Aassbag

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 8^th and 9^th 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.