John asked me out the day after valentines day; about 3 days after I met him. I had heard from others how bullied John was, being called a faggot and being ignored or verbally abused by other students. My heart became sickened by his suffering. So, to stop him being called gay and a loser, I said yes.
I know this went against my plan to be with Max, but I couldn't see John suffer from bullying like so many have suffered and decades of our cruel inhumanity. This was also before the abuse started, so I put John's feeling over Max's.
To celebrate our relationship he took me across the street again and this time he hit me. Not across the face or anything. He was never outright abusive, EVER. He was, however, sexually abusive, and soon enough my breasts were shades of green and yellow and blue where he would slap them for his sexual satisfaction. Random places on my arms showed fingerprints from his grip were starting to show too, and that's when I finally realized my plan might actually work. I would leave John because of his sudden abuse and I would go to Max, explain what happened, then Max would take care of me. He would be a hero and I would be free!
That's what I thought before I went to talk to Max. During the one class we shared together, welding, I went to confront him. I don't even know why I took welding, but it was definitely fun. Anyways, during one class, when everyone was busy in their welding booths, I went into his once his acetylene torch had turned off and the weld was done. I told him what happened and waited.
I had expected a hug or a look of fear in his eyes, or even some sign of sympathy, pity, ANYTHING, just SOMETHING to show I had him and I didn't need to be with John anymore! I was swiftly and severely disappointed.
He asked to see, and when I showed him he said he needed to touch to understand. Confused I said yes. Of course what he said didn't make any sense, but I was so close to happiness I just agreed. Max was the one I wanted to be with anyways, and if that's what he wanted I assumed that I'd have to do this eventually anyways. After a few moments of groping and touching he told me to lower my shirt. That's when he explained to me that he just couldn't help me. John was his friend and it wasn't Max's place to deny a friend something they wanted.
I've never truly been angry about Max touching me because I gave him permission, but I've never been able to get over how he denied my cry for help. I've never been able to understand how he could've listened to me, seen the bruises and the pain, then just turned around to touch me and say I would just have to tough it out. I don't forgive him and I can't just overlook this. Even if he had not gone out with me, I went out with John for over a year. Max knew what was going on the entire time and did nothing. Maybe, one day I will grow to forgive, but not yet...
He was the first one to teach me just how much no one cared. He was the first one to show me how little I was and that what I wanted never mattered.
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