Or anxiety? Hard to tell.
When he began to flirt with me, I kept passing it off as something else and talked myself out of it.
Until one night, he took my hand.
The touch of his skin was electric, and the way his eyes slanted towards me made my heart race. He had a cute little way of tilting his head so his black hair fell across his forehead, making me want to reach out and sweep it away.
The night he touched my hand, he told me how much he wanted me. Right there in the café. It was the most thrilling and romantic thing that had ever happened to me.
I roll over to my side and tighten the blankets around my body, begging my memory not to show me the rest. But the floodgates are open, and there’s no stopping it now.
Dan asked me to finish my shift early, claiming he wanted to show me something. I told the boss I was going without a second thought, feeling rebellious and wild. Dan took me for a walk in the park and started kissing me. When I asked what he wanted to show me, he stuck my hand down his pants.
I remember the unsettling mix of fear and excitement that rushed through me then. I wasn’t comfortable, but I didn’t dare say no to him.What if he doesn’t like me anymore?
So, I let him fuck me, right there in the park. I know now it was really fear, but at the time, I thought it was the most exciting sex I’d ever had.
Afterward, he left me in the park and told me he’d call. I was shaken and fragile, expecting him to vanish without a trace. But the next night, he was in the diner again—same table, same order—but this time, glaring at me with a cold, predatory stare.
And I thought it was passion. Hyacinth, you fucking fool.
He asked me to leave early again, so I did. The boss wasn’t happy, but I didn’t care. This time, Dan took me out for ice cream, and I thought it would be a normal date.
Until he took me out back and threw me up against the wall…
We didn’t have sex, but he felt me up while kissing me with an almost violent intent. I’d never felt so desirable, and the way he talked to me made me feel powerful, sexy, and in control.
This pattern kept up for about a week, and I ended up having sex with Dan in all sorts of strange places. He said it was his kink, and if I wanted to please him, I had to go along with it. Even though I wasn’t comfortable with it, I was having too much fun to care.
And I trusted him.
Dan interfered with my life so much that I lost my job. I lived week to week on that money, so the moment I lost my job, I couldn’t pay rent, either. When Dan said he’d take care of me, it was like being rescued by a white knight.
The first week was wonderful, and I thought cooking and cleaning for Dan were a small price to pay to be with him. His apartment was small but nice, and he worked part-time at a loading dock, meaning he sometimes kept strange hours.
Soon, things began to change. He’d disappear for hours, and if the house wasn’t cleaned and dinner cooked when he got back, he’d verbally abuse me. Once I started to cry, he’d apologize, taking me in his arms and soothing me. Those soft, comforting touches quickly turned sexual, and I couldn’t help it—it turned me on. I gave in to him over and over again, chasing that high that only he could give me.
He began to spend less time at home. Sometimes he came back smelling of perfume. If I asked any questions, he shouted at me until I cried, then seduced me immediately after.
I kept telling myself I just had to love him more. I just had to accept him as he was. Then we could be happy.
I was with Dan for almost a year, and my self-worth had almost completely eroded by the end. I felt like the only thing I was useful for was sexually pleasing him—and only then was I safe.
I was pretty sure he was cheating, but had no way of finding out it was true—or even what I’d do if it was. I stopped caring about the apartment, about my clothes or my body, and just let myself waste away.
Then, one night, he took me far more brutally than before. Sex with him had always been rough, but this time it truly hurt, and he didn’t care. He told me I was now completely useless, good for nothing, and I deserved to be punished.
Over the next week, it got worse. In the long hours he was away, I fantasized about leaving, but I was afraid of what would happen if he caught me.
I made no conscious decision to leave. I was simply taking the trash out, but then I stood in the back alley for a long time, staring at the cars passing by. When I walked to the corner, I barely noticed when a small truck pulled up beside me.
A kindly old man doing deliveries asked if I needed to go somewhere, and I just got in the truck. I had no money, no clothes, no ID, but I just didn’t care. I wasn’t even scared of being alone with a strange man.
After Dan, there was nothing worse anyone could do to me.
The old man took me to a women’s shelter and gave me a bit of cash he had on him. He knew I was in desperate trouble and wanted to help—an extremely rare, kind soul.
The shelter took me in, and over the next week, I found my strength again. The women helped me relocate, and I was able to get back my original identity documents and change my name. To my surprise, an old investment I’d made years ago had paid out a decent return, and I considered this a sign that my life was turning around.
