I dreamt of you last night," He said. "I dream that we were children playing in a sandbox and you charged me a quarter to see what’s under your dress. I knew then that when we grew up I would make a whore out of you,”
I didn’t expect to feel anything but I did. So much so that I sat at my vanity and stared at the two of them feeling something sweet and warm and unexpected.
They looked handsome sprawled out on my bed seeming so natural, seeming to belong. For a moment I had a taste of what it would have been like had we worked as a couple.
He had one of my panty on his face.
I smiled. Which I’m sure was his intention.
Did he mean to fall asleep like that?
He was not permitted in my bed. I’d told him not to even enter my bedroom.
But I didn’t wake him up and tell him to leave. How could I when they looked like that, so cozy, so close, so incredible loveable.
And so I sat there and watched them with a smile on my face. We were once a real promise.
I’m talking about my four year old son and his father. Both without shirts, both sprawled out in my bed sleeping.
Caesar was secure in the crook of CX's arms, they look so alike for a moment I was taken back that I created this child with this man.
I couldn’t stop thinking about us, and how we came to be. How we unexpectedly ended up here—mother, father, child, a family so connected and so very broken.
I’d had a late appointment and asked that he watched Caesar. I rushed back wanting to put Caesar to bed. Read stories. Cuddle. We do this most nights. There were three books in the bed beside them. CX had done it for me.
I walked over to the bed and took my panty off his face. He woke up and grabbed my arm and smiled at me.
“I’m sniffing your scent,” He said.
I ignored him.
CX has never given up the idea that he and I would get back together despite all the crazy shit we've been through.
We’ve seen each other at our best and at our worst. He’s done so much damage to me personally, professionally and in every way someone can impacts one's life. He's broken my trust, imprisoned me, terrorized me, so much so that I don't think that I would/could ever be in a room with him much less forgive him.
Being this close to him was dangerous for me.
He’s always been comfortable around me. Too much considering that we broke up horribly. But having little Caesar and both of us being very involve, we’re constantly together. We’ve learned to get along despite the fears and mistrust.
We’ve learned to deal with the past, sometimes pretending that all those things happened to someone else, and oftentimes telling ourselves that we were different people then.
I knew that we weren't. That at any moment, if I say or do something that he perceives to be a threat to him in any way, I would be on my knees before him with a gun to my head. That danger is always there.
People do not change.
But what really put us on the path of putting the past behind us is when he came back from Iraq sick, and the fact that I’ve been there anytime he needed someone to lean on, to drag him to the emergency room at 3am, to sit by his bed and talk, to listen to his fears, and hold him.
I’ve been there.
No matter how much I told him that I cared about him, he did not believe me. I showed him. He did not believe me but would accuse me of all sorts of insane things. It didn't take me long to realize that something was seriously wrong.
Or perhaps it could be that when we met, I was a good girl turning bad...…A sexually repressed woman on the verge of breaking free.
I told him that I just wanted sex.
Don’t fall for me, I will leave you for sure. I will break your heart.
He said the same to me. We were perfectly screwed up together.
But who was really the cat and who the mouse?
It turned out that we were both. And we were toxic together.
I found myself way in over my head. I was sexually addicted to him and he was to me. Paired with the fact that we liked each other. We had fun. We were childish together. We explored each other. And grew so close it was frightening.
He was the first man who treated me like a whore in bed.
He was the first to force me into submission.
He didn’t call me when he said he would.
He didn’t take shit from me.
He said he didn’t love me. That he would never love me.
He may not have wanted to love me, but he ended up loving me anyway.
When I left him, he tried to kill me.
To be continued…