Some things were not meant to be destroyed.
I know that when I first met Wesley.
We were in high school, the hallway to be specific. It was magical, almost like— no— it WAS everything like in those romantic high school shows.
He was handsome, smart, literally everybody’s sweetheart. I was turning the corner when he caught me before my face hit the edge of those metal lockers.
And then our eyes met.
Told you, it was magical.
Or so I thought.
You see, I was not a pretty girl nor the smart one. Heck, I looked like trash and my brain worked like a donkey on a vacation. So when he asked me out I couldn’t say no, in fact, I couldn’t say anything for like ten minutes.
Who wouldn’t want to be with the guy of your dream? And I didn’t think he could use me in any ways. Like I said, I was ugly and dumb, practically useless.
So we got together, and everything went so well despite our ups and downs, but hey, that’s how relationships work.
We got through it.
Because some things were not meant to be destroyed.
Our bond had been tighter and tighter every time we fought, over where our date would be, over what to wear to prom, over the college. You name it. We’d been fighting about literally everything.
And long story short, we are now married— to be honest, we eloped and tonight’s our 3 years anniversary.
I was coming back from a local store I worked at. Wes said I didn’t have to go to college because I was not as smart as he was. I agreed because I wouldn’t like it anyway. For now, I just had to keep working shifts by shifts to support his college life. It’d only took a couple years and he’d take all these responsibility when his time came.
It was exhausting now, but soon we’d be better than this.
That’s how our relationships worked.
We’d been through a lot.
I’d never destroy it, destroy us.
I opened the door of our small apartment to the dark room. Dim lights creeping from the streets through our half-opened blinds.
Wes’s not home yet.
Sure, he’s not.
He’d been studying hard lately. Sometimes he even spent the night in the library, he said, with his friends. We did fight about that because one time he came home smelling all floral. I thought he was cheating on me but it’s just that the library was so cold he had to borrow some girl’s blanket. So next time I made sure he took his own one. I wouldn’t want my man to share a blanket with any woman.
I shook those thoughts away before it ruined our special night. I was pretty sure he’d be home in a couple of hours so I’d better be preparing the meal.
Wes’d gone nuts when he’s hungry.
After I finished in the kitchen I got showered, shaved, perfumed and dressed in a dress I bought online. It was a low-cut dress which surprisingly covered all the bruises on my bodies, they didn’t hurt anymore, but I still don’t like it in the pictures.
Now, all that left is to wait for him to come home.
I heard someone at the door when I almost fell a sleep and dipped my head in the plate I carefully— and thoughtfully made. I rushed to the door and saw Wes trying to hang his coat. He turned and looked at me, amazed.
“What’s all these” He waved his hands at me.
“It’s our anniversary, come.”
I sat him at the table and sit on the opposite. He took one glance at the food and then, me.
“Anniversary or not, you really have to dress like a whore?”
He asked in that special tone he always used to me.
“Wes, this is prom all over again”
I rolled my eyes and moaned tiredly, but we shrugged it off as Wes started eating his spaghetti. My poor baby must’d been starving. I could tell you it didn’t always end this well. This time it’s better because we had this meal I’d made, for distraction, also…
“Hey, forgot to tell ya. I have to go to the library again. Can’t stay tonight.”
I nodded and smirked, tried not to notice the floral scents from his shirt.
They said some men had red flags.
Whether it’s in his thoughts, or what he did or said.
Now I can see all of them on his hands, shoulders, head, even in his eyes.
But after they opened wide and his body convulsed for the last time…
I didn’t see them anymore.
Some things were not meant to be destroyed.
Sometimes it’s the bond.
And sometimes,
it’s yourself.