Highschool Nightmare

by Shaquelle

When I was 14, I used to hang out with my big brother and his friends. He had one friend that was sweet to me, kinder than the others, but I didn't really pay him any mind. Flirting was fun, but I wasn't interested in him like he was in me. Then, one day my brother convinced him to come and ask me out. There were a lot of people around when he asked, and I felt pressured to say yes. I didn't want to embarrass him. I have always been a free spirit and enjoyed my alone time, so adjusting to a relationship was new.

He was EXTREMELY clingy. He called all the time and texted me between calls. He didn't want me to hang out with anyone other than him, including my best friend who I knew before him. It was like he always had to be over me or know everything I was doing. If I went somewhere, he had to be aware every detail. He got angry when I told him I needed space. I wasn't breaking up with him, just asking him to back off a little bit. I never got a chance to miss him because he was ALWAYS there.

He was into partying, and I was into fitness and studying. One day he told me he drank too much at a party and cheated on me. That was the end of the line for me. I wasn't ready to have sex, and he apparently couldn't go without intercourse. However, after a week I forgave him, and we got back together. Nonetheless, the partying and cheating never stopped.

One night we were watching a movie, and things started getting hot and heavy, but I stopped it before we went all the way. A few days later my brother and I went to his house to hang out, and I could tell he wanted to pick up where we'd left off. I still wasn't ready. My brother said he needed to go to the store, and I begged him not to go, but he couldn't read the fear in my eyes. As soon as he left my boyfriend started in with the foreplay and again I felt pressured. The sexual penetration was my first time, and it was very painful, but no matter how much I said ow or asked him to stop he didn't. He got mad because I tried to push him away and he got rough. When it was over, I called my mom's boyfriend to pick me up. From that day on things were different, and I started to fall for my rapist. I didn't know what love was. I'd never seen it up close. He was still pushy, clingy, and very jealous. One day we got into a fight because he refused to let me leave his house when I wanted to go home. He took my phone and hid it, so I grabbed his CDs and threw them on the floor. He got mad and charged at me and slapped me across the face. That was the first time he hit me.

We went through the "honeymoon phase" where he apologized and brought flowers and pretended to be the guy I thought he was. But, the prior slap in my face wasn't the last time the abuse happened. There were times when we'd be fist fighting for God knows what reason and times when he choked me until just before I passed out. My younger brother had to save me from my boyfriend's physical assault once because his choking me got near death. Every time I tried to leave he threatened me. He threatened me concerning any guy I tried to date after that. Or, he would say he was going to kill himself. I stayed for a long time out of fear, not love.

I had an abortion at the beginning of our relationship; my mom said it would ruin my life having a baby and she made me abort it. I'm always thankful that she could see the future better than I could. At the end of our relationship, I got pregnant again and decided I wasn't going to abort this one, but I was too scared to spend my life with this psycho. When I pictured us living together, I felt fear and anxiety, and I couldn't see the rest of my life beyond that, so I broke up with him.

I made a new male friend who moved here from out of town, and he knew a lot about my relationship. One day I told my friend that my boyfriend and I broke up. The way my friend said "how long will it last this time?" made me realize I had fallen into a pattern of domestic violence. From that day on I never went back. It took me two years to finally get away from him.

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