Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
My chest.
I love him. I love Bobby Decker. I’m going to be Mrs. Decker.
His family adores me. We’ve been to dinner at his parents’ house twice and they’re already calling me a part of the family. His sister asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding.
But suddenly I’m waking up from the coma of it all.
I’m waking up and realizing that I haven’t called my parents in two weeks. I haven’t spoken to Becca and Kandice, because Bobby waits for me outside of class, not giving me the chance. When they call me or ask me to come out for a drink, he silences my phone and distracts me with sex. Amazing, bone-rattling, thigh-clenching sex that has become nothing short of an addiction.
Come to think of it…when was the last time I went to class? A week ago? Longer? I’ve managed to continue taking my birth control pills on time, but I’m in danger of forgetting that vital part of my schedule next.
I am addicted to Bobby Decker. He is addicted to me.
As a psychology major, as a woman with common sense, I know this is bad.
I know it.
I’m ignoring his red flags because I’m in love. I’m getting swept up in the powerful current of him and forgetting that I’m an individual person with a life and interests and ambitions. I’m lying in his bed, no idea if I’m supposed to be in class or not, covered in marks from his beard, his demanding fingertips, his sucking mouth. I’m being drowned. I’m smart, though. I’m determined to be smart and observe what’s happening here objectively. I’m in a relationship that could turn…abusive? That doesn’t seem like the right word, because I know Bobby would never physically harm me, but he’s isolating me. Cutting me off from everything but him. Making me question my friendships and family bonds.
Come on, Mandy, you have to see this for what it is.
I’m wheeze-sobbing by the time I climb out of bed, searching for my clothes. Where are my things? He hasn’t even let me go back to my dorm to pack. Instead, he came home with new things for me. Modest skirts, sweaters, leggings, fire department shirts and sweatshirts with his name on the back that swallow me whole. He loves me in those.
“He loves me so much,” I whisper, swaying in the center of the room, naked, hugging myself and pretending they are his arms around me. The first time I wore the sweatshirt bearing his name, he swept me up in an embrace and begged me to marry him, his eyes misting when I said yes. Was that really only a week ago? “He really does love me so much…”
No.
Remember him staring down your professor when he tried to talk to you after the lecture. Remember the murder in his eyes. Remember him hiding your phone. The way you catch him watching you while you sleep, shower, do homework.
Taking another deep breath for courage, I stumble to the dresser and open the top drawer where he put my new underwear. My pulse spikes when I see that he’s written his name on every single pair in Sharpie. Several times. Bobby. Bobby. Bobby.
What does it say about me that I’m turned on by this?
It means I’ve let this go too far. I have to leave. Now.
My fingers are trembling as I take off the engagement ring, leaving it on the top of the dresser, dressing as quickly as possible in underwear, a skirt, sweater and my loafers. My phone is nowhere in sight. Did he take it with him to his shift?
My vision throbs in and out as I search drawers, looking for money, and I find a stash of twenties in the desk where Bobby keeps his mail and balances his bills.
Or our bills, as he calls them.
My brain is shouting at me to leave, to run out the front door without delay, but I force myself to calm down long enough to write a note. If I leave without explanation, he won’t know why and he’ll come after me. Maybe he’ll come after me no matter what, but there’s a chance—I think?—that if I write a note breaking off the engagement, he’ll respect it. Didn’t he tell me once that I could say no and he would stop?
Our relationships has changed drastically since then.
We’ve been in a mutual obsession spiral that only gets more intense by the day.
While I’m having this moment of clarity, I need to break free.
With tears in my eyes, I write out the note.
Dear Bobby,
It’s over. We’re over. I’m sorry it has to be this way, but I don’t think we’re good for each other. We’re in danger of becoming co-dependent, if we aren’t already, and I’m losing sight of myself. I’m losing myself completely and it isn’t healthy. I didn’t even know what day it was when I woke up, you know? It’s not normal. Please respect my decision.