Three Years Later

Chicago will never get boring. Each night, I could eat at a new restaurant and see a new show and never do the same thing twice. At night, it feels like a completely new world to me. The lights glimmer for miles, reflecting off Lake Michigan, and it feels almost magical. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m able to sit peacefully and focus on the beauty of something without the darkness threatening to taint it. I love being a part of something so big. It’s the best kind of adventure with so many possibilities.

Part of me misses my old life in Boston, especially my mom, but I’m thankful I have Aimee here with me. She’s my saving grace, my motivator, and the greatest friend anyone could ever hope for. She might still be sketchy on the true events of that night three years ago, but I believe, in some way, she knows my pain. She doesn’t ask anymore. She accepts that I need to keep it buried away.

After leaving Boston, I took a bus to Atlanta, quickly got a job at a diner, and rented the room next door with two other women. I spiraled out of control, and hit an all-time low. I was letting that sick son of a bitch win. Not only had he taken my sense of safety, but he’d also taken my life, too. I isolated myself, refusing to go out and meet people. My roommates thought I was weird, but they left me alone. I remained tucked away, only leaving to go to and from work. I always made sure I was safe. If I worked the late shifts, then I’d ask for an escort to my car. My coworkers at the diner tried being my friends, but I pushed them away. I just got lost in the memories of that night, and they consumed me. Everything I did, every move I made, was a ripple effect of that night.

I stayed in Atlanta for a while, and felt uneasy, so I packed and left for South Carolina. I lived in my car for a week before I found a women's shelter. It was fine staying there at night for a little bit. Every night, whenever I closed my eyes, I saw him. I felt him. One night, I woke up a woman and her daughter from my screaming. She looked at me, saw the fear in my eyes, and told me about a facility nearby. The next morning, I checked myself in, and got the help I desperately needed.

After almost a year, I landed in Chicago. And, for the first week, I explored what the city had to offer. I went for long walks along Lake Michigan and watched the sunrise from the Navy Pier. It was truly beautiful to see all the boats highlighted by the sun’s rays that glimmered over the water.

I ate in little cafés and drank coffee with my toes in the sand. For the first time since it all happened, I felt safe. I felt like Chicago was my fresh start.

My mother and I talk often, which helps ease the ache I feel for losing my connection with her in the process of moving. She might not agree with me being so far away, but I think she’s beginning to understand that starting over is what'll help me. Though she doesn’t know the details of that night and the actions that led me to where I am, she respects my privacy and choices. It’s why I love her so much. She’s always been supportive of me, and that hasn’t changed now that we’re thousands of miles apart.

It’s a beautiful Saturday morning, and I’m enjoying the light breeze that blows in from the water surrounding the pier. I’ve done this very thing so many times that I can’t remember a time when I haven’t enjoyed this very spot. It never gets old, being here—overlooking the water, sipping a latte, and reading the newest edition of whatever gossip magazine I can get my hands on.

So many people are moving about around me, rushing from point A to point B, completely lost in their need to hurry along. No one takes the time to stop and enjoy the view, but I see the joy in the little things. I find the beauty in it all even though I now feel as if I have seen it a million times. Each day is a whole new day.

I’m finishing up reading an article when my phone buzzes on the table. I pick it up and see a message from Aimee.

Aimee: Since you’re my best friend, can you come back home with an espresso for me?

Me: Of course. Anything else?

Aimee: No. But let’s go out for dinner tonight.

Me: Okay. Sounds good. I’ll be home soon.

Aimee: Okay, girl. Have fun!

Me: Thank you!

I place my phone back down on the table and look around the café. Everyone seems to be doing their own thing.

Sometimes, being in crowds makes me nervous. I prefer being invisible and not gaining attention from others. The bright sun beating down warms my shoulders, as I remain tucked away from the busy crowds, enjoying my solitude. I’ve built a solid wall around me, so thick and impossible to penetrate that I think I might scare people. I’m no longer that sweet, approachable girl with a smile that could light up a room. I’m cold and distant, and I’m fine with that.

Being this version of myself keeps me safe. My guard is always up.

Since that night with Zane, I’ve taken steps to ensure that no one will ever hurt me again. My body is mine and mine alone. That will never be taken from me again. That night changed me. It brought out someone I never knew existed, an angry side. I’ve coped with what happened and accepted it, knowing that nothing I’d said or done could have ever changed it. But the nice girl inside me that once existed, the girl everyone loved, is gone. She’ll never come back. She can’t. I won’t allow it. Being nice brought me nothing but misery and pain. It made me vulnerable and the perfect target for a sick, sadist bastard who took what he wanted and left me helpless.

Now, I spend every day watching and waiting for the first signs of people like him. For men who think women are easy targets. For any guy who feels they can outwit me. I will never again be that weak. Next time, I’ll fight back.

I’ll fight with everything inside of me to ensure no man will ever take from me again. No man will ever make me feel helpless.

The nightmares that used to keep me awake at night have shifted to more of dreams of revenge. Sometimes, I think if people could see inside my mind, they would be fearful. I’ve played that night over in my mind so many times, and never once have I left Zane’s apartment without seeking revenge.

My favorite of those dreams are the ones that seem so explicit in detail. His cries of agony when I fight back. Leaving him writhing in pain as I walk away with my confidence intact.

I pray often that, wherever he is now, he is miserable.

My biggest fear is that he’ll hurt someone else. The guilt of that possibility lies heavy on my mind. In a way, it would be partially my fault, because I could have turned him in. I could have called the police and pressed changes. At times, I wish I had. Men like Zane deserve to be behind bars, getting exactly what took he from me in return.

What I wouldn’t give to see him defeated and desperate for help as I walked away, laughing, knowing he was being tortured and degraded.

One day, hopefully in this lifetime, I wish more than anything that he’ll pay dearly for the hell he put me through.