Defender of the Defenceless

I watched his facial expression as I divulged the chilling truth: I was a murderer. There, amidst the flickering fluorescent lamp, I watched his face contort with a mixture of disbelief and horror. The plan had been simple: reveal the darkest fragment of my past to him, a calculated move intended to repulse and repel any budding friendship or love before it could even take root.

His mouth hung agape, genuine shock etched across his features. For a fleeting moment, I believed my strategy had succeeded and I suppressed a hidden snicker. Just as I attempted to avert my gaze and retreat into the solace of my sick bed, his reaction shattered my expectations.

A sudden eruption of laughter echoed through the very well-lit room, catching me off guard. "You got me," he managed between fits of amusement, his eyes alight with glee. "I'm genuinely scared now, Brenda. You might just murder me next."

Confusion seized me as I tried to decipher his response. What was amusing about the admission of my darkest secret? Did he comprehend the gravity of my confession, or was he simply dismissing it as an absurd jest? With a casual chuckle, he rose from his seat and sauntered away, leaving me to grapple with uncertainty.

As I lay there, awash in the echo of his laughter flooding in past the door he just walked past, I couldn't help but question his reaction. Did he know the real truth? Did he just not care or am I overthinking things?

This particular incident stirred up a mix of emotions, reminiscent of the ups and downs Michael and I experienced together. Despite our cherished moments, we had a few disagreements, like any other couple. 

On one particular evening, dressed in a maroon coloured sleeveless dress that stopped a few centimetres above my knees and a skin toned panty with Michael wearing a crisp blue short-sleeved shirt and a black trouser, we planned to explore a new and popular restaurant just outside our college campus. As we strolled toward the campus gate, absorbed in each other's company, we encountered a young lady. She was impeccably dressed, sporting fitted trousers, a teal-colored blouse with beautifully done makeup.

At first, I simply admired her appearance, inadvertently comparing myself to her standards and feeling somewhat inadequate. Lost in my thoughts, I scarcely noticed the young lady who would unknowingly become the catalyst for our first of many arguments, engaging Michael in a friendly exchange of smiles and pleasantries as we halted in front of her.

In that fleeting moment, they seemed transported to their own world, sharing laughter, anecdotes, and catching up, leaving me standing beside Michael like a lost child in a supermarket. It was as if I were waiting beside the supermarket manager, while he made announcements about a missing child, hoping desperately for the comforting presence of a mother from aisle 9 to come get her.

Finally, after what felt like half an hour, he noticed me. "Ohh, Jean, meet my girlfriend Brenda," he said. Jean glanced at me, then back at him, and whispered with a snicker, "That's who you're dating?" It was clear she was an upper class man, but that didn't give her the right to talk about me like that.

I stood there, waiting to hear Michael's rebuttal but he simply said, "Yeah, this is my girlfriend." I felt frozen, like I was somewhere else, tuning out the rest of their conversation and goodbyes as Jean didn't even try to address me directly. We walked the rest of the way to the restaurant in silence with Michael asking me if I was fine to which i responded that i was. We got to the restaurant and had a nice meal, but that was the only pleasant part of the evening. I didn't utter a word to Michael the entire time.

When we got back to his place, we didn't even try to settle in and change out of our clothes before the argument started.

"You've been awfully quiet tonight, Bren. Are you okay?" he asked.

"Do you not want me to be okay? I've told you multiple times that I was fine," I said, backing away from him as I took off my pantyhose.

"I just wanted to make sure you were having a good time," he responded.

"It's funny how you say you wanted me to have a good time tonight, but you stood right there and watched your friend insult me this evening!" I yelled.

"She did not insult you, Brenda. I was there the whole time, remember?" he said.

"Of course, you were, ignoring me until you later realized I was human and not just air, then you introduced me and stood there while she insulted me. What's even worse, you remained chummy with her and even said goodbyes even with her snobbish behavior directed at me," I said, glaring at him.

"She's just not a people person; she had no bad intentions, B."

"So what do you call "that's who you're dating?" I said, making air quotes with my fingers. "She indirectly implied that I was ugly or not up to par, and you didn't even try to defend me," I said furiously.

"Are you ugly?" he asked, his words like a slap in the face, delivered with casual cruelty that cut deeper than any blade.

"That is not the point," I retorted, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt, my nose flaring with indignation at his audacity to even ask such a question.

"Are you or are you not ugly?" he pressed, his tone unyielding, demanding a response that I wasn't sure I could give without crumbling beneath the weight of his judgment.

"I am not ugly," I declared, my voice steadier now, laced with a defiant pride that refused to be shaken by his words. "But the fact that you did not stand up to that babe says a lot about you, Michael."

He paused, his gaze meeting mine, a flicker of uncertainty dancing in his eyes before he spoke again. 

"That I believe my girlfriend is beautiful and choosing not to engage in a meaningless argument says a lot about me? 

Well, I think I have no problem with that," he said, his words tinged with a hint of defiance as he picked up his phone and walked away, leaving me standing there, grappling with the bitter taste of disappointment.

But this wouldn't be the first time Michael failed to stand up for me, to defend me against the harsh judgments of others. In fact, the next time it was someone from his own family.

His sister.

Yeah, blame me for checking his phone, but we had no secrets or phone passwords, so yeah, I saw it.

"Your girlfriend is not really beautiful, why are you dating her?" Her words, like a dagger to the heart, pierced through the fragile facade of my self-confidence, leaving behind a trail of doubt and insecurity that threatened to consume me whole.

Yet, as I stared at the screen, the words burning into my retinas, I refused to believe his reply to those words.

He sent her a smiley emoji and a text that said "and who asked your opinion?"

After which the conversation derailed into meaningless banter, which left me feeling aggrieved.

In his friend circle, I got the feeling that they had always wondered why he decided to date a freshman instead of his fellow upperclass men. That had always made me feel a little bit inferior but no one up until Jean had actually said the words to my hearing.

I had held onto the hope that Michael would stand up for me, that he would recognize the importance of defending my honor. Yet, as the moments unfolded, it became painfully evident that he didn't deem it necessary

As i lay in bed, wrapped in my bandages, my nostrils flared with a mix of physical discomfort and the tumultuous whirlwind of thoughts flooding my mind.