His insecurities were apparent but I had no idea how in depth they were. He started playing games with my head. He made up scenarios about men I was flirting with and started arguments about them. He drove me insane.
It was like after those few months some switch clicked on in his head to turn the crazy on. He began lying about shit that had no reason to be lied about. It all appeared to me some sort of game that I didn’t know the rules of, and didn’t want to play. At that point I began to question what I had gotten myself into.
At first, I thought having sex every night was awesome. But because of his insane behavior, he made it more and more miserable. If I didn’t have sex with him, I would be accused of sleeping with another. It never made sense to me how I could even have time to sleep with anyone else because I was always with him.
We were fighting daily at this point, with each fight worse than the last. I always wondered if fighting turned him on because afterwards he always thought it appropriate to have sex. During every fight, he always said that if I didn’t like it, I could get the fuck out. I should have taken him up on that offer, but I never did. My love for him and the control that he had over me made me stay.
So many times he accused me of cheating on him. At the beginning I did, but we weren’t serious then; just casual. To him, though, I was already his. He never found out about that one time and I there was never another time thereafter.
As far as he knew I hadn’t, but that never stopped him from accusing. It came to the point where every guy I looked at was someone I was cheating on him with. He literally forced me to look at the ground when another male was around. That was a hard habit to break and traces of it still hit me from time to time.
It would always turn into a huge fight, one that would leave me crying at the slut and Hoare words he slung at me. After all the fights about the anonymous men I was supposedly cheating with, I began to walk with my head down, not even making eye contact with a guy for fear of another huge fight.
As the fights became constant, so did the physicality of our relationship. I don’t mean in a good way, either.
On the weekends, we used to drink a lot. One of these weekends, he drank more than usual. As a result, he tried to push his penis into my ass. I told him I didn’t want to. But he insisted and insisted. I kept pushing him away and telling him no, stop, don’t.
But I felt the tip of his penis at my anus. He wouldn’t stop, as much as I pleaded. He did it anyway. So I punched his thigh, over and over and over. It seemed like hours. It could have been. Finally he got up and rolled over in his drunken state and fell asleep.
The next morning my middle finger felt broken. It was bent down and he couldn’t push it up because of the pain it caused me. He said he didn’t remember the night before. God, why didn’t I leave him then?
Now, nearly 10 years later, I still have problems with my finger. There are some days where it is bent down like that morning. My husband just noticed my finger being crooked a few days ago. I’m pretty sure it was broken and never got repaired. Some pain, like memories, never go away.