Why I Stayed

Untitled Part 1

But I do remember the first time I was scared of Jay. It was after a party with my best friend Beth and her new boyfriend Tim. Tim had been the one who introduced me to Jay the month before. Jay was my first boyfriend, but we had never discussed dating or being official. We were introduced, we made out, we were together, all within the span of a week or two. He never even asked me out, and we didn't go out on "dates" so much as just hang out with our mutual friends. I didn't question this whirlwind romance because I had no basis for comparison. I had been a wholesome, devout Christian girl up until the month before our introduction, when I'd decided that wasn't the lifestyle for me. I was desperate to get laid for the first time after keeping my legs crossed throughout my most hormonal teen years. Jay was literally the first guy that showed any interest in me since I'd left God in the dust.

At the time of this incident, I'd known Jay for less than a month. I'd just slept over at Tim's house, in the same room as he and Beth. They had the bed; I had the floor. I was the unapologetic third wheel, not recognizing at the time that I was, in fact, the third wheel (sorry, guys). At some point in the evening, Tim had scribbled his number for me on a scrap of paper so that I could easily reach him for future hangouts instead of having to call Beth's parents' house. Beth was a Jehovah's Witness, and her dad is an elder. Since I had just left the faith, I was shunned. Beth was a PIMO—physically in the congregation, mentally out. She was still my best friend but taking a stand against her family in order to associate with me would mean she'd also be shunned, and thus kicked out of her house. Calling her to hang out had become problematic, so I was grateful for Tim's help. I slipped the paper into my overstuffed purse. In the morning, my purse was tipped over and I shoveled everything back inside.

Jay came to pick me up in the morning, and we were in the car on the way back to his mom's house, where he lived at the time. While I was rifling through my purse, he saw the scrap of paper and immediately asked about it. I told him it was Tim's number, but to my surprise, he didn't believe me. Tim was a mutual friend so he had Tim's number too, and even though he couldn't remember it by heart, he knew that wasn't it. He said the area code was wrong for that town. He said that area code was for the college town nearby. He asked who else had been at Tim's house the night before. He asked if it was guy from that college. He asked why I had accepted the number from a college guy. Was I going to be calling this random guy? Had I made out with him? What was I hiding?

The questions were coming at me too fast, and his questions were going down such an incorrect path that I was confused about how to backtrack to the right answer. I stumbled over my words, which Jay interpreted as guilt. He hadn't asked, "Was someone else there," but rather "Who was it," and I couldn't explain quickly enough that nobody else had been there, especially not a mysterious guy from the nearby college. I was flustered, and I started to doubt myself. Maybe I really had done something wrong, because Jay was mad for the first time in our relationship. Not just mad, but mad like my stepdad used to get, where I wasn't going to be right about anything. Even if I could prove that I hadn't done anything, he was going to be mad that I'd made him mad in the first place.

The longer the interrogation went on, the more frustrated Jay got. He took off his glasses to rub his eyes, then very suddenly slammed his hand against the steering wheel with a loud, guttural yell. I fell silent. I saw his glasses fly out of his hand and out the open car window, but he was so angry that he didn't seem to even notice. I was terrified to tell him, and my brain defaulted to submission. I told myself that he'd flung his glasses out the window on purpose and he'd only get angrier if I questioned it. What an absurd thought, yet years of practice had taught me that sometimes men do stupid things that I don't understand, so just let them do it without asking them to explain it. Better to be thought a fool than to open my mouth and remove all doubt. He was still yelling, demanding information about a college guy that he had invented based off three digits on a scrap of paper, asking questions that I couldn't answer because this person didn't exist. I'd learned that becoming upset would cause more problems, so I shut down. My answers became monotone, short, and direct. Yes. No. Nobody else was there. I don't know why it's the wrong area code. I don't want to date anybody else. You're the only guy in my life.