He Made Me Feel Beautiful

His age should have kept me away. What people would think should have kept me away. Our beginning should have kept me away. But I fell hard and fast and watched helplessly as my walls came crashing down.
He put his arms around me. Scared, I fought; I argued, taunted and challenged. None of it worked, nothing would make him go away. He was in just as much as I was. We had one night, and now this.

He was 19, blonde, tall, built and beautiful. I was 25, blonde, not so tall or built and not very beautiful -- until he smiled at me, until he touched me. Then I was beautiful.

He made me beautiful.

Lies: "Don't let my parents find out how old you are". Secrets: "Don't let them know we spend every night together." Whispers: "I love you." And sex: everywhere, all the time, every morning and every night.

I was blinded by lust and couldn't get enough, couldn't touch him enough, couldn't taste him enough. It just kept happening and I loved every minute of it.

We talked. We laughed. Long drives, coffee and a joint, the radio playing softly. Just the two of us. I told him things, all the things I had kept inside for so long. I giggled, bobbed, loved, lingered and glowed.

I wasn't afraid anymore, didn't back away from his hands. There was no yelling, no threats, no screams, and no pain. How could I have thought my life before was real? He healed all the hurt; he gave me back me.

He made me believe in love again, in caring, kindness and a different kind of strength. He erased all of my long faded bruises and scars left by someone else, someone from a different time, back from when I was his age.

One year later, holding hands, walking down the path through the woods. August night, hot and steamy, dark and starry sky. He turned to me, took my face in his hands. "Will you move in with me?" he asked.

Yes. Oh, yes.

Six months later it ended badly. He stopped coming home. He confessed he was sleeping with her, but said he still loved me.

Give me a break.

24 hours and I was packed to move out, out of our apartment and out of his life.

He lost it.

Crashing and smashing, broken beer bottles ... he made me know his anger, he showed it through destruction. Why was he angry with me? I was giving him what he wanted by leaving.

In return he destroyed my belongings, finishing off what was left of my heart.

He told me he was going to hit me, he had lost his mind and didn't know what he was doing.

Goodbye.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't eat for 4 days, didn't sleep for 2. Slept with my best friend and drank a lot of vodka.

Tried to let go, forget, get over it. He wouldn't let me. Late night phone calls pleading for forgiveness. "Please come back."

I considered it. How could I not, after everything? But he wouldn't agree to my terms, to get help for his temper, for the anger, for the fists he started to throw and the damage he was causing.

So he went back to her. I hear they're engaged now. He beats her. She lets him.

Three months later I find out I am pregnant.

I doubt I will ever see him again.

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