When I first met Troy Gabriels, it was at a typical college party. You know, the ones where there are no-in-betweens. The ones where everyone either gets:
a) black-out-drunk.
b) drunk enough to start running around naked for no reason
or
c) drunk enough to lose all self-respect and hook-up with that weird guy in their Psychology class who walks around barefoot, because "shoes hurt the ground" and they "don't wanna hurt the ground".
I was the exception to the college party rule that night. I was neither drunk nor tipsy because it was my turn to be the sober friend. So instead of indulging in self destructing behavior like everyone else my age, I was sitting on the rooftop with a glass full of apple-juice, daydreaming about who-knows-what? And right as I was in the middle of my daydream, Troy Gabriels appeared, seemingly from out of nowhere.
He walked up to me, flashed me a lopsided smile, ran a hand through his greasy hair and said: "I've seen a lot of smiles tonight, but yours is different...yours looks a little broken...but boy oh boy, yours is the most beautiful, broken smile I have ever seen. I bet you would look even more beautiful with a non-broken smile though, and if you let me, I can fix it. I can fix the smile, and I can fix whatever is making you sad and broken and I can make you whole again."
That was the crappiest and cringiest pick-up line I had ever heard. Yet somehow, I managed to fall for it. For the rest of the night, I found myself giggling in high pitched tones, and throwing my head back in laughter even though none of his 'jokes' were actually that funny.
Even though I had heard all the awful stories, all the rumors across campus, and received all the warnings one could possibly get, I still found myself being drawn to him, slowly but surely, like a lamb to its slaughter.
Troy was really good at making promises, and the worst part is that I actually believed him. Maybe that was because I had never actually experienced true love, or any other form of romantic love for that matter. But then again, maybe I believed him because his actions matched his words—well at first anyway. So, I allowed myself to dive in head first. I went all in without thinking of a way out, and I think that's where I really fucked up, because shortly after that he figured out just how deeply invested I already was. So, after 3 weeks of an exhilarating, and breathtakingly beautiful whirlwind romance, he asked me to move in with him.
So I did—without hesitation if I might add.
And that's when the shit storm started.
I soon found out that all the stories and all the rumours I had heard were extremely underplayed because on his best day, Troy Gabriels was the devil in disguise.
I still stuck around though.
I think that's the thing about faith: Faith is kind of a bitch. Once you get a sense or an idea of how things could be—who someone could be, or how they could make you feel, you hold on to that image or idea in your mind, and you manifest it and think about it so much that it actually starts to feel possible, real and realistic.
And that's exactly what I did. I held on to that very first version of Troy and that idea of him had kept me going for 7 whole months.
***
"I am beautiful. I am worthy. I am loved.", I whispered repeatedly, slowly and softly underneath my breath. According to one of my favorite fictional characters, reciting this little mantra was supposed to give me the boost of self-confidence that I so desperately needed in that moment. But in all my years of reciting it, it had never worked out for me. That didn't stop me from trying though.
I bent down and started slowly picking at the books I had knocked over when Troy had pushed me on the corner of the bookshelf. Thankfully, none of them were damaged, just a little crumbled. When I finished organizing the books, I reached for my purse to pull out an extremely worn-out journal I had bought when I was still in high school. It had been months since I wrote anything in it. Not because I had suddenly lost my love and passion for writing, but mostly because whenever I wrote something, I made sure to leave a small piece of myself on that paper. Being with Troy Gabriels was exhausting on all levels, and most of the time I was with him, I either felt half empty or completely empty—with no in-between. So, during the course of my relationship with him, I had never felt the need to pour out the remaining half of my already half empty soul on paper.
But that night was different: Now that Troy was gone, I wasn't feeling empty and numb anymore. I was back to feeling broken and sad and damaged. So really, how much more could writing one short little poem or extract take out of me? So with that thought, I sat down on the cold, cold floor, and scribbled and scribbled until I felt I had nothing left in me to give, and only after, did I lie on my back and look up at the ceiling. During this whole time, all I kept thinking was:
"Damn. He's broken you. He's actually broken you...as if you weren't broken enough already."
