Page 15

You’re not supposed to fear the man you love, but I did.

By the end of our relationship, I was hiding bruises from the outside world.

The fucked up part about it is that he never said he was sorry. Some partners, when they abuse their loved one, will come back later and grovel to make them seem like they regretted their actions to keep you on their hook. They want you to believe that they’re a good person who just made a bad choice in the moment.

While all of that is narcissistic bullshit and mental abuse, Ronny didn’t think what he did was wrong.

All because he believed I truly wanted it.

He made me question how sick and fucked up in the head I must have been to get off on rough sex. How insane I must be to enjoy breath play or being manhandled.

He had a way of twisting the situation and making me feel like maybe I was making a big deal out of nothing since I did give him permission to do those things to me in the beginning.

Then one day he came home drunk after getting fired from his job and beat me to the point that I couldn’t walk—along with some other things I’d love to forget—I knew then that there wasn’t anything wrong with me.

However, there were a hell of a lot of things wrong with him.

I went to the police, and while I was fully ready to accept that they weren’t going to believe me, they did.

Ronny was arrested that day. There wasn’t even a court case. He was sent to prison, as far as I know.

I should have asked questions, demanded more answers. But he was gone, and I was free from his abuse. So I didn’t.

Still to this day, years later, I question how it could have been so easy for him to go away. Just like that.

Maybe all the evidence they needed was the condition my body was in, and that was enough.

The sound of a crow snaps me out of the unwanted walk down memory lane.

My eyes dart up to the sky, and I smile at the crow sitting on top of the tree. “Hey, little guy,” I greet.

He caws before extending his wings and taking flight.

I need to get out of my head and think about something else.

I release a heavy sigh, my body sore and my brain tired, and stand from the porch chair I was sitting in.

My attention focuses on the forest treeline that sits right next to my house.

Growing up, I’d spend hours getting lost, exploring the wilderness, and enjoying the beauty of the world.

It’s been years since I’ve set foot past that first set of trees.

So why, after all these years, is there this feeling inside me, pulling me in that direction?

“Fuck it,” I mutter, grabbing my phone and shoving it into my back pocket.

Hopping off the deck, I head in the direction of the path I know well.

It’s grown over from years without use, leaving it covered in grass and leaves. Still, I walk through the long blades and continue forward.

A little ways in, the familiar worn trail appears, and I smile, laughing softly.

The smile stays on my face as I follow the path, taking in the beauty around me.

The sounds of the birds and the light wind rustling the leaves on the trees are relaxing.

It feels magical, surreal, like I’m in some mythical land.