About a month ago, my live in girlfriend didn’t come home. As it got later, I called and texted her about every 15 minutes. I called everyone I knew to find her.
By half way through the night, my friends were trying to be honest: If she didn’t come home, she was somewhere, with someone.
I felt like a pile of dung that the beetles wouldn’t touch. I thought things were going so well. Why would she look for someone else, especially when I was home?
About 10 minutes until dawn, I got a call from her. She needed a ride. I asked who she was with until dawn. She didn’t want to say it. Why didn’t she answer, because she didn’t get them. I almost told her to do to herself what I knew she was doing to someone else all night.
She was in the hospital, please come get her.
I rushed over there. She had already checked out, and had a handful of papers. I started to say what did she do that night that ended her up here? I then noticed she had no purse, and was in slippers. She still didn’t want to speak there, wait until we were alone.
At home, she revealed that she had been grabbed off the street, and gang raped in an abandoned building. Without her purse and phone, she couldn’t contact me until the hospital let her call for a ride. It sounded like a fake movie excuse.
She dropped her pants, and showed me bruises up her thighs, and gauze taped across her vulva. She took off her top, and showed bruises on her arms, and bandaged burns on her stomach.
She told me she thought she would never leave the building alive.
While they did all this to her, she thought about how I’d feel.
I needed her to wash up, so I could compose. I judged her very harshly. I don’t know how she could get in bed, and cuddle with me for protection and reassurance. I wasn’t worthy to be her support. Where could we go from here?