He followed me outside after choir rehearsals. I noticed him when he came in during practice, and my heart skipped.
He isn’t gorgeous, he isn't the kind of man that would stop you in your tracks and make you stare.
He was… different.
He had this aura to his presence that commanded respect, and oh those eyes… wide, white and expressive.
“Hi!.. hello..!” he said, trying to stop me, but I ran. I ran as fast as I could.
That reaction, the one I had when I saw him, wasn’t new to me.
I avoided it like a plague.
Back in my hostel room, thoughts of him filled my mind, making me ignore the rumble of my stomach. The last time I felt this way was when Jeremiah had smiled back at me in senior high school.
I thought to myself, what am I even running from? He didn’t even say anything to me.
Hehe… Victoria..! You and your overthinking and overanalyzing!
Well, during the next rehearsal, I walked up to him and introduced myself. Better get this over and done with, I thought. He was warm and kind, and he smiled a lot. We clicked immediately, we had a lot in common.
From our conversations, I observed that we had similar mannerisms. Our faces did most of the talking even before our voices. We both had expressive eyes, we both gesticulated when trying to make a point, and yes, we loved the same genre of music. He was great company. I liked being around him a lot,more than I expected.
Which was why, when he called me that Tuesday night to come hang out with him and his friends, I jumped at the idea. He definitely was going to introduce us: he had said so several times and I guess it was about time he let me into his world.
I was very meticulous with my makeup and dress. I better impress the guys, I thought. And I did, if the reactions I got when they saw me were anything to go by. I was delighted. They were fun to be with, and they spoke so intelligently.
After a while, I was pressed and needed to use the restroom, so I excused myself. While in the restroom going about my business, I heard voices. I paused to listen but got nothing, so I continued with what I was doing.
He knocked and asked if I was okay.
“Babe, I’ve only been gone two minutes now…..”
I wasn’t done speaking when the doorknob clicked and he came in. I was shocked, and he just smiled and said they could come in.
They? Who?
It all happened in a blur. Five men. First, I was slapped.
I didn’t even say anything, but I got slapped. I knew I wasn’t getting out unscathed, so I didn’t bother fighting. Next, I was lifted up with a jolt, a strong hand ripping off my dress. I couldn’t scream. I only stared at the mirrors on the ceiling, showing me what was going on like I was watching a movie.
A movie where I was the main character, with strange men and one man… one man I thought I knew.
I kept looking at him. I don’t even know what I was expecting, maybe for him to stop it, to say something.
He didn’t.
Then I noticed it.
It was so subtle, almost invisible, but I saw it - that flicker in his eyes. Was it regret? Was it mockery? What was it?
I lay down in my pool of blood after everything, and somehow I still yearned for his presence.
He ruined me, and he was still who I wanted to be with.
Was that love or lunacy?
I have never been in love, so I didn’t know how to react when someone I opened my heart to shattered me in ways I couldn’t imagine.
I still saw him after that day, and he acted as though I didn’t exist.
As though he hadn’t ruined me.
He wasn’t scared that I’d say anything.
He still walked like he owned the place.
I wondered why he wasn’t afraid I would out him.
I guess society enabled him, after all, who would believe my story?
I would still be blamed.
I would be asked why I wore a dress.
Why I wore makeup.
Why I hung out with six men alone.
I would be asked why I expected to be treated like a human being with dignity - especially when my partner was there.
I would be asked why I trusted a man I loved.
I tried to move on
To erase that sordid memory
Oh how hard I tried not to think about it.
But my mind kept going back.
Back to his face. Back to that moment. Back to the way he stood there like all was right.
Sometimes I wonder if I imagined it. If there was really anything in his eyes at all… or if I created it because I needed something to hold on to.
Maybe I misunderstood everything.
Maybe I was wrong about him.
But then I remember how still I was at that moment. How my body seemed to know something before my mind did.
And I don’t know what to believe.
Some days, I tell myself he is just a bad memory.
Other days, I find myself thinking about where he is, what he is doing, if he ever thinks about me at all.
And I hate myself for that part.
Because I don’t know why someone who broke me still feels like home.