I’ve been working up the courage and the strength to continue writing about what my relationship with James was like. It’s not something that is at all easy for me to talk about. I still find myself very embarrassed for letting myself stay in a situation like that. But I guess I didn’t see it for what it really was.
So the last thing I talked about was the first time that he raped me. It was the summer between our sophomore and junior years. I wish I could say it only happened once. But it didn’t.
I’m not sure why he did it. I guess because he could. I wish I could say that I fought back, but I didn’t. I loved him. But that didn’t mean I wanted to sleep with him. I told him no. I know now that should have been enough. But at the time, I guess I thought that what he was doing was okay. I had no idea of what a normal relationship looked like.
He continued with the physical abuse through out our junior year. I lost count that winter of how many times he raped me.
There’s a bit more to the story, but it’s freaking me out a bit too much right now.
The only thing that saved me was that his family moved to California at the end of our junior year. I honestly believe I’d either be dead or still with him today if it weren’t for him moving. And believe me when I say, I there are many days when I wish he had killed me, or I had gone through with my plans on killing myself.
At that point in time I didn’t have email (imagine that…) so his attempts to contact me were via written letter. I answered a few. But eventually they stopped coming. I guess he found another love on the west coast.