So Called Love

Chapter 5 - Perfection and its iffy bits.

Chapter 5 – Perfection and its iffy bits.

Monday 13th November.

    He use to leave sticky notes everywhere for me. The whole time we were together, I would find them: in my pockets, on my car, in my bag, on the back of my phone and anywhere else you can think of. The first few he gave were on the morning after the kiss. After I dropped him home, it was Monday so I had my art class. Normally I would take my car, but it didn't start that morning so I left it there. When I came back from my class, I didn’t realise straight away. I went inside to drop my portfolio in my house, and then went back out to try my car again. That’s went I saw them. All over my car’s windscreen were sticky notes. In all colours you could think of. Some of them had dates on. They weren’t just from that day. They dated from the night of the game to that day. The ones from the day of the game were mostly questions. ‘Who is she?’ and ‘Where is she from?’. Others from the next few days said things like, ‘She is so amazing!’. And then there were those from the day of the kiss. The only one that stood out to me from them was a blue note, and written on it was, ‘Thank you.’  

    I started taking them off. Reading every single one as I did so. I knew from that moment that I wouldn’t ever throw any of these away. I would put them in a drawer of my cupboard. Except one. The one that meant the most to me. It was the one right at the bottom, except it wasn’t a sticky note; it was a piece of paper – which had covered the whole windscreen. It was white, with ornate patterns bordering the edges. And written in black neat italic writing, were 3 words. ‘I love you’. I kept that piece of paper on my wall, so I could always see it.

Tuesday 12nd December.

    Every moment of every day was spent together. Everything was perfection, especially him. But no one else could see that. All my friends and my mother, they all disapproved. They claimed I had ‘changed’. That everything in my life was just him. There was some truth in what they said. After his dad came back, Christopher had left medical school to get a job. But it wasn’t as easy as he had thought. And his dad had started beating his new girlfriend, so Chris had taken it upon himself to help her, and persuade her to leave. But, unlike his mother, Rachel (the new girlfriend) wasn’t staying because she loved Christopher’s father too much. She was staying because she was scared. She was petrified. Since all that was happening and more, Chris had been stressed, and when he was stressed he was angry. You see, one of the things Chris had inherited from his father, was his anger problems. His dad would get angry easily, but it was mostly only when he drank. Whereas, Christopher got anger over stress, and when he got angry, he had the tendency to break stuff and say things he regrets afterwards. It was at these times, when he needed someone most. And I promised both him and myself, that I would always be there for him at times like that. So everything in my life was him, but I didn’t see that as a bad thing. I saw it as something good. Prideful in fact, because I was the only one helping him, getting him through his life and keeping him happy. I was sick and tired of the negative comments about him, because he was an amazing person. He was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and that’s why I moved out of my house and into Christopher’s flat. He needed me and I couldn’t take the looks and comments that my mum gave anymore. Ever since Christopher got angry and gave me a few bruises that my mother saw, she hated him. But I didn’t. He gave me a few bruises now and then, which was all that ever happened. A few harsh words and bruises, but he was stressed and angry and I loved him, so I always let it go and helped him calm down and cheer up. And he did apologise, in fact he apologised for hours every time it happened. He held me, told me he was sorry and that he didn’t mean anything he said. I believed him and told him not to worry, but he would go on until he was sure that it was okay. As for my friends, I hardly saw them anyway. I spent all my time with Christopher, and it was perfect.

    On the 12th of December, we went out. Christopher was quite protective over me, and whenever we went out he liked me to wear long baggy clothes that didn’t show my figure, or else he would get angry. There were a few things like that, which I knew to do or not to do so that he wouldn’t become angry. That day, I dressed in a pink baggy T-shirt and loose jeans. We were going to a restaurant with a group of his friends. He didn’t want me to go at first, because it was mostly with his male friends. But then he realised I hadn’t been out in a while for him, so he decided to take me with him.

    It was a fun night, until I messed it up. We were all sitting at a round table, chatting. I sat in-between Christopher and his friend Samantha. I sat with my head down. Christopher was always saying that I was too good for him and that I should just leave him, and he really believed it.  So when I looked or talked to a man unnecessarily, or in a certain way, he got mad. The whole night was going well. I answered Christopher’s friends, but just looked towards their noses instead of their eyes. They could tell something was wrong, but no one spoke about it.

    “So, Ariel, what do you do?” One of Christopher’s friends, Matthew Williams, asked.

    “I’m an artist.”I answered.

    “Really? Me too!”

    “Really?” I said excited. I was very passionate about my work and art in general.

    “Yeah! I’ve even got my portfolio and sketch book with me now. You want to see?”

    “Sure!” I said, looking straight at him and smiling.

    And that was my big mistake. I looked straight at Matthew and smiled with excitement to see his work. In seconds Christopher’s mood changed. From happy to angry. At first I didn’t realise what I had done. I was merely excited about seeing new work. Then it hit me.

    Christopher didn’t show his real anger in front of his friends, not even in the car; he waited till we were back in his flat.

    I tried to go to the bathroom, let him cool down before I helped him out his mood, but he didn’t let me. As soon as we stepped into his room it started.

    “You complete and utter slut!” he screamed at me. That hurt.

    “No Chris, I just…”

    “No Chris, I just,” He mimicked, “Why are you even here? I can’t believe you! You only went with me to chat up my friends didn’t you? Stare them up and make them like you. You slut!”

    “I only wanted to see his sketch book!”

    “Are you sure that’s all you want to see?”

    He carried on insulting me as he drove me backwards to the corner. He liked that! He liked that he had me cornered, that I couldn’t run. When he was angry, he was a monster. He loved to see me suffer at times like that. He said stuff that I still refuse to believe came out of his mouth. And with every word he said, a sharp pain jabbed into my heart. Then he did it.

    He once told me that he hit objects, not people. But that wasn’t the case anymore. He drew back his hand and punched me. He was aiming for around my jaw, but hit my left eye. That was the first time he ever hit me, but not the last. As soon as he hit me, he realised what he had done and snapped out of the anger, to apologise to me. He did everything that he always did, apologising repeatedly and trying to hold me and caress me. But this time I didn’t let him straight away. I was in shock and denial of what had just happened. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried my eyes out, thankful that in the bathroom I was alone. I did come and forgive him. I always forgave him.