Secrets.

Secrets.

July 05, 2016

My high school boyfriend backhanded me on prom night. The force of the blow made my nose bleed and my head throb. I was so stunned I didn’t utter a sound. I just sat there, holding my nose shut and letting the tears stain my white dress.

I never told anyone at the time. I blamed myself. Not because I deserved it — god no — rather because I was too naive to see it coming or believe it was possible. Afterwards I simply pretended it never happened. Everything is just fine, thank you. There were reputations to protect and images to uphold. He went on being a jock. I went on being a cheerleader. We were voted “Best Couple” the same year I was to become homecoming queen. We never spoke of “the incident” again; as I referred to it, refusing to acknowledge it for what it was: abuse.

Continue Reading