Year Two, Part One
F and I became really good friends and I had agreed to start seeing him exclusively when he came to town. We took things slow and we really had a good time when we were together, didn’t need anyone else around. It was only after we had sex that his true self came out and I found out he was just like Z. F threatened to take me to Z if I didn’t do what I was told, he didn’t beat me as much and it didn’t hurt as much when he had sex with me. I almost started to like the way he treated me because that was all I knew from guys. I was almost brainwashed to think that they really did have feelings for me. When I was alone, I tried to do what normal 14 year old girls did. I went to dances, talked with my friends on the phone for hours, had crushes on boys, even tried to date a few. I knew that F would hate it if I had another boyfriend but I just didn’t care. I wanted to be treated like a person and not a peice of shit. None of those relationships lasted because I never knew what I was supposed to be doing and what was normal. I was too scared to kiss them, hold hands…just be a girlfriend. They’d break up with me because I was such a freeze but I could never tell them why. I was so torn. I had gotten back into drinking every chance I got, twice every weekend and as many drugs as I could put through my body. That’s when I started cutting and burning myself.
First I did it because it was a release of the pain I was experiencing….something different. Then I did it because it became a routine. A guy would break up with me, I’d pull out a lighter and something metal, heat it up and put it on my skin. Or I’d grab a kitchen knife and just slice a bit into my arm/leg/hand. It became as easy to me as smoking was. It got to the point that F would call and I’d just be numb to everything, I was even able to pull handfulls of my hair out without feeling a thing. I needed to mask the pain I was experiencing in real life, nothing was doing it for me. I always wore baggy clothes so it was never a problem when it came to hiding it.
In the winter, I’d only see F when the weather wasn’t bad the week previous. He was always scared of winter driving but he loved to snowmobile and snowboard in the area too much to stay in the lower mainland. His eyes always lit up when he saw the snow we had…one of the genuine things I’d liked about him, his passion. Anyway, I had turned 14 and he was starting to make comments about things that happened with Z. Like when I had gotten pregnant and had to have an abortion. I didn’t mention it to anyone and it still hurts me to this very day to think about it. So that’s the last time you’ll hear anything about it from me. F started telling me how much of a whore I was and that I was useless. He started telling me that I could never satisfy him the way he needed to be satisfied. He told me that he’d get more use out of a 50 year old crackwhore than me. The verbal abuse would go on and on until it just didn’t make him feel like a man anymore. That’s when he’d hit me. F was the kind of guy who’d rather beat you with your back turned so you never knew where he’d hit you and that you’d remember him everytime you sat or moved. I’ll never forget how hard it was to participate in P.E class or even walk between classes. I prayed something would happen to him on a trip up here, something had to happen to him other than a speeding ticket. What if they got a tip that he was transporting drugs between here and the coast? What if he would drive too fast in the canyon and he’d hit a semi truck head on? What if, what if, what if. Why do I put myself in these positions? Why do I always go for guys who use me? Why do I attract idiots? Why, why, why.
I remember the last time I saw F before the year ended. He’d driven up to spend a few days at relative’s house and gave me a call. His family was out for the day going sledding and getting some skiing in so he wanted me to come over there. He came to pick me up and made sure I was dressed proper and looked my best. F stopped at the bus station and walked inside, I had no idea what he was doing but only the worst thought was in my head, he was there to pick up Z. I knew I’d be dead if that were true. F was carrying a bag, it was a big duffel bag and it looked really heavy. He got halfway to the car before I realized that Z wasn’t there. He tossed the bag into the seat behind him and we drove off. I never said a word the whole way out to his relative’s place. The look in his eyes scared the shit outta me, so hating, evil and empty. I walked in and the place was beautiful, everything was top of the line and looked brand new. We walked downstairs and into the far corner of the basement into the room he was staying in. I never saw any pictures on the wall, no decorations, no feeling whatsoever. The room was bare with the exception of a bed, dresser and a chair. F tossed the duffel bag onto the chair and opened it. I stood in shock that the bag was filled with Vodka bottles, a big ziplock bag of pot inside a coffee tin, random women’s clothing and at the very bottom of the bag; rope, duct tape, torn sheets and a video camera.
