I should of guessed by the way you’d rush to leave because your mum was coming home, that you wasn’t right for me.
I stayed anyway because I thought I needed you.
I stayed even when the little things you did irritated me like telling me you wanted to go to the movies but picked me up only to go to somewhere dark so we could have car sex.
I stayed at yours one night because your mum was away and you wanted someone to cuddle but halfway through the night, you started touching my thigh because ‘you couldn’t help yourself’.
I statyed even when you’d ignore my texts and not reply for a few days.
I stayed with you even after the bruises you left on my thighs and necks because you didn’t see the difference between rough and abuse. Normally you’d laugh it off and tell me I was fine anyway.
The worst part is I’m not even the one that walked away, it was you. You left me. I probably would have stayed as long as I could because you made me think it was love. It wasn’t love, it was a sick, twisted manipulated situation. It was torture so thank you for finally doing something for me and that’s leaving.