The Pretext Call

When he picked up my call, for a moment I could practically feel my spirit leave my body.

I took a moment to gather myself. I asked him if he remembered me. He did.

He asked me how my relationship was going, but I wasn't about to tell him anything more about my partner. I laughed it off and told him that it hadn't worked out, but that I had learned to make biryani. He loves food, and so do I, but it was clear to me that his interest was piqued and that made me feel nauseated. He agreed that he had time to answer my questions.

Most of the atrocities I brought up to him, he claimed he didn't remember, including raping me while I was barely conscious. He seemed very unbothered. He even made up a strange story about trying to use condoms during our second encounter. I became frustrated with his acting and assured him, "you might not remember, but I do."

Unable to express my true feelings in my tone, I gesticulated wildly at the Detective to communicate impotent rage. He scribbled and held up prompts to coach me in leading the conversation.

When I confronted my abuser about choking me, his memory suddenly seemed clear. Acknowledging that it had happened, he quickly excused himself by saying that his ex had enjoyed the activity, so he thought I would as well. He insisted that he didn't see my tears and wouldn't have done it if he knew I didn't enjoy it. This made no sense, as I couldn't speak with his hand on my throat, and he had never discussed this behavior with me previously. For context, his bed was next to a window and regardless of the darkness, I clearly remember him staring at my face. He was bullshitting me.

He went through an impressive gamut of sentiments. He expressed that it wasn't my fault, but that it was maybe a little my fault, but that he never would have done it if he thought I didn't enjoy it, but that I also never gave any indication that it was okay, but that he kept taking things a step further each time, but that if I had objected more he wouldn't have, but that I didn't give permission, but he was sorry and that it was his fault, but that he had really good memories of me, and on and on...

He rambled for a while about how he had been so busy when we met, that he had been sleeping around (I didn't know) and wasn't ready for a relationship at the time. I knew this contradicted everything he had told me when we had met. And then he went for the gut punch,

"I mean... I never told you I loved you or anything."

My eyes overflowed. I hung my head in shame and yielded, "I know you didn't." He remembered precisely where he had left his mark and knew how to rub salt into it.

I don't remember his exact words, but he ultimately invited me to join him for a walk to discuss things. My heart fell into my stomach.

He was still ready to throw me right back onto his merry-go-round of chaos, thinly veiled as consideration for my pain. I agreed to meet eventually in order to stay in his better graces, as I was told that he might want to call again. I had no intention of ever seeing him.