Before Adam, there was Andrew and before Andrew there was Michael and before Michael.. well you get the picture.
It wasn’t a cycle, not really. I wasn’t some desperate woman on the hunt for a husband.
I just didn’t seem to stay single for long, and honestly,. Not for lack of trying.
I avoided bars like the plague, being set up on double dates was a huge no no and my phone had never downloaded a dating app, but despite my best intentions, there always seemed to be a new suitor around the corner.
Take Adam, for instance.
I had been walking down aisle 7 in the mini mart, my mind completely inundated with emails I needed to reply to, work I had to get done. I barely took any notice when a tall and handsome man approached me and asked me if I would like to go out for dinner sometime?
I hated to be rude, and it had been a long time since Andrew.. I had told him I needed space, and he hadn’t really reacted well. It had been radio silence from him since.
So, perhaps against better judgement, I said yes to the date.
I had always hated cooking for one, anyway.
My apartment was tiny, but it was filled with everything that made me happy. Fresh flowers adorned pretty vases, my favourite pink blanket folded neatly on the couch. It didn’t take long for Adam to move in, citing that the 1 bedroom wasn’t small, it was actually snug and perfect for being close to each other. He didn’t even comment on my large soft toy collection, which I thought was a win.
Yes, it may have seemed childish to some, but they brought me comfort and it was like he could sense and understand that, he didn’t need to question it.
And, as with all my other romantic relationships, at the start things were great. We laughed as we cooked dinner, cuddling up while we stirred spaghetti sauce on the stove. We did camp outs in the lounge, watching old films in black and white, him stroking my hair while I lay on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
But then, like always, things started to change. The kitchen which we once cuddled in, lamenting the cute coziness, was now cramped, I had no space. I felt like Adam was a puppy, following me around from room to room,never giving me a chance to be alone, to just think.
I started to feel suffocated.
I tried, really I did.
I suggested seeing a therapist, maybe even Adam moving out for a short while so we could work on our relationship, but everything was met with disagreement and a sad look as if I had physically wounded him with my words.
I can’t count the amount of nights I lost sleep over it, the stress and worry. I could see the lines in my reflection, some of my co workers even asked if I was okay!
It was at that point I realised that while Adam had brought me a lot of happiness, he had drained me of it as well.
Despite how hard it would be, how horrible I would feel for hurting him, I had to break up with him. It was for the best.
I hadn’t expected him to take it well, but I was prepared. I had enough experience in the matter, of course.
I made a nice dinner, lasagne with a fresh salad and garlic bread, and broke the news to him as gently as I could.
I felt the familiar creep of disappointment as he hurled my dinner across the room, my plates smashing and spaghetti slowly dripping orange down my wall.
I held my breath as he threatened me, telling me all the ways he would love to hurt me for hurting him. His eyes glistened on the knife i had used to cut up the lasagna.
I tried to reason with him. Begged him, even.
But he couldn’t – didn’t want to – understand my reasoning. He hated me, he said. He wanted me to die.
Adam barely noticed when I closed my eyes tightly, chanting words softly beneath my breath.
I didn’t look up as he started to make a choking noise, I didn’t look up as I heard him fall to the ground, taking what was left of the dinner plates with him as he crashed down.
It seemed like an eternity, but it was only 5 minutes. I opened my eyes again to see that Adams body was gone, and in its place a soft, plushy teddy bear.
I gave a deep sigh as I reached down to pick up the bear, putting it in place next to teddy bear Andrew, along with the 30 or so others I had sitting together.
I cried to myself as I cleaned up the mess, throwing the broken porcelain and cold garlic bread in the bin along with Adams clothes. He wouldn’t be needing them anymore.
I collected soft toys.
And I also collected bad relationships.
The first time it happened, my boyfriend had slapped me in the face, his green eyes glaring me down, his anger pumping through his chest, down his arm and into his fist.
As I sat there nursing a bag of frozen peas against a swelling eye, I remembered my Nana and her collection of dolls. I remember the photos of grandpa, though I’d never met him in real life, he had died years before I was born but whenever I stayed with Nana, she gave me a special doll to play with, one with soft grey curls and reading glasses, a crude permanent frown drawn onto its face.
I remembered the sentence she told me to repeat, if i was ever in trouble, in a situation I needed to get out of.
The first teddy bear I ever got was Damian.
If you look closely at my collection, he’s the bear with the beady green eyes and the red fur beard around his chin. Sometimes when I’m feeling nostalgic I will pick him up and give him a cuddle.
He was the start, the start of me realising what I deserve in a relationship and what I don’t.
And even though he’s just a soul trapped in a piece of fabric filled with stuffing, I swear that sometimes when I touch his soft fur, I can feel his fear.
It makes me smile.