Chapter 1: Bruises and Bills

Four years at Rutgers and Derek made sure I never forgot my place. On Friday nights, the quad buzzed with the smell of pizza and weed, and I’d brace myself for his mood swings. If he was feeling generous, he’d crack a joke at my expense and everyone would laugh. If he was in a bad place, I’d walk away with bruises—inside and out. College was supposed to mean freedom, making mistakes and learning from them, but with Derek, the mistakes were always his and the lessons always mine.

I learned to watch his hands—if they balled into fists, I kept my mouth shut. If he joked, I forced a laugh and prayed it would be enough. No matter if it was a party or just a study night, his moods were a loaded gun. Sometimes the hits were literal—a shove into a locker, a smack on my arm, fingers digging into my skin until the bruises bloomed. Other times, his words crawled under my skin, sticky and mean. I measured his anger by the way he slammed his car door or set his jaw when he walked in. Every day was a coin flip—Jekyll or Hyde.

If I had cramps, he’d shove me into the bathroom sink like I was just in his way.

I’d curl up on the faded couch in our off-campus apartment, hoping for a moment’s peace, but the second I looked weak, he’d grab my wrist and shove me toward the sink—hard enough to bruise my hip on the porcelain. He didn’t care if I was doubled over in pain, late for class, or bleeding through my jeans. The only comfort was the hum of the old radiator and the scratchy towels I’d bought at Target, because he’d never think to get them for me.

He’d order his buddies to bully me and secretly filmed the whole thing.

It started with whispers in the hallway—snide comments about my clothes, my laugh, the way I chewed gum. One day, I caught his roommate holding up a phone, grinning as I tripped over someone’s backpack. I realized Derek was behind it all, pulling the strings, making sure I was everyone’s favorite punchline. When I saw clips of myself posted anonymously on Snapchat, I pretended not to care, but every view was another nail in my self-worth.

Even when I needed Plan B, I had to buy it myself.

I still remember standing under the harsh pharmacy lights at the CVS on College Ave, the Plan B box sweating in my palm. Derek waited in the parking lot, blasting Post Malone and scrolling his phone. I dug through my wallet for enough cash, feeling like everyone was staring even though they probably weren’t. Not a word from him—not even a glance. I wondered if he’d ever worried about the consequences of anything.

He was a cold-blooded jerk who tormented me for ten years.

Sometimes, catching my reflection in the dorm bathroom mirror, I wondered how I’d let it go on so long. Ten years—high school, college, and beyond. He wore his cruelty like a varsity jacket, and I was just another tally mark. My friends—what few I had left—tried to warn me, but Derek always had a way of pulling me back in. He could charm anyone, even me, when he wanted to. But the pain lived in my bones, never letting me forget.

But later, he knelt in a pool of blood, sobbing and begging for my forgiveness.

I never thought I’d see him vulnerable, let alone broken. But there he was, on the hardwood floor of our apartment, blood pooling from a gash on his forehead, sobs wracking his body. The man who once ruled my life now looked smaller than I’d ever seen him. It was almost cinematic—like a gritty Jersey drama. The curtains were drawn tight, but I could feel the weight of our secrets pressing in.

He even swore that everyone who’d ever hurt me would disappear from this world.

Including himself…

There was a dark promise in his voice, something desperate. The swagger was gone. He said it like he meant it—as if he could erase the past by force of will. But I’d lived with scars for too long. Some things can’t be undone.