She would roll the sushi and carefully cut it into maki, occasionally stealing a glimpse at him. He’s cute. Seems nice. A little loud, but nice.
She was a white girl making sushi/kimbap, onigiri, stir fry, and bubble tea in a college dorm. He must have felt comforted by the familiar food and talk of his culture and music, within a campus that did not often share these interests.
Two paradoxical strangers in a strange setting.
After having slaved away in the kitchen for hours without much help, she sat in the one open spot that happened to be next to him on the couch. They chatted, laughed, bonded over a concert they both went to where they had been just a few feet away from each other.
He even sang for her. So cheesy. Like some rom-com. And he got her number. But she already was seeing someone at the time. So she was planning on just being friends.
They would run into each other doing laundry (so college. classic). And he would hang out at her suite and they would chat about the same things. And he would visit when he was drunk or high, and he would use the scary movies they watched as an excuse to bring her close to him. More clichés. She wasn’t really into it, and felt kind of uncomfortable. He’s just some guy trying to netflix and chill. He’d leave, and she’d go shower because she then reeked of the smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and weed. She couldn’t stand any of those things. Definitely a drunk, high, douche-y player.
Two weeks after they had met, her roommate ran to her and told her, “He told me he really likes you! He wants to take you on a date!”
“What? We barely know each other”
“But he’s everything you wanted!”
“…Because he’s Asian?”
“Well, that…and he likes the same music”
“A lot of Asians like that music”
“Well, he’s so nice too! Just go on the date with him! And you need to start answering his texts more”
“I don’t know…what’s the rush? We should try to be friends first. He could be a player or a total douche, maybe he just wants one thing.”
“No, he said he’s not that kind of guy and he likes you. Just give him a chance! He wants to take you out this week”
“Okay, okay… I’ll go. But I don’t think it’ll go too well…We probably won’t have anything to talk about, nothing in common”
So her roommates dolled her up that Friday.
He came to get her, took one look at her in her dress, and told her to change.
“But it’s warm outside…”
“It was raining before. Hurry and change”
They wouldn’t leave until she changed.
Maybe he didn’t want to tell her that he deemed the dress too short or revealing, and didn’t want her to wear it out with him.
They were having a good time. They were getting to know each other slowly, and he suddenly asked her to be his girlfriend. She was completely surprised, even she knew this was fast. But she didn’t say no.
Even though she wasn’t ready for a relationship and knew that it was too soon. But she had a habit of saying what people wanted to hear, doing what they wanted her to do.
That night, he said he needed somewhere to sleep (“Don’t take it the wrong way. We don’t have to…do anything. I’m not that kind of guy”), so she let him into her little world some more. He crushed her against his chest and said, “You’re mine, you’re mine now. You can’t ever leave me. I love you, you’re mine”
She didn’t say anything.
This is definitely fast…
She couldn’t sleep all night. She felt her freedom slipping away, a mass of responsibility dumped on her, and high expectations being set for her.
He conveniently waited until after they were already together to tell her about his past of drugs and violence; how he was part of a gang, how he had stabbed people, how he was almost a high school dropout and almost didn’t go to college. He lacked an open mind. He had been the high school jock, the bully, doing all sorts of drugs. She was the reserved, studious target of bullies. He had spent his life only expressing himself through physical actions. She had spent her life expressing herself through carefully chosen words (if she was allowed to). The cliché romantic story of the jock and the shy bookworm. Except with a dark twist. He never “changed” or became “good” like in the movies.
He talks about his ex a lot, and she feels like he would compare her and expect her to fill her shoes, and like she is forced into being responsible for being all the things that his ex wasn’t, like she is responsible for restoring his respect for women after his ex cheated on him. She imagines what a huge disappointment she is in comparison to how experienced the ex was. It’s like he expects her to be innocent yet experienced at the same time.
He makes her feel like she is less than the girls at his church. Like it is her fault for not knowing his language, being from his culture, when he never takes into consideration her cultural upbringing, not caring about her past and the things that make her the way she is.
One week into the relationship, it went like this.
She was trying to sleep next to him, and he says,
“Hey, you wanna try something?”
“What do you mean?”
“Take your shirt off”
“What…? I don’t want to…”
“I want to see, come on”
“Um, I don’t really want to—”
He was already taking her shirt off, and once he took one look, he burst out laughing.
“That’s it? They’re so…small…!”
She covered herself up, and was reaching to put her clothes back on.
I will not be laughed at and disrespected.
But he was already moving her hands away, and starting to go at them with his mouth and even teeth.
As he progressed lower, she jumped up and said, “No, no, nope!” Definitely no. She put her clothes back on and left the room and tried to think of a reason to get out of it, maybe to have him leave. But she couldn’t think of anything, so she went back hoping he got the message and would just go to sleep.
But he started sliding his hands and fingers anywhere he could.
He put two fingers inside her.
It felt good for a bit, then he was going too deep and hard.
“Ow, it hurts, stop”
He didn’t stop.
“Now you do me a favor.”
And he made her get on her knees.
She hated that she was being brought down to such a level, literally and figuratively. If she really wanted to suck his dick, she would have made the choice to do it herself.
Since then, he started to always say she doesn’t do anything right, she isn’t good at anything, she isn’t moving fast enough, gagging enough, and every time he makes her feel like it is her fault that he can’t get it up because she isn’t attractive enough or experienced enough to turn him on. So he shoves her head down some more. His frustration looks like anger and blame targeted at her. She never asks for anything, never tells him what she wants, but he bosses her around plenty, not caring if it is uncomfortable or if it hurts or if she can’t breathe.
And then there was the 14/15th…