He loved her until he couldn’t fuck her, and then he still loved her
by Savannah Kirksey
In January, he broke my heart in the suffocating heat of his red Honda Accord. Five years ago, I met him in the art room of Dunstan Middle School. He took one look at me, and told me that we were going to be best friends. Then he hugged me. I was hooked on him. When he hugged me I felt his penis against my leg. I went home later that day and I told my cousin I met a guy, and it was the first time I had ever felt a penis. Then I made it a life event on Facebook, just so I wouldn’t forget the first time he spoke to me. After I met him in Art, he texted me and we talked everyday. It was Eighth Grade, so we got permission from our parents and went to the mall with our friends Qashr and Tia. He put his arm around me, and grabbed my boob. I laughed, and he told me he called it the Kort trick. Two years later he pulled the same move on me. I still laughed. Now, Five years later, he fucked someone new.
A few years later, In October, I met his family. It was Halloween, so this is his family I thought. His brother handed me a few condoms and told me to have fun. I sat on the couch while they locked up the pit bulls. Everyone was drunk off of something; his mom made me dinner and then asked me if my braces ever got caught on his dick when I gave him head. We watched Scream. His whore of a sister left in a bumblebee costume that left nothing to the imagination. His parents tried to make us go with her just to make sure she didn’t sneak out and have sex with an older boy. He showed me a video of him and his friends on his computer; I sat on his lap, and heard his mom whisper under his breath that I was a slut. I told him that I was scared and I wanted to leave, so we did. His parents never liked me. They said I was a try-hard, that I wasn’t good enough, that I didn’t treat him well. Sometimes, I wonder if this is true. Maybe if I had just been a little nicer, if I wasn’t such a try-hard, if I looked different, maybe his family would have liked me—maybe he would still love me. In my mind, the easy part of a relationship was meeting the parents, and I couldn’t even do that. The first time I met his family, they decided I was the whore that would fuck their son up. We were so happy. I had a broken foot so he gave me a piggy back ride home, we only lived a few blocks apart. He took a picture of us, and posted it on Facebook with the caption with “People are always telling me I have the cutest relationship ever. To those people I say… Yes, yes I do.”
It was New Years Eve and he told me loved me. It was nearing midnight, and I was typing my New Year’s bucket list. I was a sophomore in high school.
#1: fall in love with someone who deserves me.
I was texting him, upset, because I wanted to kiss him at midnight and he was at a party. I wanted to feel like I meant something to someone, that I wasn’t just the boring girl who sat at home on New Years Eve and didn’t have anyone. I was crying, Jordan told me that everyone was surprised we were together because I am who I am and he is who he is. I’m the girl who had never smoked, drank, or went to a party--- I hungout with my cat and studied. He smoked, and he went to parties, and no one ever saw him try in school. Opposites attract I guess. At 11:49 I heard a knock at the front door. It was Kort, he ran to my house to kiss me on my deck at midnight. We talked for awhile, I ran inside and got blankets. He kissed me at midnight, under the stars, and he leaned down and told me he loved me. I was speechless, and I hugged him—but I didn’t say it back.
My Mom always told me that forever never means forever. Kort told me that he was going to love me forever; that he wanted to marry me. I never thought much of it. There were so many red flags that I ignored. A sophomore in High School shouldn’t be planning to marry anyone, but he was planning to marry me. One time, a few weeks after he told me he loved me, he wrote me a love note and gave it to me before my history class. He drew me a picture of what our New York apartment was going to look like, what our cats and dogs were going to be named and how beautiful our wedding would be. When I read the note I thought that he was being sweet. If I was dating someone and they gave me that note now, I’m pretty sure I would take out a restraining order.
