of perspectives

We used to spend a lot of time together, and as any other twenty year old, I developed feelings for SN. I knew he liked me too, and we came really close to making out one day, but didn’t – because it felt wrong to be the other woman in his girlfriend’s life.

Besides, he was just so wrong for me. He used to drink and smoke and make dirty jokes I couldn’t even understand. And he claimed that he had had sex with his girlfriend but didn’t want to marry her. That last bit gave me a little hope but I knew he didn’t want to marry me either.

I once told a friend, incidentally the same friend who came to pick me up from outside SN’s house when he tried to rape me, I’m in love with the wrong type of guy.

But you know all that. I told you before. What you don’t know is why I pulled these posts out of my drafts now, ten years after this happened.

It was because recently SN contacted me, out of the blue, and I couldn’t deal with it for a number of days because he seems to have a completely different memory of what happened that day.

After I got his messages, I didn’t know what to do.

I told my ex-husband, who asked me to either ignore him, or meet him and listen to his side of the story. I couldn’t do either, because I thought I had forgiven him and moved on.

But I was wrong.

I’m still angry. It has taken me years to get over what he did to me that day. For the longest time I couldn’t trust anyone or look at a man. It took me years of counseling for it to finally sink in that it was really not my fault.

And the fucktard thinks it’s okay for him to come barging into my life and discredit my memory of what happened that day?

He says I thought he tried rape. He says it was an easy word. He says he is disgusted and that I spoiled his life.

I say he’s a lunatic. 

of flaws

She’s so… spunky, he’s saying. Obviously they’re talking about you.

I’ve always wanted to be with a woman like that. Driven. Independent. Confident. Sexy. She walks into a room and turns heads. She’s the hottest woman and the coolest friend rolled into one. You know what I mean?

You’re inching closer. You don’t want him to know you’re eavesdropping. She’s the kind of woman that makes you always want to hold on to, he says. You smile. You believe him.

Well, almost. You know he loves you, but always? You’ve never liked the idea of always. You know either of you can’t be absolutely loyal. It’s not in you. Both of you like being loved too much for your own good.

Also, he likes to be needed. All men do. You don’t know how long it’ll be before he realizes that you’re too driven. Too independent. Soon he will see that you can find your way around the world even without him; you don’t need a man to give you safety or money or happiness.

You know his reverence will eventually turn into resentment and that’s why the whole concept of always is so fucking flawed.

 

of an old book

They say that women fall in love with a man only once they get to know him. I’ve thought long and hard and can’t seem to remember a time I fell in love like that.

I choose my men rather like I choose my books. I want the cover to attract me and call out to me, look attractive. I need to feel drawn to it, regardless of what type of book it is. I’m impulsive. It’s usually a split second decision for me. But I’m also shallow, and I wouldn’t be caught dead with a book with an ugly cover. I never look beyond the cover the first time.

Once I’m alone with the book, I can’t wait to discover it, page by page. As I read, I’m aching to run my hands over the spine, making sure it’s there.