Finding The Line : A Breakup Story

Trigger Warning: mild depiction of pregnancy and abortion.

January 2009

I had broken up with Marshall in December. After 4 years of being in an on-and-off long distance relationship, I had enough. I was done being constantly lied to, cheated on, emotionally abused, blamed for a drug addiction he took on, and to top it all off, taken for a fool. Yes, a fool. At 19 years old, I finally woke up and realized that the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with is not the man that deserved me. I had lost Marshall the first time when I was forced to move back to the States with my dad. I never said goodbye. I never got the chance to.

The sad part of this all is that for a very long time, every wrong decision Marshall ever made while we were together was not only blamed on me, but I had accepted the blame in full. I lived with guilt that the cheating occurred because I was a virgin, waiting for the day we get married to have sex, and I was depriving him of his needs. I lived with the guilt that the drug problem would not exist had I not left the country, had I not had left him. For those who do know me, they know that guilt can consume me. It can overpower any logic or strength within me, and shatter any and all confidence left that keeps me going. Marshall knew this well. He knew how to get his way with me. He was a master of manipulation. After all, how else would a young man of 21 be able to escape responsibility of every mistake he had ever committed?

Here’s the thing, though. Most people have a line that can’t be crossed. At a young age, I thought I knew mine, but Marshall kept pushing it. Just like drugs, he tested the limits with me. The rush of finding out how far he can go while I stuck around, how much he can do while I would look past it and focus on the love was sometimes better than any high drugs would ever give him. It made him feel empowered. He can do all wrong, and it could be no wrong. He was a god, and I, forever his obedient servant.

Earlier in the summer, he had reached out for help.

“ I need you to send me $300, and I need it tomorrow.”

I’m on the phone with him, trying to understand why he was in such a rush to get the money. I knew he had gotten into some kind of trouble, but he was not about to admit it so quickly.

“I just need it, okay? Why do you always have to know everything? Why can’t you just trust me for once, and stop questioning me at every turn? Can you send me the money tomorrow or what?” he asks.

I was working as a full time waitress at a restaurant across the street from the college I attended, and still lived with my dad. At 19, my bills were next to nothing, and the rest of my income was split between expenses and savings. At the time, $300 was not nothing, but it was something I could spare.

“I’ll send it tomorrow morning and call you,” I respond.

I couldn’t sleep that night. Something was telling me I needed to dig a little more. Because of the time difference, calling him late at night for me was mid-day for him, so it was no issue.

“I need you to tell me why. I’m not questioning you, but help me understand. You’re obviously stressed out over this, so share this with me.”

He’s silent for a moment, then responds, “ My friend Sarah, she’s in trouble. She got pregnant from her boyfriend. Her parents found out and kicked her out. I need the money to help her out. She needs food and some clothes. She’s got nothing. I’ll pay you back. I promise. I just…need to help her.”

After hearing the whole story, I felt a sense of relief. He was right, I panic too much. I know I had a reason, but he still has the heart of gold I had fallen for to begin with. I needed not to forget that.

The next day, I sent the money to Marshall.

December 2008

“You lied to me! I told you not to call my sister, and you did. You said you wouldn’t. YOU LIED TO ME!”

Marshall was on the line yelling at me. I was close to reaching my tipping point. Some of his friends had told me that he had been dating this girl for the last 6 months. Naturally, he denied it. Not only that, he added more to that story. The girl was going around accusing him of taking her virginity. He had promised her marriage, and now that her parents knew, they were going to make sure he married her to keep what’s left of her dignity intact. I knew he had cheated on me before, but it was always girls that were casual one night stands, never a girl that would be anything more than that. (Silly me, even with cheating, I made exceptions in my head.)

I called his sister, and found out that this girl was in fact going to be his fiancée. She visited their house frequently. His parents knew of her and loved her. There were no details of marriage, just something to make things official.

I’m silent on the other end. I’m listening to his accusations of disobedience, his reasons for not trusting me, his hurt from my betrayal. The Norse god of lies himself, Loki, would have been so proud. I let him finish yelling. My eyes were closed. I found a strength within me I had never felt before. I felt my lips form a smirk. I opened my eyes, and responded.

“I’m done. I’m done with you. You’ve constantly found ways to manipulate me, lie to me, work me to your advantage. I have tried SO MUCH to give you chances time and time again, thinking that you can be better, that you can change and be the person I first fell in love with, but you’re not. You won’t ever be him. I’ve put you on this pedestal that should have been knocked down so long ago. You took advantage of the love I had for you, of the hope I kept clinging onto, just so that you can live this abhorrent life that no one should be living, and you won’t drag me down anymore. I’m done, Marshall. I thought for a moment that you still had a kind heart. I held on to those moments when you would show me that kindness I always saw in you before, like with with your friend Sarah. I can’t do this anymore. I need to accept reality. I’m walking away from you. I’m done!”

This enraged him. What he said next was something I didn’t expect. It was something a 19 year old never would.

“I’m the one who got Sarah pregnant. The baby was mine.”

“I knew it! I knew you were hiding that from me! Something told me you’re the one who got her pregnant.”

Then, it hit me.

“Wait, was? What do you mean was?”

“She got an abortion. The money you sent me, I needed it for the abortion. I wasn’t gonna let her have that baby. How could I tell you that?! You wouldn’t have sent me the money if I did.”

Of course, I wouldn’t. Of course!

I couldn’t talk. I stared out into oblivion. It was like watching a train come towards me, bright lights, sounds of the tracks and horn getting louder and closer. I couldn’t move. I was meant to stay there, meant to wait for the train coming towards me and have it hit me, and it did.

I aborted a baby.

I know it wasn’t my baby. I know it wasn’t my fault. I knew it wasn’t developed where it has eyes and arms and legs. But, this was too much of a burden to carry. Back then for me, that was still a baby. And I, well, I assisted in the abortion of my boyfriend’s unborn child.

“Hello? Hello, are you-”.

I hung up. I set my phone side. I feel the tears begin to blur my vision. Shortly after, they are running down my cheeks. I don’t wail or scream. No sound is released from my throat. He had finally crossed the line. He’d given me not only a reason to end this abusive relationship, but the realization of how much I allowed to happen, how responsible I was for my own mistakes of believing a pathological liar, was the breaking point.

I find the strength inside me somewhere, and I get up. I wipe my tears and begin to walk, my phone ringing again and again. I leave it behind, and I am certain that this time, I am also walking away from him for good, never looking back again.