Ava must know where my mind goes because her face takes on a look of concern. She slides out of the chair, sitting downbehind Evee, reaching toward me, and putting a hand on my knee. “Rumi,” she starts, and I know where she’s going to go with this. I can feel the emotion already clogging my throat. “Not every guy is going to turn out like—” she pauses, bringing both her hands to cup Evee’s ears, “Trevor,” she mouths.
I can’t help the small smile that forms on my lips at her antics, as if Evee even knows who Trevor is or is old enough to recognize the name of her “sperm donor” as Ava usually calls him.
Evee keeps playing with her bunny as if nothing else exists in the world as Ava adds, “Or, your dad.”
“I know that,” I reply, reaching behind me to grab the basket of stuffed animals, knowing the bunny will only be entertaining to my 11-month-old for a few more minutes but also needing to do something with my hands. “But the last thing I need in my life right now is a man.”
After I got settled into our place and got the hang of the whole newborn thing, I started therapy, and something we often revisit is the night I left Trevor.
I promised myself and my daughter that Trevor would never hurt her, that no one would. And I knew that meant I couldn’t let anyone into her life that I wasn’t 100% sure wouldn’t turn into the monster my father and her father are.
In therapy, I’ve worked on building self-esteem, learned how to set boundaries, and practiced recognizing red flags, but I still don’t trust myself to see past the manipulation and charm that so many abusers hide behind.
“You know as well as I do how—” I pause, hating how quiet my voice gets when I talk about Trevor or my dad. Aside from my therapist, Ava is the only person I’ve ever told about my past. And she gets it in ways no one ever will after finally leaving a toxic relationship with her emotionally abusive ex with the help of her own therapist. “Hownormalthey seem at the beginning.”
Ava nods her head but doesn’t say anything, her way of urging me to continue, allowing our occasional role reversal of me being the talker and her being the listener.
“I can’t risk bringing someone into her life that will turn out to be just like him.” I look down at my daughter who, just like I predicted, got bored of her bunny and started pulling out every stuffed animal from the basket in my lap.
Trevor knew exactly how to make me emotionally depend on him when we met in college, and it happened so meticulously, so slowly, that I didn’t realize it. He took little pieces from me—pieces I had just gotten back after leaving the hell of a house I grew up in—until massive parts of me were just gone.
“I know you, Rumi. I know how much you love Evee,” Ava replies, her eyes never leaving mine. “And because I know those things, I know you would never bring anyone into the life you built for you two that would bring her any harm.”
I nod, my eyes stinging with emotion as we both look down at Evee. Her soft, round face framed by a fine layer of dark brown hair that curls ever so slightly at the ends, and her big, curious eyes—blue, just like mine—gleam with a mix of wonder and mischief as she pulls out a stuffed elephant from the basket.
“I know you are so proud to be her mom,” Ava continues, “but I also know that you deserve to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“You need a life outside of Evee, me, this coffee shop, and our house.”
“I don’t need to date or have sex to be happy.”
“Well,” Ava starts, letting out a dry chuckle. “I would disagree on one of those two,” she starts, and I toss another stuffed animal at her. It hits her in the chest before it lands in her lap next to the stuffed cat. “Okay, okay. I digress.” She puts her hands up in a surrender.
I shake my head, both hating and loving how easily she can lighten a serious conversation.
“Seriously,” she continues, “to each their own. But come on, Rumi. You need to do more foryou. Maybe you could start with making some friends?”
“I have you,” I point out, but my voice doesn’t have the confidence I want it to.
“Which I wouldn’t trade for the world,” she answers quickly before adding, “but there is so much to love about you—and Evee—and I’m not enough. You deserve people to love and who love you.”
I let out a sigh, taking in my best friend’s words.
At the time, I didn’t know how Trevor knew I would be the perfect victim, but I’ve learned from my therapist, Mariah, that abusers know how to exploit vulnerabilities like loneliness, and that’s exactly what Trevor found with me.
It’s not like I had “I’m so lonely” tattooed on my forehead, but there was something about how I carried myself that spoke to how lonely I truly was.
And I trusted him, more and more with each passing day. I didn’t realize he was subtly eroding my sense of worth, my sense of self, and distancing me from the few friends I started to make when I got to college.
It sounds silly, but it was truly as if one day I woke up and realized he was all I had.
And that’s when his mask melted away.
He started by criticizing everything about me: my appearance, the classes I was taking, the degree in creative writing I was pursuing. He knew exactly how to make me feel unworthy and inadequate, and I found myself doing anything I possibly could to make him happy.
As our relationship progressed, we moved in together and that’s when things turned physical. It started with a push whenI dropped the bag with eggs when we were bringing in groceries. Then a grab around the arm when I wore jeans that were too tight, until it eventually was a slap across the face when I asked him why he smelled like another girl’s perfume.
