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When I walk into my living area, I see him sitting on the sofa, tapping on his phone and sending texts. I walk around the sofa and stand in front of him. He looks up and spreads his legs so I can come in-between them. His face is lined up with my neck and for once I’m the one who has to look down.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Sorry for what?” he asks confused as he puts his phone away.
“For what I’m about to say and for not saying it to you before.”
He frowns at me and I take a shallow breath, trying my best to stop the tears that threaten to fall anytime.
“Jamie, what’s wrong?”
I don’t know how to tell him.
I was bullied at school, but it turns out I actually kind of like it. It turns me on and I’m really into the guy who’s doing it to me.
Or should I start with I cheated on you with the guy who bullied me. We played a dangerous game and I lost. I like the bruises he left on me. I like when he possesses. He makes me feel alive.
I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m a hypocrite. A liar. A cheat.
I’m facing a man who I know loves me, who saved my life, who is perfect. He is worried for me and in return all I have to offer him is lies and disappointment. And inevitably, heartbreak.
Just start from the beginning and be honest.
“At school,” I start, and I’ve never felt like such a kid in front of him.
“Yes?” he insists.
“I think,” I shift on my feet suddenly feeling uncomfortable. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to admit what Jake or Camila or Beth have been doing to me. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. It’s the part of my game with Jake that I hate.
“‘Me,” he grabs my hands in a reassuring gesture, “you know you can tell me anything.”
“I think that maybe…maybe I’m being bullied,” I finally blurt out and a single tear crosses the barrier that is my eyelid. I quickly wipe it away.
His face hardens and he pulls me closer to him. “How bad?”
I shake my head because there is no way in hell I will ever say in detail what happened.
“I don’t know what bad is like, it had never happened to me before.”
I’m sure some girls have had it worse. Some kids are bullied and don’t fall for their tormentor. Isn’t that how bullying works?
“Who? That guy from yesterday?” I can see his jaw clenching, his nostrils flaring and his sentences shortening with anger.
“Yes, and ultimately his ex.”
“The bruises, is that him?”
I can barely nod yes. “But–”
“And the dress?”
“The typical mean girls poured punch on me. Listen–”
“How long has this been going on?”
“It started this year. Nathan–”
He suddenly gets up and looks down at me. “He’s a dead man.”
