PROMISES » #MeToo ✔️

a glimpse into the past // pt. 3

A/N: I put the pinky-promise cover back because now it's relevant. And yes, pinky-promise is going to be their "thing" :))

I close my bedroom door with a sigh, wondering if I even want to write this article tonight. I know I need to, and I'm not exactly in a bad mental state or anything right now, I'm just...

            I'm avoiding it. I'm trying to avoid it.

            With an annoyed groan, I plug my phone into the charger by my desk and grab my laptop, dragging it over to my bed. If I'm going to write about something traumatic – or whatever, then I'm doing it comfortably.

            I move the pillows around so I have a little nook where my bed meets the corner of my walls to write in. It looks comfy enough, but I add my fuzzy blankets for good measure. I'm stalling, but oh well. I have to be comfortable.

            Eventually – after putting on pajamas, tying my hair back in a ponytail, and finding a soft vibes playlist on Spotify – I sit down in the nook and pull my laptop with me, tugging one of the fuzzy blankets over my legs.

            I lift the laptop lid, blinking as the screen lights up. I forgot to turn the brightness down.

            After I log into my laptop, I find the file I had starting writing the article in and open it up. I quickly skim through what I wrote last time, trying to figure out what to start with next. I ended on the note of his silent treatments unfortunately having a terrible effect on me – still, like six years later. How do I follow that?

            I glance at the few notes I had written down in my act of stalling, deciding to branch off into something else. I'll link it together later. Who cares.

            One time, I remember he – out of the blue, too – texted me a picture of him shirtless. I had absolutely no idea how to respond to that.

            I scrunch my face up just thinking about it. Was that technically like...a half-nude? He disgusts me.

            It made me extremely uncomfortable, so the only thing I could think to respond with was, "Nice." I then told him I was getting in the shower – actually not an excuse, I really was taking a shower. Not even a second later, he asked for a picture. As in, a picture of me...in the shower.

            I shiver – from frustration or disgust, I'm not sure.

            I told him no, obviously, and after seeing that it upset me that he asked that, he tried covering it up by saying his brother dared him to send that.

            I have no earthly idea why I believed him. But I did. I forgave him.

            I remember a little after this, he was playing on the playground at school and fell. Everyone rushed over to help him, everyone except me. I had forgave him for asking for a picture of me, but I guess not entirely. It didn't matter, though, because of course the fact that I didn't run over to him when he fell upset him greatly. I had to deal with another silent treatment, and another afternoon of feeling like a failed 'girlfriend'.

            A week or so later, my best friend texted me and informed me that Mike was cheating on me. I was so happy that day. I had been looking for a way to escape, and he had finally given me one.

            I shift around on the bed, sinking further into the pillows. I grab one of the blankets and put it around my shoulders. It usually helps to calm me down – the pressure from the blanket.

            I texted Mike. I told him, "I know what you did." And he was confused at first. So I clarified. I told him I knew he cheated, and that we were done.

            I remember breathing a sigh of relief after sending that because I thought, "It's over. It's done." But it wasn't. Nothing was over. Nothing is ever done with him.

            He kept trying to convince me that he didn't cheat. He kept trying to call me. I never answered him. This was all happened after school one day. He called me again and again and again. I finally answered.

            Flashbacks, you're not needed right now, thanks. Just let me write this. You can torment me later.

            It was the most scared I had ever been in my entire life when I answered that phone call. He was yelling and screaming the most degrading things, all directed toward me and how I was wrong for accusing him of cheating. I don't remember most of what he said because I zoned out halfway through it. Whatever he was saying hit too close to home.

            That was the day I learned that the phrase, "Words will never hurt me," was just a huge load of bullshit.

            I felt like I had been punched in the gut. And that was before he started breaking glass in his front yard.

            After he finished yelling, all I could hear was glass breaking. Glass shattering. Him screaming as he threw something down, and then it breaking into a million pieces. I didn't know what he was breaking. I just know it terrified me.

            He told me I had made him that mad. That it was my fault he was breaking glass in his front yard. It was all my fault. If I had kept my mouth shut, this wouldn't have happened.

            I took him back after that phone call. What else was I supposed to do? I didn't know what he would do if I didn't take him back. I was so afraid.

            The next day at school, he said I had to kiss him—

            I pause, taking a deep and shaky breath. I let it out slowly, not sure if I should continue or stop.

            I vote for stopping. I can feel my vision trying to blur, and my mind trying to check out, but I fight against it, holding onto anything I can in my room as I walk my laptop back over to my desk. I don't look at or touch my phone, even though I know it was buzzing earlier.

            What if it's Miles? Coming back after all these years...relentless as always—

            I shake my head as hard as I can, trying to shake those thoughts out of my head. It's not Miles. Miles isn't here. Miles can't get me.

            I hope, at least.