I lay there for a while longer just contemplating my whole existence, and I probably would have continued to do so for the next few hours, had I not spotted a really thick glass case holding an equally thick book right in the corner of the little room that Troy had left me in. From afar, it looked like a normal book. But somehow it was almost like that book was talking to me, whispering to me and calling me to it. So, I paced over to the little corner, and surely enough, I was not disappointed. Inside the little glass case was a timeless masterpiece. It was a first edition copy of The Great Gatsby.
"Holy shit." I exclaimed softly underneath my breath. There were only a couple of first edition copies of The Great Gatsby left in the world, and I knew for a fact that each of them costed an arm and a leg. So, whoever owned that timeless masterpiece must have been filthy rich.
"Do you like what you see?"
I turned around to see where the voice was coming from, and my jaw dropped in awe as I came face-to-face with the most attractive man I had ever laid eyes upon. The first thing that I noticed was the beautiful set of dark brown eyes boring straight into my light brown ones.
As our eyes met, he didn't turn to look away. Instead, he continued gazing over me with his intense, dark eyes. I didn't feel threatened though. In fact, sometime during the course of our prolonged eye contact, I had an epiphany; I somehow now understood what they meant when they said 'pain recognizes pain' and 'broken recognizes broken'. Because the longer I looked into this man's eyes, the more I could recognize a different kind of pain, brokenness and unforgotten past trauma.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. So, I cleared my throat and tried again.
"Yes", I finally managed to reply. "I definitely like what I see."
And I wasn't just talking about the book.
For a second, I could have sworn I saw a look of concern register on his face, probably because of the dried-up tears on my cheeks. But the concerned look was quickly replaced by a heart-warming smile. He ran a hand through his hair, seemingly trying to figure out what to say next.
"So you like Classic novels too, huh?", he finally asked after a while.
"Not all of them", I replied honestly, turning my tear-stained face back towards the glass case. "Mostly I just read romance novels or poetry books. But I definitely like The Great Gatsby. Though I'm not quite sure if it's the book itself that I like or the ideas presented in the book."
I was quite aware that I was blabbing. Yet somehow, I found it really hard to stop. From the corner of my eye, I could see his body piquing with interest. So, I took that as a sign to continue with my blabbering.
"Mostly I think I just like how Gatsby goes to such extreme lengths to show his love and affection for Daisy, even after finding out that she is already married to Tom. I think that's really wonderful. I bet Daisy never one day went to sleep wondering if her absence in the world would ever make a difference. She was loved...she had it all."
I could feel his intense eyes piercing right through me like he could see through my soul, but I still didn't turn to meet his gaze. Instead, my eyes remained fixated on the masterpiece in front of me.
"Do you?" he asked.
"Do I?"
"Do you ever wonder if your absence would make a difference in the world?"
I meant to chuckle lightly, but instead, a cold and bitter sound escaped my mouth. I took a deep breath in, turned my whole body towards the handsome stranger, and met his intense gaze once more. "Of course not". I replied. "Wondering would suggest that I didn't already know the answer to the question, of which I do. The world shunned me from a very tender age, sir."
He slipped one hand in his pocket, and used the other one to adjust his tie. Suddenly I was quite aware of the perfectly sculpted body which was visible even from underneath the expensive looking black suit. "Oh, yeah? How so?"
And I think in that moment that's when it all finally hit me: I had officially reached the lowest point of my life. There I was, standing in the middle of someone's private library, at a function I wasn't even invited to in the first place, about to have a heart to heart with a total stranger.
No. I couldn't have that.
I couldn't become a classic, cliché damsel in distress.
I just couldn't.
"I'm s-sorry", I said flatly. "I-I don't know why I just told you all that."
Then, before he could answer, I grabbed my purse and dashed out of the room, across the fully packed lobby, and straight outside where I was immediately welcomed by heavy drops of rain. I thought about calling for an Uber or asking a friend to come and pick me up. But as I was standing there with the cold rain washing all over my body, I quickly remembered that my phone battery was dead and I had spent the last bit of my money for the month on the Uber drive there.
I was officially stranded out in the rain.
I felt my knees weakening, but I didn't have the energy nor the will power to control them. So, I allowed them to give in on me. My knees slowly hit the ground and I held my hands up in surrender, graciously allowing the raindrops to roll smoothly and effortlessly down my body. I thought I had reached a low point before, but I was wrong because only then had I officially reached the lowest, lowest point of my miserable life.