I.
When I was 15, the kids at my school constantly bullied me for being short. Because I was born up north in Friesland, Netherlands, it felt so pathetic not to be over 5 feet tall. At that time, I was 4'10". I’m 26 now and I reached my limit at 5'4". It might seem like a lot in other places, but it always reminds me that I’m not standard.
I still get reminders of how pathetic and worthless I am. From David, my boyfriend. We’ve been together since I was 21, and we even moved in together. Everything looked perfect on the outside—until everything I knew started shattering like a fragile glass.
Please stop. It hurts.
I scream, my belly flat against the cold wooden floor with his heavy weight pressing down onto me as he grips and pulls back on my hair.
"Dry it up, Isabella. One more sound and I'll actually give you something worth crying over," he snaps, his voice a low, in a terrifying way that instantly suffocates my agony. "I should’ve left you back where I found you, you worthless—"
No, no, I’m sorry. I know I’m nothing, but please forgive me, David. I love you. I will do anything. Please don’t leave me.
I sob, hot tears dropping down my cheeks, the air trapped tight in my throat. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he yanks my hair harder, pulling me upward against him, his face a mask of cold emotionless eyes that could kill me. Suddenly, he lifts his right hand. My body instantly twitches, flinching hard. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the impact.
Instead, I feel a strange, warm brush against my lips.
I slowly open my eyes. He has leaned down to kiss me. My heart drops straight into my stomach. Is he going to get mad if I don't kiss him back?
"David—" I start, but before I can finish, he pulls back and stares straight down at me.
"I love you too, Isabella. You’re mine, okay?" he whispers, his tone shifting instantly into that soft, calm voice I remember.
"Yea-yes, I love you too. A lot, David," I breathe, tripping over my own words.
I try to force myself to feel at ease, but the knot in my chest refuses to leave. Out of nowhere, a loud, rapid bout of hiccups starts shaking my whole chest.
Stop that, stupid body. I sound like a pathetic little girl. Stop crying.
"I’ve got to go now before my flight departs. Isabella, you better not leave this house without my permission, okay?" he says, finally releasing his grip on my hair.
"Okay," I mumble into the floorboards beneath those dumb, rapid hiccups.
"Speak louder. You’re not a little kid," he demands, shifting his weight as he stands up completely, towering right over me.
"Yes," I say, pushing the word out a little louder this time.
"Good. Well then, see you in a week. Behave."
He turns toward the front door, grabbing his big, dark blue suitcase that I had packed hours earlier. "Bye, take care," I whisper.
He doesn’t reply. He pulls open the front door—clank—and he's gone.
Silence rushes into the house, heavier and far more suffocating than being anywhere near him. I miss him already. Will I even be able to sleep without him? It’s 9:00 PM, and he has a flight to Tokyo for a business trip that is 12 hours long.
I’ve stopped crying, but my face still feels sticky and dirty. Should I just try to sleep? If not, what am I even supposed to do in the meanwhile? I hate being this alone in a house that feels way too huge for me. I don’t even work. I’m just a pathetic, broke woman without him.
I’m still laying right there on the floor. Would he ever want a baby with me?
What a stupid question. He hates children, and he would never want a kid with a skinny, short failure like me. But he loves me no matter what. He says things that hurt me, but it’s my fault for not being enough. He loves me, just as I do.
My head rests heavy against the cold wall and the wooden floor. I slightly brush my finger across my bottom lip, feeling a heaviness in my stomach as I slowly close my eyes. My loose PJs hug me softly—the kind of gentle hug that I desperately crave right now. I really hope he has a safe trip.
I moved to London looking for a chance, and unexpectedly met him. It was a cold winter morning. I was heading into my new class at St. Mary's Institute, pursuing Nursing because all I wanted was to help others in need, more specifically children. When I saw the classes were canceled due to construction, I spotted a tall man speaking on the phone and got the guts to ask if he was a teacher or a student, and what happened to the classes.
I still remember those deep brown eyes staring down at me when I asked, and the warm giggle he let out right after finishing his call. I remember him saying, “No, I am the one funding this place for bright students like you.”
He was so open-hearted back then. Everything seemed perfect. He studied too, and he had such a youthful, beautiful face. He still has it, but it changed. I don’t know how. It wasn’t like that before. I mean, it was my fault for not fitting into his standards afterward, but he still forgave me. He would hold me tighter, and I stopped resisting his unique way of love. Maybe if I was different, he wouldn’t have reacted like that.
Sleep...
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A loud echo runs throughout the entire house. I instantly snap my eyes open, my skin aching from lying on the hardwood. The living room is completely dark, but bright sunlight streams through the edges of the curtains, painting the ceiling.
I quickly scramble across the floor to look across the living room to the clock on the wall, squinting to read the numbers: 7:30 AM.
Shit, when did I fall asleep?
Then—another dry knock at the front door. My body is completely drenched in a cold sweat, and dried tears on my skin. Is it a delivery? Could it even be the landlord?
