Hey, its been awhile hasn’t it. I have been so wrapped up in now being a college student that I have been a little distracted. I am sitting on a bus right now. It is 1:38 am and I am on my way back to school from being on fall break. I don’t know why but all I feel like doing is telling a shitty story. So here goes…

The people we chose to trust in this world hold the highest honor. It is a privilege to have faith put in you by another person, and it is the absolute worst thing to break that.

I had a friend very close to me break that. We were best friends. I met him my freshman year when he was a sophomore in our stupid language class that I had first thing in the morning during a terrible period of time in my life when the world was changing faster than I could keep up with. The first thing I noticed about him was how funny he was. I hold funny people to a high standard, so if I think you are funny, you must really be. Some days I would walk into class with puffy eyes from crying the night before and he could easily make me feel better. We joked about getting together all through my high school career, but nothing actually happened until junior year when he asked me to go to prom with him.

It was a great night and he was a great date and I really liked him. That summer, I started to picture myself in a position where I could be a good girlfriend for my best friend who I believed to deserve the best. He kept asking me to be his girlfriend and I kept saying no due to the fact that I could never be what he needed me to be. I was a damaged mess and no one could handle the burden that I was. But this didn’t stop us from being together without a title. It was so easy with him. I often found myself easily smiling and laughing when he was around and he could cure any ill thought with a silly text message. Everything was nice, except for the creeping burden I contained at the back of my mind. Now it sounds ridiculous, but we had sex on the night of prom when we were both drunk, and it was perfectly fine. Despite that, something in me was reluctant to take part in that again. Something in my head kept saying to wait because it was a bad idea. I didn’t understand that voice at the time, but looking back, I should have trusted myself more than anything.

One morning I went over to his house after work to hang out. We laid in his bed and watched a movie, he had just smoked and the smell of weed encircled me.

To be honest, I don’t know how to continue. Every time my memory takes me back to that moment, I lose a bit of myself. A part of me is taken every time I even think about it. But here I am, trying to talk about it despite it all.

I told him I didn’t want to.

He told me that I had been teasing him for so long that he couldn’t possibly NOT do something now.

I told him that my family wanted me home.

He told me that I was a bitch if I left him blue balled.

I told him no, but every time the word formed, I can recounted his mouth over mine, silencing it.

I remember it hurting, my entire body hurt and my head was pounding. I thought about how I let this happen to myself when I was such a strong person. How could I lower myself to this? Why couldn’t I just fight back.

I remember my hands trying to push him back and then him gripping them and pulling them up over my head. His entire weight encasing me in place.

You would think I was crying, but no. I think I was in shock. My body only moving when this monster made it move.

When he finished, I remember he went to the bathroom, leaving me alone in the room. Even then, I stayed stiff, unwilling to move because if I moved than I would feel the sheet and mattress beneath me and if I felt that than it meant that what actually happened was real and I hadn’t imagined it. I remember my thoughts screaming at me. Telling me to get out of there as soon as possible. But all I could do was slowly put my pants on and sit up.

He hugged me goodbye and I did not allow myself to cry until I was in my car and out of his neighborhood.

I went home and I took a shower, letting the sound of running water drown out my sobs.

My first instinct once I picked my heart up off the floor was to never, ever, tell a soul. You see, this boy was in my group of friends. He was admired and loved by all. And even after all that, I wanted to protect him from damnation. I didn’t want our friends to know that he was capable of such evil. And despite everything, I still loved him. I always wondered why people stayed in abusive relationships, why they didn’t speak up. But now I understand it. The first instinct to protect one that you love, to not want another person to know the bad side of him when you both had fallen in love with the good part. Of course, even that had repercussions. Keeping that to myself hurt all the time. Seeing him and acting like nothing had happened, hurt. I just had hurt for a very long time. I came to a very clear realization that day. Only the people I love the most have the ability to cause me the most pain because we both know I would still love and forgive them. Not because I want to be betrayed again, but because I love them too much to let them go.