The content might be triggering for survivors of emotional abuse

1

I want to be liked by you so much. I always keep my phone close, the screen brightness maxed, so I won't miss a message from you. But you never text first. It's always me sending the initial message, typing and deleting before hitting send. Sometimes you respond, but it's usually just a short reply, a single word.

I pour my heart out, telling you how much I miss you, but your responses are always curt. "Yeah," "OK," "Sure." Yet, when your name lights up my screen, my heart leaps.

2

I'm cleaning my flat when I receive a call from you. I'm so happy! You say that your car is in front of my building, and you want me to come down. I rush down immediately. You wave from inside your car inviting me to take a front seat.

I get into the car and see that you have already unbuckled your pants. I see your erect penis. I know what to do. I suck your cock and swallow your cum.

"You're such a good girl," you say, "I'm going on a date with a gorgeous woman. I want to play it cool and not appear too horny. You can go now."

I exit your car and walk back home.

3

You text me on a Friday, out of nowhere: "I'll come tomorrow morning and cook breakfast for you!" I'm thrilled, overjoyed. I can't sleep that night, tossing and turning in anticipation. I wake up at dawn, spending hours getting ready..

You arrive, all smiles and warmth. We chat while you whip up a delicious omelet, the smell filling my tiny kitchen. We eat, share stories, laugh. Then, just as I'm floating on this perfect moment, you kiss me on the lips and leave.

I'm ecstatic, my heart soaring. But then, silence. You ignore my texts and calls. Days turn into weeks, and I wonder what I did wrong. I replay every detail, convinced I blew my chance. The uncertainty and rejection gnaw at me for months.

4

I follow you on Instagram, my heart sinking with every photo of you and your gorgeous girlfriend. Yet, I "like" all the photos, hoping you'll notice. Maybe you'll appreciate me more if you see I'm not at all jealous.

5

One evening, you come to my place unannounced. I'm surprised but happy to see you. You seem stressed out, so I pour a cup of tea for you. You vent about your job, and I can see that you're relieved to be able to share your problems with me.

Then you bend me over the kitchen counter and spread my legs. Your hands are rough, and your fingers dig into my skin. You enter me with your cock. Your thrusts are relentless, and you fuck me like a toy until I'm sore and aching.

After that, you seem less stressed. You say goodbye and leave.

6

I run into you and your gorgeous girlfriend at a party. My heart sinks as I see you wrap your arm around her waist.

"This is Anna," you introduce me, "She's always stalking me on social media." You laugh but I can't tell if you're joking.

"Why do you allow her to do that?" your girlfriend frowns, a mix of curiosity and disdain.

"Why not? She doesn't have any friends." You shrug.

Your girlfriend looks at me with pity. I manage a weak smile. I rush to the bathroom, tears already falling. I spend ten minutes crying, staring at my red, swollen eyes in the mirror. Then I slip out of the party quietly.

7

At a colleague's barbecue, I spot a handsome guy and want to approach him. We make an eye contact. Gathering my courage, I start to make my way toward him when you call out to me.

"Anna, come here! Everyone, you must hear this story," you announce, your voice carrying across the yard.

A bit flustered, I join the group. "What story?"

"You know, the one where you showed up at my house uninvited," you say, grinning.

I laugh nervously, trying to brush it off. "Oh, that was just a misunderstanding."

But your friends' amused glances tell me they believe otherwise. I catch the eye of the handsome guy, who looks away, his interest clearly waning. My cheeks burn with shame, and I never approach him.

8

At the beach party, you wave me over with a smile. "Anna, come join us!"

Feeling excited, I peel off my cover-up. Your girlfriend smirks. "Nice swimsuit. Very... brave."

You laugh. "Yeah, Anna's got guts."

I spend the rest of the party wrapped in my towel, wishing I could disappear.

9

After months of hesitation, I muster the courage to try Tinder. I swipe through profiles until I match with Andrzej, who seems nice. He invites me to a concert.

The venue is packed, the music is loud. Andrzej suggests dancing.

Suddenly, I remember all the deprecating jokes and insults you made about my moves. I'm so afraid to embarrass myself! I imagine myself tripping over my own feet, or just moving clumsily, bumping into other dancers. I imagine Andrzej’s expression turning from enjoyment to disappointment and embarrassment.

"I really can’t," I say, my voice quivering. "I’m not good at this."

Andrzej’s smile fades. "Alright," he says softly, before heading to the dance floor alone. He starts dancing with a lively girl in a red dress. He never looks back.

I walk back alone and never try dating apps again.

10

I get a message from you out of the blue: "Hey, want to meet up at the café tomorrow for breakfast? I broke up with Agata." My heart leaps with hope. Could this be the chance I've been waiting for? I spend the night imagining all the ways our meeting could go.

The next day, I arrive at the café early. We sit down and chat, the conversation flowing easily.

Then you touch my hand, smile, and lead to the bathroom. You close the door and unzip your pants. Your erect cock springs out, ready for me to take.

I kneel on the floor, and my knees sink into the grime and dirt.  I wrap my lips around your member, tasting the saltiness of your pre-cum. I gag as you shove yourself deeper into my throat. I feel your fingers in my hair, tugging at it roughly as your dick hits the back of my throat. I gag and drool, my mascara running down my cheeks.

You fuck my face with abandon, your grunts echoing off the tiled walls. I can barely breathe.

I know it's my chance, and I want to please you as much as possible!

You shove my head deeper down on your cock, and a rush of warm liquid hits the back of my throat. I swallow everything.

As you pull out, you give me a brief smile, zip up your pants, and walk out of the bathroom without another word. I remain on the floor, my knees and face covered in filth.

I wash myself and get back to our table.

Then, you pull out your phone. "I need your help with something," you say, sliding it across the table. I see your Tinder profile open, and a selection of matches on display.

"I’m looking for a new date. Who do you think is prettier?" you ask, scrolling through the photos.

I feel a sharp pang in my chest. But I force a smile. As you show me each profile, a wave of inadequacy washes over me. Each photo feels like a reminder of what I'm not.

I give my opinions mechanically, making superficial comments.

Inside, my heart is breaking.