Shane

Sometimes, when I’m feeling down, I like to make fantasy lives in my head.

I think we all kind of do that. You know, when you’re trying to fall asleep and you can’t so you start to think about what life would be like if things were better. And, usually, they all have a similar quality - whether it’s always starring the same person or in the same place or there’s always something different about you in that fantasy.




When I have these fantasies, I'm usually with the same person - my ex-boyfriend Shane.

I met Shane when I was volunteering as a candy striper at the hospital in the city my freshman year of high school. We met the summer afterwards. He was cool and older and hauntingly mysterious. Everything a freshly fifteen girl wants in a guy.

The two of us both got lucky with the worst section of the hospital you could volunteer at - the trauma ward. There were people that fell off ladders, people recovering from heart attacks, and even one chick that I think was having a nervous breakdown. They kept her in a bed with a net around it.

Anyway. Shane and I would go around the trauma ward, door to door, getting patients their drinks, restocking glove boxes and just having conversations with them.

One day, when we were stuck in the stock room refilling ice buckets, we started talking. And I have never clicked with someone so well. Never had such an easy conversation. Never talked to anyone who just got me right off the bat.

A few weeks later, he asked me out on a date. So, I said okay. You see, Shane lived on King Street in the city which is huge because that means he's packing some dough. Or at least, his family is. So a pretty, mysterious boy with money? I was fifteen and officially a sucker.

We dated all summer and I never told anyone about him. Not my family, not my friends, not even the stranger on the side of the road. There was something about him that I couldn't shake. Something that I didn't want to share. He was mine and mine alone and having something that was wholly mine was exhilarating.

A few months went by and I was in heaven. He was mine, I was his, and we were happy. There was something about being with him that made me feel dangerous and unpredictable. It was a great feeling.

But, as it tends to happen, something went wrong about six months after we met. A week before Christmas, we got into our first fight.

We were sitting on the couch at his aunt's house and watching a movie, which we tended to do a lot, when he asked, "So what does your family do for the holidays?"

"Well, on Christmas Eve, we all hitch on up to grandparents' house on the lake and open up presents at night and drink eggnog. It's probably my favorite night of the year," I told him.

"Was there an invitation in there?"

When he asked me this, my heart stopped for a minute. I wasn't really sure how to reply because it sounds super bitchy to be like, "Well, considering they have no idea of your existence in my life, no, not really." And he didn't say it to push me, it was obvious in the way he said it with that easy smile of his.

I let him down as easy as I could have in the second I had to think of which way to tackle that question. I told him that I hadn't told my parents that I was seeing someone yet. He was my first boyfriend and I wasn't sure if I was ready for them to meet him.

At this point, I had nothing to worry about with Shane. He was a gentleman whose father was a doctor and was on the fast track to medical school, for God's sake. He was a total catch, any parents would be proud. But I wasn't ready to stop being selfish with him yet.

And after I said that, I got something I wasn't prepared for. Shane got angry. I've seen Shane ticked off - when he left his phone at home or when his aunt told him to empty the dishwasher before he left. But I had never seen him truly angry before the moment he decided that I didn't want my parents to meet him because I was ashamed of him. Which wasn't the case at all.

Before I knew it, he was screaming at me. And that scared me and made me go into the defensive, so I was screaming back. And then I said the wrong thing.

"I was never ashamed of you, Shane, but now you're really going to give a reason to!"

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, his hand was around my bicep and he threw me to the ground. My back hit the coffee table and then I just kind of starfish-ed next to it.

I expected him to automatically realize what he did and apologize for it. But that didn't happen. Instead, he stood over me, straddling me with the hardest look I've ever seen in anyone's eyes and said, "You don't want me to give you a fucking reason to, Isa. Trust me."

I was scared. And I was heartbroken. I was so thrilled to be in this relationship with someone who I honestly cared about and all of a sudden, it was gone. He wasn't the person I thought he was.

And then, all of a sudden, he was again.

After he stared at me with those hard eyes for a few seconds, I let a single tear slip out. As soon as it started falling from my eye, his eyes flickered to it and his face lost all the hardness.

He stopped straddling me and knelt down by my side just apologizing over and over again, trying to help me up. I automatically sat up and scooted away from him, telling him that I was more than capable of getting up by myself.

I got up on my own, brushed myself off and said, "What the fuck, Shane?"

All he said was, "I'm so sorry," with remorse in his eyes and voice.

But I wasn't fucking having it. I was hurt. I was confused. But, above all, I was fucking pissed. I was livid. How dare he? Who did he think he was? I actually liked this guy and he just threw me against the table because I made a comment? Are you fucking kidding me?

"You're fucking right you're sorry!" I exclaimed with spite turning my tongue black.

"Don't cuss at me, Isa. Don't do that," he said sharply. His anger was back. And mine was replaced with fear.

"Okay," I said softly.

We didn't talk much after that. We sat down on the couch again and watched the movie. But for the next hour while we were both definitely not paying any attention at all to whatever fucking movie was playing, I winced every time I saw Shane so much as a take a deep breath. 

As soon as the credits started to roll, I asked Shane to drive me home. Which he did in silence.

And this is the kicker - this is why I've made myself change so much over the past few years. I was weak. I was so fucking weak for this boy that I thought I might have fallen in love with. I had crumbled in to a shell of myself in just a few short hours. I went from an equal partner in a happy relationship to the submissive partner in an abusive one.

I thought that the next time I saw him, things would go back to normal. I was hopeful for it. I thought this was just a one-time things brought on by his own insecurities.

And that is why when I stepped out of the car, I pathetically asked Shane if I would still see him that following weekend after Christmas.

I thought I saw a smile flirting at his lips when he replied with a simple, "Yeah."