Dear Matthew,
Fairy tales always start with “once upon a time,” and that’s how I saw our relationship unfolding as it flashed before my eyes. It’s sad that I am hoping that you still remember who I am, but I am passed the point of feeling embarrassed. This is how our romance started:
I was reading The Great Gatsby and drinking coffee at The Little Red Café located next to campus. I didn't see you walk in and when you set your hot chai latte down next to my frozen hazelnut frappe, I was annoyed. You were wearing a dark blue knitted sweatshirt and grey jeans.
Your drink steamed next to mine, threatening to melt it. “Frozen coffee on a day like today,” you asked me while I stared at you, absorbing you. I didn't know what to say, but you kept talking to me anyway.
You asked me my thoughts about The Great Gatsby, and expressed your hatred for Modern Literature. Butterflies began to flutter aimlessly in my stomach and I agreed with you, feeling my face warming up from nerves. I fumbled with my book and my words as I tried to explain my lack of sympathy for F. Scott Fitzgerald and his characters that mimicked him.
I’ve never been sure how to talk to boys. I wasn't particularly pretty and when you came up to talk to me, I was baffled by it. My mom always referred to me as an ugly duckling. She told me that eventually I would become beautiful, but being twenty, I was starting to doubt that day would ever come.
It seemed like a scene from a romantic novel; geeky girl meets handsome boy and they live happily ever after - of course - after some comical situations and avoidable miscommunication. We talked for an hour and then you finally told me your name; Matthew.
Matthew.
Matthew.
Matthew.
I was shocked and excited when you called me the next day. It wasn't a fluke? You told me that you enjoyed my company and that you wanted to see me again. “Dinner!” you exclaimed full of an alluring excitement. A date; my heart jumped into my throat and I said yes. Panic gripped me as I hung up the phone. What do I wear? What do I talk about? What if he tries to kiss me? What if I’m a bad kisser? What do I do if he asks me to dance? Everything that I knew about dating and boys was from books. I wouldn’t even flirt with the idea of sex. We didn't talk about sex in my family and I was a virgin. Sex was a completely foreign concept that terrified me, and still terrifies me.
It was 6pm and already getting dark when the doorbell rang. I was wearing my deep red dress that flared at the hips, begging to be twirled. You smiled when I opened the door, “you look remarkable.” I felt the blood rush into my cheeks and I turned away to hide my face from your searching eyes. You laughed, deep and powerful, then pointed out that our outfits matched. You worn a red button down shirt with black slacks. “Our reservations aren’t for another hour,” you said, sliding into my apartment; looking around, taking it all in. You made your way to the couch, commenting on how clean my home was and asked if my roommate was a neat freak. I giggled, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, “it’s just me.” You smiled and moved closer to me. My whole body tensed up with a strange anxiety that was a cross between fear and excitement. You leaned forward.
I remember the way you held my face when you kissed me, firmly and with purpose, but gentle enough to show that you cared. You would breathe slowly through parted lips held close enough to mine that I could almost feel the pressure of them. “No,” I whispered until it became a cry, fear squeezed my lungs, threatening to suffocate me.
I can still feel the calluses of your hands as they caressed me; rough against my supple flesh. Our bodies entwined and sweat pooling between them, a tangible sign of your effort and raw force. Hot breath warming my neck, reminding me that you’re there while I squeezed my eyes closed to pretend it wasn't happening. Your big hand clasped firmly around my wrists, holding them above my head. A shudder of longing radiated through your body when you finally entered me; tearing and burning. My body tensed against yours, rejecting you. With a burst of excitement, you reached down and tore my red dress.
When I was finally able to form a scream, those once tender hands came down hard against my face and the copper taste of blood filled my mouth. With every move you made, my body screamed out in pain, twitching and jerking away from your serrated body. For a moment I opened my eyes, and yours met mine, and in that split second, which felt like hours, the violation became spiritual. The evil pleasure that saw in your eyes tore my soul in two; leaving only a gaping hole that could never be repaired. Heavy breathing turned into grunting and with that your body stiffened into a grotesque figure; in an instant you collapsed on top of me. I was humiliated.
You stood up after some time, with your back turned toward me. I lay on the living room floor, broken. When you turned and again our eyes met, you looked at me disgusted, without pity or regret. I’m ashamed to admit, that at the time, I felt that I had disappointed you. I can’t explain the profound emptiness that was left inside when you exited me.
You put on your clothes nonchalantly and left like nothing had happened. I laid on the floor, disgusting and filthy.
Matthew.
Matthew.
I never knew that people could be so cruel as to violate your body in the way that you had to mine. Your abuse changed the world. My life stopped in that instant that you forced yourself into me.
It’s impossible to leave the house. People stare at me; either aware that my soul is tainted or eager to darken it further.
Perhaps I was in denial. I didn't notice the fact that my stomach was swelling, but my parents did. Last night my father called me a whore. My mother wouldn’t even look at me. I could hear the Bible pouring out of their mouths while they discussed what to do with me. What to do with me.
I want to tell you a story Matthew.
Once upon a time there was a girl named Chastity. Chastity had a wonderful life. She was pursuing her dreams and spent her time with her nose buried in a book. She had caring parents that raised her with love and God. All that was missing was a prince. She thought she had found him, but she was mistaken. This man that she had let so carelessly into her life hurt her deeply. When he left, he took with him her dreams, her family, and her ability to love. The only thing this man left her with was a burdensome reminder of the injuries he inflicted. Chastity knew that the child would be a demon, spawned from a man possessed by the devil. She knew that she could not raise a monster, nor could she live in the lonely prison that the devil had left her in. So she prayed, and she took a knife that flickered with a welcoming light - a sign from God; and plunged it into her throat. As the life left her body, she could feel the demon shift in her belly, and she slumped down into a warm pool of blood.
But before that, she wrote Matthew a letter.
Goodbye,
Chastity