I would have never ended up at Comicon if it hadn’t been for Kort, who loved comic books more than he loved himself. I begged for a promise ring for our one-year anniversary, and we fought and told me I didn’t deserve one. He said that if I couldn’t have sex with him then I didn’t deserve one. I cried, and he ran to my house with his first comic book instead, and told me it meant so much to him and it would count for my promise ring for now. Every anniversary he drew me a comic book about how much he loved me. It was the end of sophomore year and I accompanied him to Comicon; I watched his eyes light up when he looked at the comics, and when he told me how much he wanted to draw them. He kissed me in the middle of the convention center and said: “Do you know how much you mean to me?” I finally saw his eyes light up when he looked at me too. It was love. That night I texted him and told him I loved him back, because I couldn’t wait. I pretended to be someone I wasn’t for him that day. I pretended that I loved Spiderman too, that I also thought Aquaman was a little bitch, and that it didn’t hurt when I didn’t understand what he was talking about. We took my favorite picture of us that day, and he couldn’t even smile.
We fought more than we loved, and that was the problem. I was just a stone cold prude with a tendency to be a tease. It was December 20th and he was done with it. He came to my house and told me how terrible I was, how he was too good for me, and how I was the only girl he had ever met who wouldn’t give him what he wanted. I cried, and he left me alone in my house. We didn’t talk for a few days. My parents knew he treated me badly, and were happy to not see him around. He went to his best friend Sean’s birthday party, I asked him to come back to my house when he was done. He came, and sat on my bed, in complete deafening silence. I kissed him, we made out, and I placed my hand on his dick over his jeans. He showed my what to do. He told me he loved me again, and I realized this was the way I would keep him in love with me. We were better, and we didn’t fight about it for awhile. Sophomore year, He kept texting me that: “I deserved better”, he said it to me once a day. Sometimes when we were hanging out, I would glance at his phone when it would light up with a new text, and I noticed that he was texting his ex-girlfriend Rori. I asked him about her and he told me I was being crazy, that she didn’t mean anything to him anymore, and I needed to stop. It was just another fight about something I did wrong. He left my house that night, and his Facebook was still logged in. I went to his active messages box and saw nothing between them, then I went to the deleted messages box and saw nothing, then I went to the archived messages box and found everything. He sexted her a picture of his penis on December 20th with a message that said: “Isn’t it big” she replied: “Yes, don’t you have a girlfriend” he replied: “no, come over ;)” she replied: “no.” My heart dropped, and I sat there in a stunned silence. The 6 months we had spent together meant nothing to him. I went to the shower and cried, and cried, and cried. I went to school the next day and ignored him. I went home and sat on my couch with my brother. Kort texted me and said: “Baby, what’s wrong?” I replied: “ Don’t you have a girlfriend?” He came to my house; he knew he had fucked up. We sat in my room and he apologized profusely, and we both cried. I kept asking him if he loved me and he told me he did, and he regretted it everyday, and that’s why he said I deserved better. I took him back under the condition that he would never talk to her again. He agreed. We were in love again.
He crashed the ATV the summer before junior year. We weren’t wearing helmets; we were in the middle of nowhere. We were going 60 and he braked; I told everyone the ATV was broken but I knew it was his fault. He broke his collarbone, and I had road rash over 40% of my body. When the ATV crashed, it flipped twice and we were thrown. I immediately got up and tried to walk, but I was in shock. Kort came running towards me, he hugged me, and told me everything was going to be okay. We flagged down an old couple that brought us to his parents, who drove us to the hospital. My parents didn’t come to the hospital, so I was alone, and I held Kort’s dad’s hand when they cleaned out my wounds. For my birthday, the only thing he bought me was mederma scar cream for the scar he gave me out of his own foolishness. He would have nightmares about the crash and call me crying at 1am and I would comfort him. We won homecoming Queen and King that year, and he was in a sling. I posted a picture of us with the caption: “The couple that flips four wheels together stays together…right?” He texted me he loved me which he wove into text messages telling me how I could be better, how I could dress better, how I could treat him better, how I needed to change, he printed out pictures of the way he wished my body looked. I took him back after he almost killed me, and I comforted him after it.
I keep trying to remember all of the small things and why I put up with them for so long. I think it was the sex that hurt the most. I thought that if I gave it up he wouldn’t love me anymore. He would compare my body to his ex-girlfriends, how my boobs were too small, and how when he had wet dreams they weren’t about me. We went camping with my mom, and she gave us our own tent. He brought condoms and tried to take my virginity with my mom sleeping outside. I told him I wasn’t ready and, he got angry and left the tent; He didn’t come back to the campsite until 9 the next morning, I told my mom he wanted to go on a hike by himself. He was so angry that when he held my hand he squeezed it as hard as he could. We took a picture and pretended everything was fine. I still knew I wasn’t going to fuck him.
