Aaron. Just the name scares me sometimes. Ours was a story
of high school sweethearts but much younger. I met him when I lived in Spencer
in the fifth grade. So that was what… uhh 2000? I think so. He lived down the
road from where we lived and we rode the bus together. He fought my battles for
me and made sure the other kids didn’t make fun of “the new girl.” Then I moved
again. I figured I’d never see him again. Then, in the summer between 8th
and 9th grade, I got a friend request on MySpace (gay!) and we
reconnected. We hung out a lot because he would drive from Spencer to see me. Our
friendship grew to a relationship in the course of a few months.
At that point, everything was great. He was attentive and
took me out to eat and on dates. For my first real relationship, I thought it
was perfect. Then things started to get weird. At first it was just little
things like getting jealous and angry when I talked about my guy friends (of
which I had many) even if it was something small and insignificant. That,
though, wasn’t enough to make me worry. Since I hadn’t had a real relationship,
I figured that underneath cool exteriors, all guys were that way. However, it
quickly became apparent that he was not like other guys as I had first
suspected.
The first time it happened, I’ll never forget. We had been
having a great day. Laughing, joking, smiling…it all disappeared the instant I told
him that I had hung out with my guy friends a few days before that. He asked me
if I had feelings for any of them. I told him no but that was not the right
answer apparently. His hand swung up and across my face before I could even
react; before I even knew what was going on. I covered my face in shock, tears
spilling out automatically. His face went from anger to apologetic in an
instant. He told me that he was sorry and said he’d never do it again. Ever.
The second time is less memorable. All of them have blurred
together that I barely remember which moment was which. Just blinding pain and
the fear that struck in my gut any time another man was brought up, whether by
me or by him. Always followed by an apology and a promise to never do it again.
There’s a scar on my right forearm from when he swung at me with a claw thingy
that you garden with, you know what I’m talking about. I have a part of my hip
that can’t feel anything because we got into a car accident because he had my
thigh in a death grip and I was trying to struggle free and, somehow the nerves
were damaged. If bruises left scars, there’d be scars on my face, arms and
legs. After the first few times when it was noticeable and he ran out of
excuses for his mother, he started hitting in places that could be covered with
clothes.
Now, you may be asking, “Sammy, what the fuck? Why didn’t
you get out of there as quickly as possible?!” Here’s where it just gets
stupid. Along with the physical, there was also emotional abuse as there
usually is. He had me convinced that no one ever would love me. He was the only
one who could, who ever would. I mean, who could ever love a girl like me? I’m
stupid and ugly and blah blah blah. This is how it went and I believed it. So now
there’s emotional scars left on my pride, my dignity and my self-esteem.
Eventually, with enough encouragement from friends, I was
able to break up with him. Although, none of my friends believed that he
actually existed even though they all saw the bruises. I guess since they never
met him, he must not be real right? So, on top of the physical and emotional
scarring, I knew I couldn’t really rely on my friends to be there for me when I
needed them because they’d just think I was lying. The thing was I didn’t want
him to hurt anyone. When a psychopath gets into it, I don’t care how strong you
are, he’s taking you down. I loved my friends too much to let anything happen
to them. Anyway, even if it meant that I’d never have love again, I broke it
off. That was one of the scariest moments of my life. Of course, I hadn’t been
through the next few months and years, really, yet so I had no idea.
Aaron became a constant fixture in my nightmares, which I was
having nightly and still do occasionally. It is a lot easier if someone is in
the bed with me, which is why I love to cuddle. I don’t have nightmares. My nightmares
were not the only terror I got from him, though. He’d come to my house and visit
sometimes. My room at my parents’ house was on the ground floor so all he had
to do was come up on knock on the window and he knew I’d always answer. Mostly,
I was scared for my family. He could so easily get to my sisters but he didn’t
want them. He wanted me. So I always answered for him which ended up with me
being knocked out by having my face slammed into my window pane and waking up
with the window still open and dew collected in my hair and on my face at 6:30
in the morning. Still, I always answered. One of the worst moments was when he
came to my house after he had just acquired a gun. I wondered how he could’ve
passed any kind of test to carry a weapon but I’m sure he didn’t have a permit.
That raised the stakes to an insurmountable level. I felt like I was drowning
in my own terror or that nothing I could do would ever get rid of him; get him
out of my life.
After that, I had a few visits from him at home or at my
work when I worked at the gate house down at the lake, where he backhanded me
because I was alone and he could do that, I guess. Last summer, he came to my
house again after a few months of silence. I think one of the worst things
about him is that he’d leave for a while and, right when I thought he was gone
for good, I’d hear that knock on my window and feel the weight settling in my
stomach and just know that he’d be there with that smile on his face and the “Hey
Sammy baby!” ready on his lips. After last summer, though, he’s disappeared
completely. One of the times I drove out to Spencer, I drove past his mom’s
house, hoping to see his sister or brother or any of his family really, just to
make sure they were okay. There’s another family there now. I asked them if
they knew where the previous owners were and they didn’t.
I don’t know where he went or if he’s still alive really. I know
it’s bad to wish death on a person but if there is anyone in this whole world I
would like to see tortured to death, it’s that man. When I moved out, I knew I wouldn’t
hear that knock or have to lie in bed, wondering if he’ll visit tonight until I’ve
been up until 5 and I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. The thing is though,
when I moved out, my youngest sister moved into my old room. Since then, I’ve
had this constant panicky feeling that he might come to see me and find her
there instead. The thought has haunted me for…oh I don’t even know how long. Every
day that she makes it through the night, uninterrupted and not terrorized is
another day that I know he’s been gone. Maybe he knows what my car looks like
and deduced when it wasn’t there for several weeks in a row. One can only hope.
I’ve figured it out that he is the basis of all of my trust
issues. All of my issues, really. Well, I guess it’s not only him but we won’t
go into all that. Now that you know my worst, let’s continue on to Chris.
