Lost and Forgotten - The Revelation

The beginning

It was approximately 8.30am, and I had awoke with a raging headache and a battered physique. Tyler was no where in sight, almost as if he had vanished amongst the piles of clothes surrounding my king-sized, flung in almost every direction I looked.

My pale face and body tensed with agony, as I tried to lift my lifeless carcass off the bed. My whole body shuddered, as I made a somewhat hissing sound, emphasising the pain I felt; the pain I always feel. As I don't work, can't work, not allowed to work , shouldn't work, I decided it would be better if I became more productive - not just in the bedroom, but for the sake of the sanitation of the house.

Dust crept from every corner of the filthy apartment. The more I examined my surroundings, the more my motivation lacked. I really did not feel like I could do an adequate cleaning job feeling like this.

I wasn't always like this you know. I once was someone else - someone entirely in contrast to who I am today, at this moment in time. Maybe I haven't told you already, but my name's Sarah Hills. I now live in an apartment with a violent, loving, horrid individual who I somehow seem to love. Weird isn't it?
I grew up in South London, in England. I was born and raised with a loving, affectionate family, a family I knew I could always rely on, until now of course. My mother was called Claire, father, Darren.

Everything was seemingly placid and calm up until I was sixteen. At that age, I gained freedom, stability almost, despite still living with my parents. I started experimenting - you know how it goes, you become so curious that you'll literally try anything, even sex. Maybe that's not always the case with everyone, but for me it was. I was always so wrapped up in what my parents wanted that I didn't realise I had my own life to live - to fulfil.

I started dating, quite evidently. I had confidence, excitement, boosts of energy. I felt content, loved and cared for. I had my place, or so it seemed...
I had met Tyler at the naive age of 17, he seemed different that the over boys that used to entertain me - warming to say the least, with a slick bit of confidence. It somehow made so much more attracted to him, but that confidence soon turn to aggression. I mean, he had confidence to kiss me in public, hold my hand, make sure I was in his sights, confidence to fight anyone who looked at me. He was even confident enough to destroy all the confidence I had left, till there was no remnants remaining.

I suppose I've skipped to bad parts, but that's all my life has been about: skipping to the end, hoping it stops; one big blur. My life has been a curse, like those fairytales of princesses being trapped in a tower. I mean I could identify my self with Fiona, out of Shreck, minus the ogre image. I could understand the feeling of hating who you truly was, trying to hide it from the world, just so everyone believes that you're normal, but your not normal, and most likely will never be.

I always imagine my life without falling for him, without him being a constant memory that I hold - that I will always hold, a bit too dearly to my disgusting heart.

When we met for the first time, I disliked him with a passion, despised him in fact. His arrogant ways - so full of himself. Maybe we fitted perfectly because I was too. His face was golden brown, with a few freckles here and there, only noticeable when up close and personal, if you get what I mean. He was around 5"11 at the time, bearing in mind he's around 6"3 now. His physique was lean and muscular, quite pleasant to look at, considering the other people I had recently been exposed to.

I cannot explain my frustration. It's just quite incomprehensible of how I went from being my old self, to the mess I am today. I was never the type to allow holistic violence. Considering I had never experienced it with my parents, I was oblivious to the existence of it. Tyler wasn't however...

Tyler was vulnerable. I knew he was, and I felt I could change his vulnerability into something more positive. I couldn't. At first he was genuine. He confessed so much to me of his experience with watching violence within his family and how it directly affected his whole outlook on life. He told me he had hated himself for so long, that he would never treat anyone the same as his step-father had treated his mother. It's sounds quite ironic now, because at one point in my life, I felt like I wouldn't stand for that kind of torment... But look at me now, I'm a victim - he's the abuser. I knew it was him, but I accepted everything that he had said to me, maybe because I couldn't stand up for myself, or maybe because I didn't feel like myself around him, who knows... I don't.

I should have exited as soon as his temper progressed, as soon as I witnessed his dark side - and no, this is not Star Wars. To be quite honest, I didn't know what to do. I felt I had a duty to mend him - fix him back to something better - maybe to something that I wanted him to be- maybe that only happens in fairy tales, and this sure was not it. I couldn't change someone that I loved, so perseverance felt like it was my only option. It was either lose him, or lose myself after he was gone - I felt secluded without an option.