Thank You

Dear Jacob,

Remember the very first time I got sarcastic with you, and you gave me that look like you would kill me if I ever said anything like it again? Your eyebrows met in the middle and that vein in your forehead, the one on the right side of your head, the one that looks like a tuning fork, it started to throb... I want to thank you for that moment because it told me that you have something dark within you that I needed to pay attention to. I didn't pay attention at the time, but looking back now...

So I thank you for showing me a hint of your true self at that moment. Sad to say I should have started to pull away then, or even walk away. But I didn't. And that's on me.

Thanks.

###

Dear Jacob,

After three months of being together, you told everyone in school that I was your girl. At the time, I thought it was romantic. Now I know it was actually a warning.

Any guy who looked my way got cornered in the hall by you or one of your boys. I didn't think much of that back then. Now I know how shady that was. Especially since you didn't even know that some of your boys looked my way. One of them even touched my cheek. It was kind of nice.

So for what I have to do now, I thank you for not regarding me as a human being, a young woman, a partner, a friend, a lover...but as an object, a thing, a piece of property.

Thank you.

###

Dear Jacob,

When I told you I wasn't going to meet you at the football game because I wasn't feeling well, you squeezed the shit out of my right arm. I had bruises. Imprints of your fingertips. Purple. And spittle on my face from your harsh words. The spittle I could wipe away. Not those bruises. Not the worry in my father's eyes when he saw those bruises.

For what I must do, I thank you for showing your insincerity, for making my father worry, for causing me physical pain. I can do the same, you know.

I thank you for that.

###

Dear Jacob,

I thank you for knocking me unconscious.

There was broken glass, and blood, and a head wound, and punching, and shoving and throwing, and backhanding...

The ambulance came. My father called the police. You spent time in jail. I spent time in the hospital.

You gushed that you would change, never lay a hand on me again, promised to treat me like a princess. Ultimately, I didn't press charges.

Instead of physical abuse, there was verbal and mental.

I thank you for that, too.

###

Dear Jacob,

Six months since "the unconscious incident", as it was known. My father checked on me every day, sometimes twice a day, because we had moved in together, against my father's wishes. I should have listened to him.

Your verbal and mental manipulations continued. In fact, everything you said was meant to hurt, but I didn't notice. I took everything you said as the truth and it beat me down.

For instance... "Hold my hand when I walk with you so I can protect you."

Really? I didn't ask for protection from you or anyone. I didn't need it. At the time, I believed you.

"You don't look as pretty in the green dress. The red one is better. Believe me as your boyfriend."

You held the door open for me, but for no one else. Not the old man, nor the old lady.

You told me time and again that I was incapable of doing certain things and I believed you instead of the voice in the back of my mind that told me you were full of shit.

You went out of your way to do things for me just so you could score points in the hopes that I would have sex with you.

But I thank you for your verbal and mental manipulations and abuse. They showed me who you really are.

They showed me who I really am.

Thank you.

###

Dear Jacob,

That day you told me you wanted to have a child.

I said the very first thing that entered my mind. "What makes you think that I would let YOU father a child?"

The look on your face was unlike any I'd seen on you. Dark. Maniacal. Wrong.

You marched across the living room and started smacking the crap out of me, backhanding me in the cheeks, the arms, the thighs...guess that must be your signature move...the backhand.

My skin was on fire as I cried out for you to stop. I kept trying to block you but you were too fast. We eventually ended up in the kitchen, in a corner, and you eventually stopped hitting me. You stood there, over me, as I wept, my skin red, already welting.

"Who says I'm not already a father?"

That's when I realized the magnitude of your depravity.

So thank you for physically abusing me again, for showing me who you really are deep down, again, for confirming all the suspicions my father has had all these years, for proving the voice in the back of my mind was not wrong and that things are just going to get exponentially worse from here on out.

Thank you.

Now I know what I must do.

Thank you.

###

Dear Jacob,

It's been done. I'm not sorry I had to do it. Not at all. I'm sorry my father got involved. He's not. Nothing I can do about that now.

But it took the both of us to get the job done and done properly. There was a knife. My father and I took turns. I looked into your eyes, just to see if there was anything behind them. I didn't see much.

And there was blood. A lot of blood.

But there was also bleach, and buckets of soap, and buckets of bleach and soap, and then there was a construction site and cement.

People will ask questions but they won't suspect us, and if they do, it won't be for long.

So thank you, Jacob, for showing us how to be dark, how to be bad, how to turn wrongs into rights. You taught us well.

Thank you.