Bravery and Bruises: The Price Of Wanting Him

The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that settles after a storm, with everything still and heavy. She sat alone, her hands resting on her lap, eyes staring at the door where he had left hours before. This time, she knew he wasn't coming back. She knew because this time, she wouldn't let him back in. The silence was a comfort, a place to gather all the words, all the memories, all the painful truths that she had kept buried. It was the calm after what felt like a long, sleepless night of confusion and heartbreak.

In those final moments, as he walked away, she felt the weight of every broken promise and every lie he'd ever told her. She could still hear his dismissive laugh, see the indifferent expression on his face when he'd zoomed in on the woman's TikTok video, praising features she didn't have-features she'd never have. That night, she had lain beside him, silent, unable to bring herself to voice the anger and humiliation she felt. Instead, she had turned away, pretending to sleep while her mind replayed his words, trying to understand why he'd chosen to hurt her so deeply, so casually.

She had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that he would see her worth, that he would see the quiet sacrifices she made. But it was always like this, she realized. He would drift in and out of her life, stirring up just enough hope, offering just enough attention to keep her waiting. Every time he left, she convinced herself it was the last time, only to let him back in the moment he called. And so, she found herself in this cycle of self-betrayal, giving and forgiving, until there was nothing left of her but hollow gestures and forced smiles.

And still, she loved him. She remembered the first time she felt that spark-a simple night, surrounded by friends and laughter on campus, meeting him through Lwazi. He was a friend of friends, someone she hadn't thought much of at first. But as they talked, as he drew her into his orbit with his charm and humor, she found herself slipping, despite her better judgment.

"What are you doing after this?" he had asked, a playful glint in his eye, making her heart flutter.

"Probably heading back to my place. What about you?"

"Maybe I could join you," he suggested, leaning closer, his voice lowering as if they were sharing a secret.

From that moment, her life had turned into a whirlwind of emotion, excitement, and ultimately, despair. She couldn't forget the nights they spent wrapped up in each other, lost in conversations that seemed to stretch into eternity, the way he'd look at her like she was the only one in the room. But those moments were overshadowed by the truth that slowly emerged: he was never truly hers.

After her decision to cut ties with him, her days became a mix of numbness and relief. She forced herself to remember all the hurtful things he'd said, every instance where he'd made her feel small and inadequate. There was the time he nonchalantly mentioned wanting to be in a polygamous relationship, already having someone else in his life without ever offering her a place of certainty. Or the time he'd looked at a message from her friend, a message where her friend criticized her appearance and self-worth, and he agreed, echoing the very words that had left her feeling shattered.

"Maybe he's right," he had said casually, shrugging as if the words didn't slice through her heart. "You're just okay, you know? You've got to appreciate what you have."

Each of those moments chipped away at her, leaving her feeling more hollow than before.

As the weeks passed, she worked on reclaiming her own peace, distancing herself from the pain he had left behind. Therapy became her refuge, her safe space to process, to heal, and to rediscover the strength she had nearly lost. She found comfort in the quiet mornings, in her work, and even in the silent routine of living alone. It was a long road, but with each day, she felt a piece of herself returning, a sense of self-worth rebuilding in the space he had once filled with doubt.

"I'm proud of you," her therapist had said one day, leaning back in his chair, the sunlight streaming through the window, casting a warm glow in the room. "You're taking the right steps."

"Am I?" she replied, her voice wavering. "It just feels so hard sometimes."

"That's normal," he reassured her. "Healing isn't linear. But you're here, and that's what matters."

With a sigh, she reached for her phone, scrolling through old conversations, pictures, memories she had saved of their time together. One by one, she began to delete them, each deleted memory a step toward freedom. There would be no more chances, no more looking back. She was done being an option, done letting him have a hold over her life. She deserved better, and she would wait for someone who saw her worth, who valued her presence, not someone who used her as a placeholder while chasing dreams elsewhere.

"Can I see you this weekend?" he had texted her one day, breaking the silence she had imposed.

"No," she typed back, her fingers trembling over the screen. "I think it's best we don't."

"Come on, don't be like that," he responded, an air of entitlement woven into his words. "I miss you."

"You miss me or the idea of me?" she shot back, a new sense of strength rising within her.

That exchange felt like a victory. She was reclaiming her voice, refusing to let him dictate her worth any longer. And with every moment of clarity, she found herself standing taller, more confident, more determined to forge a path free from his shadow.

As the days turned into weeks, she continued to focus on herself. She embraced new hobbies, spent time with friends who uplifted her, and even started exercising more regularly. Her body felt stronger, and slowly, she began to see herself in a new light, one that didn't hinge on his approval or acknowledgment. She was not merely the girl who fell for a man who didn't care; she was a woman deserving of love and respect, and she would find it, even if it meant waiting a little longer.