There was a version of me that used to laugh without calculating the weight of each sound. She was loud and soft in all the right places. But living with Kahlil meant watching that girl slowly dissolve.
It didn't happen overnight. That's the part that haunts me. It wasn't one big betrayal, it was a hundred small ones. First, I stopped talking about my dreams. Then I started measuring my outfits by how he'd react, not how I felt in them. I would type a message and delete it, overthinking even emojis, worried it would make him spiral. I was dimming without realizing it.
At some point, he stopped hiding who he really was. The jealousy wasn't subtle anymore. He didn't just scroll through my phone, he would interrogate me over every male name in my DMs, even cousins. Who's this one? Why did he like your post? You smiling too much here, is it for him?
It was exhausting. I was constantly defending myself against crimes I didn't commit. And yet, every time I tried to walk, he would cry or beg or threaten. Sometimes all three in the same night.
I only act this way because I love you, he would whisper after another storm. But love doesn't choke the life out of you. Love doesn't leave bruises on your spirit.
He started using my body as leverage. Anytime I said I was done, he would remind me of the things he had intimate things. Photos. Videos. Try me, he would say. We'll both go viral.
That was the ugliest part. Not just the threat. But he said it like he was proud.
By the sixth month, I was gone long before I left. I didn't cry when I walked out. I didn't scream. I was just... numb. I packed my truth quietly, piece by piece, in the corner of my heart that still believed I deserved better.
He gave me an STI. That was the last scar. The kind you carry in silence because shame sticks even when you know it's not yours to carry.
But I left.
That's what matters most now.