Idiots!

“I’m just not ready for a relationship.” 

It had blindsided him entirely. As he stood there with flowers in his hand, he could only blink, flabbergasted by the statement. They had just gone on a date. Were just laying in bed where Jacques was being vulnerable enough to say how much he loved him. Talking about what he could see in their future together -- which he had expressed so many times before how hard it was to plan for the future. 

That night, he left, and Jaques could only stand there wondering what went wrong. As he curled into his bed, he sobbed, unsure what had just happened. It was followed by blinding anger a moment later, his form shaking. How could he not have seen it coming? How could he not realize how damaging this was to Jacques? To suddenly end things without so much as any regard to his feelings? And to do it after he had just paid for a date? The more Jacques thought about the ridiculousness of it all that night, the more pissed off he became. He had given so much -- and for what? Nothing. Maybe just to not feel so alone. 

Jacques closed his eyes, taking in a shaky breath as he gripped tighter at his knife. Why not just go further into it?

“You’re acting like your abuser.” 

It was not the exact words another partner had said, but they might as well have been, Jacques’s ears ringing. The silence was deafening. Quickly, his partner realized what they had said, and tried to back-track. “I didn’t mean it that way.” “That wasn’t my intent.” “I wasn’t trying to imply that.” 

It was the same old fucking excuses time after time.

"I do not appreciate that comparison and your intent means nothing.” 

They went on a break after that but Jacques knew in his heart it was over. He had a nervous breakdown that night to his closest friend.

And the abuser -- 

Now, he, had hurt Jacques. Emotionally and physically. He pulled Jacques away from his friends, belittled all of his trauma, and broke him down to his core. The man actually managed to make Jacques, of all people, feel stupid. Each comment and “joke” only drove Jacques closer to the edge. He lost count of the amount of times he held pills in his hands, staring at them. The amount of times his knife dug into his thigh, the amount of times he placed his revolver in his mouth. One time, it was loaded, and he sat in the bathtub. To this day, he has no idea what stopped him from pulling the trigger. 

Jacques continued to shake, holding his knife, the blade’s tip suddenly at the base of his wrist. Anger was always what made him want to hurt himself. If he could just hurt something maybe then the anger, the bitterness, and the urge to maim those who hurt him would go away. He took in a sharp breath and pulled the knife away instead and flicked it shut.

Just breathe, he reminded himself. 

He stood and went to go hold some ice instead, squeezing it tight, and started counting. Things were better, now. He knew how to protect himself, how to spot shitty people from a mile away, and how to curb the urge to harm.