Flashbacks

Flashbacks

But not the kind you expect.

Where one minute I'm laughing at some stupid thing on my phone and then I see his face. He's looking at me the way he does when he's made me laugh so hard I can't breathe. In that second i see all the love; it's real and I am vindicated. I forgive him for calling me a cunt yesterday. This feels like happiness, I think.

All I want is to go back there. To that moment. Instead I'm sitting here slumped over my steering wheel.

The sister.

Trigger Warning: vague reference to  sexual assault and referring to assailant by title. Slut shaming.

My ex and I resumed dating a few weeks after I was assaulted. I was eager to put what had happened to me at the back of my mind, so I dove right back in without hesitation.

We were out one night at one of our regular haunts located in the heart of nightlife hub in my city.  He stepped out at some point for a smoke and I went out with him to keep him company.

I saw an entourage of women coming down the street led by none other than Rapist’s sister. I screamed on the inside and then went dead.  I couldn’t move, like my feet were cemented in place. She was also with a woman I recognized from school.  I knew her name, but I didn’t know anything else about her. 

Well, apparently she knew a few things about me.

She stopped as they were walking by and said to my ex “You know you’re dating a slut, right?”

His response was “Oh yeah?” And he looked at me suspiciously. The girls, including Rapist’s sister, laughed at his reaction and likely how I was standing there dumbfounded.  They moved onward toward where ever they were headed.

I was stupid enough to hope that he would have said something soothing in that moment.

“A slut, hmm?  I always wondered what you were doing those nights when you didn’t answer your phone.” He threw his cigarette butt at me then walked back into the bar.  I was still cemented in place.

I did manage to talk my way out of it.  The girl who was vocal was not classically attractive, and I, embarrassingly, used that to my advantage (”She’s jealous” “She wasn’t well-liked at school” etc).  So things moved on. 

I’ll admit that this event was nearly as traumatic as the assault itself. 

Interesting things I figured out later from social media:

1. The woman who called me a slut appeared to be attracted to Rapist and must have been jealous he’d paid me attention. 2. Rapist’s sister became a social worker.  She apparently did work on sex trafficking and sexual assault.  Oh the irony. 3. There is at least one other woman that he did this to who received similar treatment by his sister.

Interesting subsequent event:

I’ve seen the woman who called me a slut recently.  She lives in my neighbourhood.  We were each walking toward one another, she with her multiple kids, me on my own.  

At one time I would have dropped my head and avoided her.  Not this time.  I looked right at her, and she was the one who avoided my gaze.

I never would, especially in front of her kids, but I could have easily gotten revenge.  I could tell that she was well aware of that. 

I wonder know exactly how she felt being the vulnerable one.

I went out dancing again last night, but I didn't feel quite as at ease as the first time. I was with some younger folks, so there was some drama that had nothing to do with me afoot; the interruptions that ensued were admittedly annoying.

But no, my memory was jogged because I had been in this bar before. Halloween 2016. He wanted to go out, and he had no one else to go with( I was last choice, you see, and he wanted to make sure I knew that).

So we went. However he was there to pick up girls, so we couldn't actually spend time together. He said he wanted me find us a 'third'. I said I would try.

I didn't. I have difficulty starting conversation at the best of times and as I had recently stopped drinking at that point there was no hope for artificial courage. I meandered around mostly.

But no matter, he was fine on his own. When I headed to the washroom, I found him sitting with a woman sprawled across his lap. He smiled at me as I walked by, enjoying my discomfort. I went to the washroom, regrouped mentally and decided that I couldn't stay. So I went to sit in my car and texted him to tell me when he was ready to leave and I would pick him up.

Later when he was in the car he told me that I should have stayed. He wanted me to watch. It was punishment. Justice. And if I actually loved him I would have endured.

I am not the lies my brain may tell me.

Taking time to affirm and appreciate yourself everyday is so important.