The Reynolds Young Writers Workshop at Denison University - Anthology 2013

Haley Sylvester “Control” Every time he speaks… every word he says, I grow more afraid of him. I grow afraid of his impact on me. I grow afraid of speaking to him.

That look on his face as I talk. Am I saying something wrong? Is he mad at me? What if he gets mad? He’ll get mad, he always gets mad. I’m scared out of my mind to talk to this boy. I try to distance myself, but then he gets sad.

He thinks I’m disinterested. He thinks I’m not trying to make it work. But he’s not my top priority, and I tell him that. I tell him he’s not my main focus. I have school, and swimming, and he’s my third option. But that, that makes him mad. He gets real mad. He wants to be my first priority, he says I’m his. He says it’s only fair. He tells me “you’re my number one, all the time.” It scares me. I don’t like having that pressure on myself to constantly impress him; of knowing that I’m the first thing he concerns himself with when making a decision. I need to focus on myself, my schoolwork, my swimming, my own life.

He gets sad when I don’t want to talk to him after school, when I have homework. He gets sad when I have to go to swim practice, because that means I can’t talk to him for 150 minutes of the day. He gets sad, and waits for my return. He knows my schedule, when I’m done. He knows when I should call, and if I don’t, the sadness turns to rage. He has this control over me that I don’t like. It changes me, I’m not myself. Being constantly scared, terrified, that I’m going to be hurt by this boy, that’s what I’m living through.

His control is through his hands. I told him once he had strong hands, that I liked them. He now uses that to his advantage. He puts his hands on me and I have no control. It’s the worst form of dehumanization, someone you love hurting you, changing your appearance. I started out with dark brown hair, pale skin, and green eyes. Every day something new changes, something’s ruined. The most common is the color of my skin. It starts out almost pasty white, and it turns to black and blue. Purple, too; yellow later.

Those bruises, they hurt. Sometimes I can’t move for days.

He was alright in the beginning; such a gentlemen. But he wanted that control. And boy, he got it. He’s already broken my heart. It’s in those tiny pieces, those pieces that fit together like a puzzle. But I don’t know how to solve that puzzle, and he sure as hell can’t either. He just breaks those pieces smaller, every time he hurts me. I want my control back; my individuality, my life. But this boy, he’ll never let me.