Fantastical Nightmare

Even after a year and a half of my ex-boyfriend Marshall calling me drunk, I still could not help but show compassion for him. I met him on April 24, 2006 of my freshman year in high school. As a trusting, naïve freshman with Marshall as my first boyfriend, though, I believed that he was “The One” I was going to marry. He was the boy of my stereotypical childhood fairytale. My fantasy relationship was too “good” to last though and disintegrated at my feet four months later. Marshall became a pagan and was demonstrating outwardly disturbing tendencies, such as setting his pants on fire while he was still wearing them. I immediately decided I wanted to break up with him. What I did not realize though was it would take another separation before I would be rid of him entirely.

A year and a half after our first break up, I had not seen Marshall, yet I was still determined to work things out. I even attempted “phone dating” him so we could at least talk during the six-month period my mom designated as “Marshall-free” time. Needless to say, though, his questionable habits resurfaced, and I began to desperately look for my way out. I tried avoiding Marshall, but I did not realize that my true saving grace would be embodied in another man.

On November 11, 2007 of my junior year, a couple months after Marshall and I started talking again, I met Jeff Logsdon when I was playing matchmaker between two of my friends. I was still phone dating Marshall and did not want to be “unfaithful” in my practically non-existent relationship, but there was something about Jeff that had me unconditionally in love with him. I knew then I had to separate myself from Marshall completely.

The next morning, I sat in class contemplating how I was going to extinguish my ties with Marshall for good. After being apart for so long, I expected it to be easy. He had also told me a few nights before that he still had feelings for another ex-girlfriend of his, so I thought maybe I could use that as an escape hatch. I was looking for anything to get me out of the whole situation.

After countless deliberation, I decided lunch would be the best time to break up. Being at school, I figured the atmosphere of everyone around me would make the process easier. I was set on making it brief and simple. I rehearsed what I was going to say over and over again like a broken record.

When the bell rang for lunch, I steadied my heartbeat and made the call.

“Marshall, I was thinking. You told me the other night that you still loved Haley, and she still loves you. Well I think that if you two still feel strongly about each other, we should break up, and you can move to Texas with her. I feel bad that me being in high school is holding you back.”

I waited anxiously for a response, but what I hoped was only going to be a few minutes turned into almost three and a half hours in my school counseling office.

Marshall did not take what I had to say lightly at all. From the moment I said break up, he began to exclaim every profanity ever verbalized. It was like a treacherous sea of emotion whirl pooling me into a bottomless trench of guilt.

“It’s another guy isn’t it!?” Marshall shouted accusingly.

“No, it’s not!” I said, secretly attempting to compose the raging dam of tears behind my eyes.

With my walls of composure weakening, I quietly commanded, “Don’t worry about it.”

Marshall grew quiet in preparation for his next bombardment of blasphemies. I desperately wanted him to stop, but he proceeded to spear at my emotions with an unforgettable tone of harshness. Instantly, I realized how utterly immature I had been to put myself in that position.

“I hope that someday a guy rapes you, takes your virginity, and gets you pregnant.”

Marshall’s “curse” of rape is what reincarnates itself in my memory the most. He knew rape has been one of my most prominent fears and deliberately used my fear against me. I have been lucky to not have experienced that horror, but it still hurt to be talked to so degradingly.

Still sitting outside my school cafeteria, far past the end of my lunch, I made my way to the counseling office with Marshall’s tyrannical rampage continually buzzing in my ear. I figured it would be better to be on the phone in the counseling office than get a detention for not being in class. My counselor from freshman year let me use her office to talk to Marshall. I felt dreadfully embarrassed, but I did not know where else to go.

As my phone began to die, Marshall made his last blow at my withering affections. He threatened to take his life, and I took the bait. When it was all over, Marshall had duped me yet again. My dean of students had called EMS, but when EMS arrived, Marshall was totally fine. I felt like a gullible idiot.

What made everything more humiliating though was Jeff had been waiting outside to see me before he went to work. I apologized for longer than could possibly be written, but Jeff comforting my exhausted body let me know my nightmare was finally over.

Marshall had toyed with my vulnerability for the last time. All the drama did not amount to anything, but I should have known better than to attempt to renew my youthful apparitions. In the end though, I realized it is not possible for all fairytales to have a happy ending, but there can always be a new beginning.