Has it really been four years?
How did we get here? How the hell?
I don’t know the exact date, and I won’t pretend to know either. I just remember the moment innocence turned into something much more dangerous. She was distressed, and I tried to keep my cool. I wasn’t worried about her, as much as that pains me to say. In fact, she was the last thing on my mind. I was worried about the family I had built for the last three years. I was panicking about what would happen to my family if they found out. And I was angry with him for putting all of us in this position.
I wish I would have done something, but I didn’t. I wish I would have slapped him and told him to snap out of it, and I wish I would have strapped her down to a chair until she realized what the hell she was getting into. But I didn’t, and now we are here.
He enters my mind ever so often. I wonder where he is, what he is doing. I imagine him happy, as if the past 3 years of his life didn’t exist. I imagine him playing with his kids, laying beside his wife, playing with her dog. I imagine him turning to God, praising his name, speaking his forgiveness, claiming how much of a changed man he is. And it honestly pisses me off. He doesn’t deserve to be happy when the one person he ruined is still trying to pick up the pieces. He shouldn’t have a wife when the one person he nearly destroyed has the pieces knocked out of her hand by people claiming to help. He doesn’t deserve God’s forgiveness when the girl he claimed he loved turns to God ashamed and begs for hope. No, he shouldn’t have any of those things.
It is weird to think that all of that still affects me, but it makes sense. I gained friends, I lost friends. Because of him, the one boy that could have been so good for me is now the one boy who got away. Because of him, my last two years of high school were hell. Because of him, the family that I spend so much time on building fractured. Because of him, my family got stronger. Because of him, I learned to survive. Because of him, I can get through anything.
But I still want to see him behind bars, a broken and beaten man. I want to look down at him and thank him for making me who I am today, because he is largely to thank for that. And as he opens his mouth to speak, I won’t let him. I will fill his cell with memories and regrets and pain. I will ask him what he was thinking, why he was thinking it. And before he can answer me, I will tell him that I don’t care anymore, because all he spews is lies and hurt. I will look at him and let him see the past four years in my eyes. And then I will walk away as he cries, and I will never look back, and I will never think of him again.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her. My best friend for almost two years. We are still connected through the songs that helped us get through the night, through the small jokes we made to help forget about life for a while. Of everything I have gone through and am still going through, hers is ten times worse. She hasn’t escaped the memories yet. She doesn’t have the option to put it all behind her. She can’t choose to forget just yet. She is strong, stronger than I am, and I cry for her. She is the sweetest girl, and the saddest. And I pray that she is out of it soon. But I don’t want her to forget that someone still thinks of her from time to time.
Hopefully by next year, we can all have the choice to move on.