no really, i can

woah, maybe i can't

trigger warning:
this piece includes references to sexual boundary crossing, trauma bonding, emotional manipulation, and explicit sexual dynamics. please take care while reading.

have you ever loved someone you thought you could change, only to discover the transformation was meant for you all along? i have.

they’re usually all the same. i attract them like wildfire. they love that i’m warm, nurturing and outspoken. they look at me and see something they can consume. i look at them and see security.

at least, at first.

my avoidant lover; he was tall, caramel skin and smelled of the most masculine musk. earth tones, is who he was. eyes dark, beard full and the smile of deceit. his sadness reeked of boyhood wounds and i mouthed the words, “i can fix him”.

the beginning is always fun. it’s like a joy ride late at night with the windows down and “champagne coast” playing on full blast. the wind blowing in your hair. nothing to lose. nowhere to be. when you’re young, they tell you butterflies are a good sign. no one tells you it’s just your nervous system on overdrive. that should’ve been my first sign. i can admit, i was inexperienced when i decided to play a game with a dangerous man.

he had this charm about him that made me curious. i had this innocence about me that made him want to test it. and that, he did. he’d caress my body with his careful hands and he’d cater to my physical needs. his way of showing love or his ONLY way of showing love? i ignored that little voice that told me to run. instead, i drew closer.

somewhere beneath the willow tree, we started to unravel. the highs, the lows; i never knew which version of him i would get. still, “i can fix him” replayed in my head like a mantra. he triggered my abandonment wounds, i triggered his too. yet, i had stayed.

he ran.

when we were naked and he was on top of me, deep inside of me, he became the version of himself i fell in love with, the version i kept chasing. it was a game of cat and mouse and he loved the chase. there was something almost sinister about how easily he could switch. when he kissed my neck, moved against me slowly, whispered that he loved me, i felt safer than i ever had.
and that became our rhythm. his eyes would darken and another side of him would surface; the one that left me dazed and confused. and days later, when the spell lifted, we’d be back in his sheets like nothing had fractured.

i got used to my body being his temple. it was when he was his happiest. i was his goddess and he kneeled at my feet. and when i’d cry after a fight, he’d console me the only way he knew how; by undressing me in the middle of his living room. that was his version of coming undone emotionally. the crumbs i inhaled just to feel his warmth wrapped around me.

one night, he crossed a boundary. and instead of running, i reached for him. trauma has a funny way of disguising itself as love.

i found myself craving his hand over my mouth and his body forcing himself into mine. i desired his rough sex with welts and bruises, he loved it. i thought i could love him into submission if i re-enacted what made his dick wet. i thought if i could keep him there, in that intensity, he wouldn’t disappear. sometimes, in those moments, i swore i met the version of him that existed before the hurt. other times, he felt like a stranger wearing his skin. “i can fix him”.

every day, i gave more of myself until there was nothing left but him. i’d twirl in circles and couldn’t decipher what was reality and what was altered with the mind stone. still, i tried to nurture his wounds, be a safe space and i was left empty handed. over and over and over again; i was sick.

the veil lifted, the rose colored haze cleared.

i started to question the constant analyzing, the way every conflict turned into a lesson about me. i became combative. or maybe i just became awake. and when i’d catch myself… “i can fix him”. but i couldn’t convince myself anymore.

now i leave when i see red flags and i don’t entertain the idea that there’s more underlying. i don’t want another project or to shrink myself anymore.

“i can fix him… no really, i can.

woah, maybe i can’t”.