor trek and thought the fresh air and the beautiful landscape would give them more to talk about. Maybe they could recall childhood stories together or make up narratives for passing animals.

They chose a local forest, nothing too far away and nothing National Park-ish; just a small patch of trees downtown where families came to picnic, and older kids came to smoke so their parents wouldn’t see. It was quaint in its own nuclear-family-and-rebel-teenager kind of way. They chose a warm afternoon for their venture—she wanted her skin to absorb as much vitamin D as it possibly could (she worked mostly indoors) and he was just happy to be outside and see the sun.

She watched the children happily, but a vague sadness was creeping its way up into her heart; she ignored it.

She couldn’t believe how serene everything seemed, even with the children running around and screaming and the teenagers chatting and passing what looked like cigarettes around. It was like they had their own slice of time, their own slice of the world, all to themselves. She breathed in deeply, simply enjoying the way her skin looked against the dark blanket he had laid out for them to sit on. She marveled at the leaves and the sky and the clouds and at him. He looked so in his element, so at peace. He looked over to her and smiled.

Then he kissed her.

Purple

She didn’t want to call herself a prude, but she did believe in going on a few dates before hopping in bed with the other person. Not to say she judged anyone who thought one date—or none—was enough. It just wasn’t for her. But there was something about him. She felt the pull to have sex with them on their first date, but she ignored it. She didn’t want to freak him out with her “urges”.

Eventually, one of their dates took them to his apartment. It wasn’t anything super impressive, just a small little place down the road from the park where they went on their first date. She could see it from his living room window. It made her smile.

She wasn’t sure if they were an official couple yet and she was honestly afraid to ask. It had been a few weeks, but some people handled these kinds of things differently. So, she waited.

What are we, he had asked, looking at her with those eyes. She wasn’t really surprised at the question; she had been hoping for it. I’m not sure, she replied. She watched him carefully, watching the way he wrung his hands together. I’d like to be your boyfriend, if that’s alright, he said to the ground. It was like he was afraid to look up at her, afraid to see her reaction. She couldn’t hide the smile on her face when she bid him to look at her and said, I’d love for you to be.

He beamed the same smile he had showed her when they first met. He moved closer to her on the couch and wrapped his arms around her. He was so warm and soft. She felt so safe. Next thing she knew, they were kissing. The kissing started simple but heated up quickly. His tongue wiggled its way into her mouth and she didn’t protest. He laid her back on the couch and she didn’t protest. She loved it. She was giggling and moaning into his mouth and she could feel his lips smiling against her own. She was living for this moment—loving it.

Their clothes were discarded on the floor, folded neatly at her discretion—she hated messes—and he put on a condom at his discretion. She was going to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but he whipped one out of his wallet before she could open her mouth. Prepared for this, huh, she smiled at him. Maybe, he said, rolling the rubber on himself and wiggling his eyebrows at her. Ready, he asked.

She didn’t say anything, just pulled him down on her, enjoying the weight of his body. He was so, so warm. She had no idea another human being could be this warm. He never lost his smile, even as he leaned down to kiss her.

It was incredible. Every thrust and every motion felt calculated, like he had been planning it for weeks. He probably had, if he was thinking the same thing she was when they exchanged glances all those days ago in that coffee shop

You’re so, so, so beautiful, he said. It became his mantra. He kept reminding her how beautiful she was and how flawless she was and how he loved the feel of her naked body against his.

Afterwards, they basked in the intimate afterglow of what they had just shared together. She felt like crying, but she held it in the best she could. A few tears may have escaped, but he didn’t seem to notice. He held her in his arms and she rested her cheek against his chest, hearing his breathing and feeling his heartbeat. I love you, she found herself whispering. Her face turned red and she looked up to him in shock. She couldn’t believe she just said that. He simply smiled and said, I love you too.

Red

The first week they were together was amazing. He came to work to pick her up for lunch and brought her flowers when she texted him saying she was having a slow day. He always found ways to make her smile and laugh and knew how to cheer her up. Everything was perfect.

He started calling and texting her obsessively—around 100 voicemails a day. She tried to play it off, tried to say it was just him being interested in her life, but something in the back of her mind told her it wasn’t right. She had only been in a few relationships in her 27 years, but nothing like this had ever happened.

The more texts he sent or voicemails he left, the more violent they got:

why are you ignoring me bitch

you’re nothing without me you’d better pick up the fucking phone

ungrateful cunt after all i’ve done for u

She thought maybe his work was to blame. He was a cop that worked only night shifts, so she could understand if he was a little grumpy. Her friends told her that shouldn’t be making him mean every single day. She ignored them, choosing to believe her theory.

She stayed over at his apartment one night while he was at work. He told her he liked seeing her in his bed whenever he came home, and she was more than happy to wake up to his kisses. It wasn’t too lonely. Her apartment didn’t have Wi-Fi, so she enjoyed being able to play around on her phone without eating up all her data. And he had a pretty big TV—bigger than hers—and got way more channels than she did.

She found herself yawning around 10 PM, a little after his shift started, and decided to turn in early. She turned her ringer off because she didn’t really want to be woken up and settled herself into his bed. She was asleep in minutes.

She woke up because she was being shaken violently. Once her eyes adjusted and she could register sound, she saw his blood-red face and heard him yelling about not answering calls.

She wiggled out of his grasp and when her arms were free she shoved him off her. He reeled back in surprise, narrowed his eyes, and brought the back of his hand across her cheek. She cried out in pain and shock as her hand flew up to hold her burning face.

For a moment, neither of them moved or said anything. She stayed in the exact same position, head turned away from him and palm pressed to her cheek. He was sitting up on his knees on the bed now, watching her intently and breathing deeply. Slowly, she turned her head to face him, careful not to move to fast because her head was already spinning. His eyes were dead. No emotion could be found within those brown irises. Her heart broke—from being hit or from his lack of feeling, she didn’t know.

I can only take being ignored for so long, he began, last night was the final straw. He got up off the bed and moved up to the head where she lay. She shrunk back, bringing her knees to her chest and pulling the covers up to her chin. It felt childish, but she was terrified.

Don’t you ever, he stepped closer, ever, closer, ever, he pulled the blanket down and wrapped his hand around her throat, ignore my calls again. She was choking, he knew that, and he squeezed harder still. You’ll sleep with your sound on from now on, he squeezed harder to emphasize his point, then he released her and walked back out of the room.

She sat there, coughing and speechless.

She cried.

Black

She was sitting alone in the examination room of her doctor’s office. He had promised her he’d be here, but, typical of him, he didn’t show, so she ended up facing the doctor alone. She had a new bruise on her neck from where he had choked her a few weeks ago—she lied and told the doctor she had burnt herself with her hair straightener and, yes, she felt safe at home.

She was here to take a pregnancy test—her first one ever. He had decided it was time for them to have children, that 8 months into a relationship was enough time to come to that decision. She didn’t argue. She didn’t have enough creative excuses for all the bruises he would’ve given her.

But she loved him.

She had wanted to go to the store and buy a pregnancy test, but he wanted 100% accuracy. Go to a doctor and let them test your piss, he had said, they’ll be able to tell me what I want to hear.

What he didn’t realize was that no matter how much you wanted something that didn’t mean it would be given to you.

When she was younger, she developed endometriosis.

And was infertile.