The Cycle

It's 6 am now. I still can't sleep.

The boy would come around 1 or 2, sometimes later. He would text me with "I'm here", and I'd go to the door. At first, it was exciting, exhilarating. It was the first time I had ever done something without my parents knowing. But as time went on, and the sneaking in happened three or four times a week, the excitement left, and dread set in. He wouldn't say a word once I opened the door, just walk past me, sometimes grabbing my hand, sometimes pretending like he couldn't see me. He'd walk into my room, rip my clothes off, and have at it until he was too tired to continue. Then he'd pass out as I got dressed, folded his clothes, and cleaned up the mess he left. I'd crawl back into bed next to him and try to cuddle--lay my head on his chest, kiss his neck--anything for just a little attention.
That's all I ever really wanted from him, some attention.
I was so obsessed with him, I wanted him to love me more than anything in the world. I wanted to take care of him, to show him that the world can be kind, even while I knew he took away that same kindness from my world.
When I tried to get his attention and get close to him, he would turn away from me. I would put my arm around him and kiss his back, and he would shrug me off.
I felt rejected, betrayed, hurt. I reminded him that he promised this would be the time he held me after, and he'd mumble "Next time, I promise". I'd turn away and cry silently until he left a few minutes later. It'd be around 4 or 4:30 by that time, and I tried to get some sleep before I had to wake up for school at 5:15. I'd go to school exhausted and upset. He'd text me once he woke up with something nasty, implying I had slept with other men. I'd promptly spend the rest of the day convincing him that it wasn't true, that he was the only one for me.
This cycle continued for months and months. It was exhausting, wretched, disgusting, manipulative, and so, so addicting.


It used to be my reality.
Sometimes it still feels like it still is.

-Beaskie