warning: mention of abuse and rape.
"I want to let you back in, it's just so hard." I explained. He'd been here for an hour, and we'd gotten through two mugs of coffee, and seven glasses of whiskey. I promised myself I would be honest with him, for my own sake.
"Please, Belle. I swear, I've changed so much." He placed a hand on my shoulder, and I flinched. He sighed in response.
"Why didn't you talk to me? Why now, of all times?" I questioned. He glanced over me, then back to the dull liquid in the glass, tilting it slightly as if trying to see through the bottom.
"Lake told all of us he was going to watch you, and I wanted to see you. I didn't know we'd talk to you afterwards - I was... I was just curious to see what had happened to you. I wasn't going to stay at your apartment, but after you started seizing I didn't have a choice." He looked emotionless, and I wondered what he'd been thinking of.
"Oh, so it's my fault?" I laughed.
"You know that's not what I'd meant." His tone was serious. I rolled my eyes, knowing I was a lightweight, and he could always tolerate alcohol. "But, you did ask me here. I thought the least I could do is apologise, and clear some stuff up. I don't want you to still have distress because of me. In fact - I thought we could remain somewhat friends."
Internally, I was cackling at his statement. I smiled at him, wishing he would realise what he'd left me with.
"It's hard for me to even sit with you, you know that? I don't know what I'm doing." I put two fingers to the bridge of my nose. "I'm such a fucking idiot. I can't let you do this again, you're just going to fuck me up so much more." Sighing, I downed the last drop of whiskey.
"You know I regret it." He spoke quickly, as if to reassure me.
"Regret doesn't cure the literal mental illness you've caused." I raised my voice, gesturing widely, slightly too exaggerated. His facial expression changed from flat, to a guilty frown.
"What?" He asked, voice low. Although it felt that he'd been regretful, and genuinely empathetic, I couldn't tell if it had been a facade. I didn't know what to believe anymore.
"Belle. What are you talking about?" He dug, not removing his eyes from mine.
"I have depression, and with that anxiety - one therapist thought you'd given me PTSD. Since..." I paused. "Since us I haven't been in a relationship with anyone else. My dance partner had to be fucking homosexual for me to let him touch me." I was being open about most of my current state, at least. Of course, there was things I don't think I will ever tell him, but perhaps notifying him of this would make him change. Maybe the next girl will be better off.
"Belle... I don't know what to say." George stood up, remorse painted over his face. "I think I need to leave - I can't do this."
I sighed. "You can't do this? You can't see me anymore, simply because of your mistakes?" My tone matched my anger. "You come to what, check on me, and then leave when you see the damage you've caused? Or, was this all to protect your image? Because if I ever let this out-"
"Belle. I know you think the worst of me, but I swear to you, I fucking swear that I am not that person anymore. I'm not even the person I was last year. I've gone through some shit too. I just didn't want you to go through your life without having any explanation."
"Do you still love me?" A little too suddenly, I realised how much the alcohol had kicked in, causing this bold move. He must have known by now I still had feelings for him, there was no other reason that I would rekindle the dying flame between us. Even though he'd put me through Hell on Earth, I was still in the mindset of 'us'. Of my senior year, feeling the new relationship, my first love. The only love I think I'll ever experience. Perhaps that's why I couldn't let it go. I wouldn't get close to anyone but him.
"Are you hearing yourself?" George pressed, stepping closer to me, eyebrows creased in frustration. He was angry. "You are fucking delusional if you think asking me that is okay." He was shouting - something I was used to. I noticed myself go into my old, numb state, staring blankly at him. After a few seconds of silence, when I'd realised I was okay, and not eighteen and in his dorm room again.
"Sorry, I didn't know what the boundaries were." I replied, quietly, yet sarcastically.
"Belle," He sighed, crouching in front of me to meet me at eye-level. "You cannot even think about that. You can't possibly want to be with me after what I've done to you. And if you do, then I really can't see you anymore."
I didn't reply, only maintaining the empty and dull expression. He put both his left thumb and index finger to each of his eyes, exhaling.
Looking up once more, he reinforced his opinion."I'm not good for you, please tell me you understand that."
I'd wanted to nod along, agreeing that I understood my abusive ex boyfriend was the last person I wanted to see. My outbursts would support that. My attitude would support that. But my heart just couldn't. Deep down, I wanted him. I wanted to feel his embrace again. Among all of the awful things, we had a few good times. Few had been a keyword in that statement, however they were what I'd hung onto the most. Getting takeout, cuddling, feeling his bare skin to mine. Few people had made me feel what I had during those moments. The bad had to outweigh the good, though I wasn't sure that in my completely messed up brain, that was the case.
"Do you?" I questioned, ignoring what had been said previously.
George opened his mouth, before closing it again. I waited impatiently for his answer, even though I was certain it would be no.
"Belle, I loved you for a long time. No one made me feel like that, I know I fucked it, but for some time, I really did. You were what I thought about day in, day out. I would plan out in my head how I'd stop being such a prick, how I would buy you gifts... I'd lay awake beside you, look over your face and see what I'd done to it, and swear to myself I would never do it again."
I listened intently to his words, feeling my heart race once more, eyes watering.
"But," He continued, and I winced. There always had to be a 'but'. Nothing good ever came after that.
"I did. I still did. I couldn't show you what you meant to me, and by the end, I stopped believing myself. That's how I could leave you so easily. I didn't love Chloe until I started to control myself."
Although I appreciated what he'd said, I just wanted an answer. Yes, or no? It wasn't the right thing to ask him, it wasn't the right thing to ask myself, but I needed it. Perhaps he was different, and we would be happy. I could feel his arms around me, and feel his gaze from across the room. The butterflies he gave me.
"If I told you I loved you, would it help you?" He asked. I stared at him, disappointed.
"I just want the truth, George."
"I don't. I don't have those feelings for you anymore - I'm sorry."
My heart sank. I let out a small cry, and a tear down my cheek. I'd known how he felt, but hearing it from him hurt me.
"Belle..." Hearing my name roll from his tongue felt like a paper cut. It made my insides sting. But I wanted him to say it again.
"I know it's wrong, George. It's so surreal you're with me here, right now. But all I can think of in this moment is how badly I want you to hold me again. It's fucked up, we are fucked up. But what can I do? I don't want to feel this anymore."
"You said you went to therapy. Do you still go?" I rolled my eyes at his fake concern. Why would he care?
"No - I can't afford it anymore." It had been the truth. I had bills to pay, and medication to buy. Therapy had been another expense I didn't feel was worth it.
"Let me pay, then. It's my fault after all. I want to help you, I can't stand knowing this is how I've made you."
"I don't need your pity money. I'm fine, just leave it."
"Yeah, you're so fine you want to be with someone who, you said yourself," he paused, looking uneasy. "-fucking raped you. That sounds fine." His voice was bitter once more.
After a few more pushes, I eventually agreed to have him pay for my therapy. I wondered if he'd done this with another girl, if this was him tying up loose ends. I'd decided not to ask him, as if the answer had been yes, I would have been more hurt than before. We'd ended our conversation, and he left. I was alone in my apartment once more.
1603 words,,unedited
sorry for being so inactive on here. i have written a couple more chapters for this one, and edited a few things on the first couple. maybe have a re-read, refresh your memories a bit. next chapter is like 2.5k words. enjoy.
-xoxo jojisdad