He threw me against the bed. Balled up fists, slammed doors, when I wouldn’t fuck him. He called me bitch, he wouldn’t speak to me, and he told me he was going to kill himself. I got him right back. I would take showers with him, undress for him, get completely naked, and I still wouldn’t have sex with him. I played the game right back, and it was fun for me. I was endlessly and hopelessly addicted to our unhealthy love, and he fed my addiction. I came back to him because it was unhealthy, because I loved feeling wanted. I went two and a half years without fucking him, because I liked the way it made me feel.
It was The Senior Year Winterfest Dance and we were eating dinner at Frontroom Pizza. I hated Frontroom pizza, it reminded me of divorce and I didn’t know why, and he knew that. We took pictures beforehand at his best friend Sean’s house, and he refused to smile. That was the last picture we would take together. I couldn’t tell if we were in love anymore or if were just obligated to one another because we had been together for such a long time. I paid for my own dinner because he made me. When we got in the car I asked him if he could be nicer to me because I feel embarrassed when he treats me badly in front of my friends, and he told me to stop trying to change him. We went back to my house, and watched TV in silence until it was time to go to the dance. He tried to kiss me and I avoided it, he became repulsive to me. We drove to the school in his stuffy, red Honda Accord. He started screaming at me about how I wasn’t good enough, we got to the parking lot and he told me that he never loved me and to get out and walk home. To get out and walk 10 blocks home, in January, in the snow. My best friend texted me and asked where we were. “We broke up” was all I could say. He drove me home, blared music, screaming at me all the ways I wasn’t good enough, all the things I had done wrong. I got out, went inside and cried. I screamed, I hit things. I finally realized what he had done to me, and who I was as a person. He came barreling into the house 10 minutes later asking me to take him back, saying like he always did that he didn’t mean it, and I refused. My mom made him leave, he texted me and told me he was going to kill himself, so I called his dad sobbing and let him know.
He didn’t kill himself, even though sometimes I wish he did. He did break my heart though. I cried everyday for the better part of 6 months, and I thought I would never love again. Everything reminded me of him, I had a list of things on my phone that I wanted to tell him, it said things like: “The Smithsonian cites comic books as a form of teenage rebellion” and “ I accidentally drove to your house today instead of mine because I miss you so much.” I started looking at his social media so I could be with him in whatever capacity I could. He moved on before I did with a girl whose name hurts too much to type. I tried to get him to love me again this summer. I was there when his baby sister was born two years ago, and he asked me to come help babysit her with her while his parents were in the hospital because his Stepmom was giving birth to their second child. I cried on the swing set and told him I still loved him; he kissed me and told me he still loved me too. We hooked up in the living room, in the nursery, in his bed—but I still didn’t fuck him. The next morning we woke up, and he told me he didn’t actually want to be with me.
In the beginning he loved me, but we both played games, and I wouldn’t fuck him. Right when we broke up he had sex with Rori and told me he did it because she looked like me. He fucked her and he still loves me, he’s dating someone else and he still loves me. He told me when he had sex with Rori he accidentally said my name. Five years ago, in Eighth Grade he asked why he wasn’t in my profile picture. Little did he know he would be in them for two and a half years, he would attend prom with me and family parties, and he would be with me for two and a half years. Our relationship made me feel like no one would ever love me, and now I know that that isn’t true. When we broke up I had 6 boys tell me that they wished they had told me how they felt about me in High School. They said they knew I deserved better than Kort. I wish someone would have just snapped me out of it, and told me that being with Kort wasn’t right for me. But I realize now that the only person that can save you from an abusive relationship is yourself. Sometimes when I see him, or hear his name my heart still beats fast, and I think I still love him, and I hate myself. Sometimes I spend my free time romanticizing his decency. He told me he regrets breaking up with me everyday of his life, and I’m glad he does.