Would you understand?

I should have told them the truth. Maybe they would have understood, although, I doubt it. It wasn't something that was spoken about. It was taboo. I just hope that years from now they will all see and understand that maybe I wasn't an awful woman who cheated and left her husband. But what he won't tell you is how many times he broke my heart, with his receptionist, with his assistant, with his co-worker, with the girl at the bar... With my best friend.

His deep golden eyes, and thick hair made it hard to stop looking at him, his toned chest and strong arms, made me not want to stop looking at him. He had me, heart and soul. But unlike him, this man gave me his heart and soul in return.

It was glorious, fast and hot. I expected a love like that to diminish quickly but it only grew. Unlike with him where it all started slow and was too quick to burn out, it wouldn't be until later that I realised there was never any love there to begin with. Only fear and pain.

When tears would flood my eyes, he would smile, tell me to cry, tell me he wanted to know how much I hurt. His dark eyes would be enough to make my skin crawl. I didn't want to look at him. His broad shoulders or his tight jaw. I still shutter thinking of it. I still shrivel away when I think of the way my body would break against his rough touch.

When I would laugh the world would only turn colder. His stare would have me quiet in a second. It didn’t take long for me to learn he hated my laugh, my smile, the way I dressed and wore my hair. He hated my voice, my body, my face, my jokes and even the way I cooked his eggs and cleaned his clothing.

He blamed his loss of job on me, after all I didn’t wash his suit well and he was always late because I took too long to make his lunch.

He told me he drank because I made his life a living hell.

He told me I was the reason he got uncontrollably mad because I couldn’t do anything right.

He told me he was sick of hearing me say, “I’m sorry”.

He told me, I was ugly, even after he cut my hair.

He told me I was useless, even if I did everything just like he said.

He told me I was worthless.

He told me he wanted to get rid of me...

This man, he was something new and fresh. He showed me what love was.

What it really was.

It wasn't cooking a big breakfast because it was your 'job' it was cooking so you could see a smile on their face. It was staying in a bed a little longer for a cuddle. It was watching a movie you hated because they loved it. It was staying in on Friday night's for an extra warm bath together. It was late night drives and conversations under the silent stars. It was breathing in their scent when you felt lonely. It was making silly jokes. It was the small things. It was endless smiles. It was shivering kisses.

It was him.

It was sacrifice, commitment, promises, it was gentle and kind, coming fast and slow and leaving you breathless.

He made me laugh because he loved it.

He made me smile because he needed to see me happy.

He made me talk loud and grow my hair out. He made me buy new clothing and get take-out when didn’t want to cook.

He made me let him buy me pretty things because he told me I was worth it.

When we met it wasn't meant to go this far, it was nothing. There was no lingering gaze or sneaky touches. This didn’t start as you would have expected. He wasn’t what you would expect. It wasn’t meant to go this far because it wasn’t meant to become anything, it wasn’t even meant to be a friendship, we weren’t meant to start a conversation or share a smile, this wasn’t meant to start at all. But when it did, and by chance he finally met him as much as I told him to turn and run he didn't.

This man scooped me up and slowly put me back together. It took weeks, and months. Kissing each broken part of me until I felt strong again. His patience was something I couldn't even had imagined. Some days I would curse at him for taking me away, I belonged to him. Other days I didn't want him to leave me alone for fear he would find me and take me away back to the world where I scrubbed my own blood off of the floor and cried in the shower. Where I wouldn't move a muscle when he got mad and never told him 'no'. Back to where I was only an empty shell, a husk, of a woman.

With each of his promises I felt there was hope. With each of his kisses I felt strong. With each of his touches I felt my body become whole again.

Maybe one day they will all understand. That he broke me, long before he took me away. They will know how much I needed them and how they refused to see my pain. They refused to acknowledge that I needed them. I was alone, he was slowly drowning me, and they just watched the show.

It wasn't until the day he took me in his car across the border and to the ocean that I realised I had truly found where I belonged. I realised, I loved him. I remember the first time I told him that, he nodded and produced a tight smile. I was too hesitant to say it again but I didn't need to because he did. He took me into his arms and raced into the freezing water. I shrieked as the water hit my skin. "God, I love you," he laughed until he fell into a wave and we disappeared beneath it's surface.

Gone. Together.

Just us.

Maybe I should have told them the truth. Maybe I should tell you the truth? But would you understand?