Ah, the night of the popping of the liquor cherry!
That didn’t happen for me, dearest one. Not at all. Not even a beer, bruh.
The night of my 21st birthday? I was with my boyfriend, Dominic. Had been with him about 2 years at this point. His mother was on disability, and still sleeping with her ex-husband, his father, whom beat her. She, Pam, Dominic’s mother, bought me Chinese food and let me hang out at her house. Which I did often. I had a key to it, unbeknownst to him and her. I mean, I was still staying with my mom, and I thought I would just be there when I didn’t want to be home. Long story…
But this night, I was content. I was with him. I thought that was enough. We had time together. We were together eating yummy Chinese and being in love. I think back on that night now, that relationship then, and can’t help but be happy it was over. I was in love with someone that had no idea what that meant, what it could mean. He pushed it, questioned it, and when I was at the point where I could give no more of myself, I left.
And he wanted me back.
You can guess what happened next.
(Spoiler: I didn’t go back. I wouldn’t change.)
I don’t wish the boy dead, but I would probably go to his funeral to make sure that he was.
[image from time.com]