For the first few months of our relationship, Colin was the perfect boyfriend. On the way home from school each afternoon, he’d hold my hand in his, our fingers entwined, symbolizing what I thought would be a relationship filled with trust, loyalty and togetherness. I had no idea it was about power. We spent practically every moment together and when we weren’t together we were spending hours talking on the phone. I loved and cherished the time we were with each other but I missed my friends. As I grew closer and closer to Colin, I grew further and further apart from the group I used to be inseparable from.
Gradually I started seeing more of my friends and less of Colin. This is when I began to see a change in him. I remember meeting my friends in town for a coffee and my phone constantly ringing with text messages and calls. All from Colin. When I saw him later that evening he seemed distant and icy. I took no notice. I didn’t want to see my boyfriend as anything other than wonderful. I shouldn’t have shielded myself from the truth.
Colin started to want to spend every minute with me. He demanded my constant attention and hated it whenever I went out with the girls and not him. When I spent time with my guy friends, he became visibly jealous, clenching his teeth and insisting on holding my hand. He did that because he thought of me as property. As far as Colin was concerned, I was his. And he refused to share.
He saw me with a friend I had known since I could barely even walk, Mark. I had no idea he had seen us together but when he confronted me I just knew he had been spying on us, even though the meeting was completely innocent. He started questioning me about Mark calmly but flew into a jealous rage when I continued to say that our relationship was merely platonic. That was when it happened. We were arguing, arms flailing about. I was infuriated. But Colin was beginning to scare me. His hand shot up, the hand that once caressed my face and made me feel so special and the hand that held mine as if he never wanted to let go. He hit me. Hard. Right across my face. My face ached and I felt a stinging sensation. Tears slid down my face and I wanted to run. I tried but he pulled me back. He kissed me and said that he hated himself for what he had just done and that he would never, ever hurt me again. He called me his princess, although he was far from a prince. But I believed him.
Now I’m lying in a hospital bed with a cracked rib and a broken nose. He said he would never hurt me again. I should have known he was a liar.