I Met a Man Today

I met a man today. He likes to hold my hand in public. He never lets it go. He says that he likes feeling my presence, a reassurance that I’m still there and I feel safe when he holds me. As we walk by other men he hugs me a little closer, the warmth of his body reminding me that I am safe, I am loved. At restaurants and bars, he orders for me because he knows what I will want before I do. He remembers my tastes like they are his own. He has the best sense of humor, and he can go shot for shot with me. That’s hard to find. I want to breathe him in. His cologne lingers on my pillow, such a pleasant way to wake. He talks about our future children as if they were already here. We’ll have four. Two girls, two boys. Sometimes he texts me different names he hears throughout the day that he likes. One day it’s Killian, the next it’s Imogene. Maybe we’ll name one after my mom? He’s not bad looking either. With his long, black hair, almond shaped brown eyes, and coffee colored skin. We are polar opposites with my short, golden blonde hair, blue doe eyes, and a perfectly porcelain skin tone. As we lay in bed at night, I realize how perfectly we fit together. I’m going to marry this man someday. The first man I loved.

I met a man today. He appears to be the cliché of “tall, dark, and handsome” but that’s not who he is. He is a monster in man’s clothing, something to be feared. His dark eyes watch my every move, full of hatred and fury. Every time he touches me it causes pain. I find myself cringing away from the mere thought of his flesh on mine. His Wild Turkey fueled rage makes this stranger my worst fear. I can smell it on his breath, a stench that follows me into my deepest nightmares. I hear as he throws another glass against the wall, I know he’s coming for me. It’s the same every night. He screams, face red, about the finances, how I’ve let myself go, how I don’t provide him with what he needs. He could do much better than me, he’s sure. When we are in public he makes sure to hold me close. A reminder that my body belongs to him. Only to him. I don’t speak to other men, other women, anyone. Most of my friends have left me behind. I’ve lost contact with my family. This man has turned me into a weak, timid woman who is dependent solely on him.
This is not the man I married. The first man I loved.