The weeks that followed were some of the darkest I had ever known. I was slipping away from my friends, from my dreams, and worst of all, from myself. The weight of school stress, my toxic relationship, and the crushing loneliness I felt every day pushed me closer and closer to the edge. I couldn’t handle it anymore.
I woke up every morning feeling exhausted even after hours of sleep. My body felt heavy, my mind fogged with anxiety. I barely ate, and when I did, the food tasted like nothing. The joy I once found in simple things music, reading, and even my studies disappeared. I was drowning in sadness, and there was no one around to save me.
Why? Because Dami made sure of that.
It hadn’t happened overnight, but slowly and steadily, Dami had isolated me. He never liked my friends and always found a reason to criticize them. “They’re jealous of us,” he’d say. “They don’t care about you I’m the only one who loves you.”
At first, I believed him. I thought maybe he saw something I didn’t. But by the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. I had pushed everyone away the very people I needed the most.
Now, when I sat alone in my apartment, the silence was suffocating. I had no one to call, no one to visit, no one to ease the ache of my loneliness. I cried myself to sleep most nights, my heart heavy with sadness and regret. And still, Dami kept adding salt to my wounds.
Every phone call was an interrogation.
“Why didn’t you pick up?”
“Who were you talking to?”
“Why were you online but not replying to me?”
Every time my phone buzzed, I felt a spike of anxiety. I knew that if it wasn’t him and he found out, there would be questions I couldn’t answer. It didn’t matter if it was my coursemate asking about an assignment or my mom checking in Dami always assumed the worst.
One night, after a particularly exhausting day of classes and assignments, I broke down completely. My hands trembled as I held my phone, scrolling through old messages from friends I hadn’t spoken to in months. I wanted to reach out — to tell someone how much pain I was in — but I was too ashamed. How could I explain the mess my life had become?
That was when Dami called.
“Why do you sound like that?” he asked the second I picked up. “Have you been crying?”
I hesitated, not wanting to start another fight. “I’m just tired, Dami. School stress.”
He didn’t believe me. He never did. “Or is there something you’re not telling me? Are you sure you’re not tired because you’ve been sneaking around?”
The accusation felt like a slap. “Dami, I’ve told you — I’m not cheating on you. Why don’t you trust me?”
“Because you’re hiding things!” he snapped. “I know it. You’ve changed, Lena. You’re not the same girl who loved me.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe I wasn’t the same girl because that girl had been happy. That girl had dreams and laughter and people who loved her. Now, all that was left was this hollow version of myself, weighed down by fear and sadness.
A few days later, Dami offered to visit me at school.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about the idea. On the one hand, I missed him. I missed the version of him I fell in love with the sweet, caring guy who made me laugh and held me when I cried. But on the other hand, I was afraid. Afraid that his visit would bring more fights, more accusations, more pain.
Still, I couldn’t say no. He was my boyfriend refusing him would only make things worse.
I spent the day before his arrival making sure everything was perfect. I cleaned my apartment until it sparkled, cooked his favorite meals, and bought some new clothes just to look good for him. I wanted everything to go right. I needed it too.
When Dami finally arrived, for the first time in a long time, things felt… good.
He smiled when he saw me, pulling me into his arms like he hadn’t seen me in years. That night, we talked and laughed, and for a little while, it felt like we were back to the way we used to be. The love, the passion it was all still there, buried under the pain. And when we finally kissed, the tenderness of it made me forget every bad thing that had happened between us.
The romance was unforgettable.
But like every good thing in our relationship, it didn’t last.
A few days into his visit, the accusations started again.
It began when my phone buzzed while I was in the bathroom. When I came out, Dami was holding it, his eyes cold and angry.
“Who’s texting you?”
I sighed, already exhausted. “Dami, it’s probably my coursemate. We have a test coming up.”
He didn’t believe me. He never did. And when I reached for my phone, he pulled it away.
“Why are you so eager to take it back?” he demanded. “What are you hiding?”
I felt my patience snap. “Dami, this isn’t right. Just because you bought me this phone doesn’t give you the right to invade my privacy.”
I regretted the words the second they left my mouth.
His face darkened, his eyes flashing with rage. “You’re very stupid for saying that,” he spat. “It’s obvious you’re cheating. That’s why you don’t want me to see your phone.”
The accusation hit me like a physical blow.
Tears filled my eyes as I stared at him, my heart breaking all over again. After everything I had given him my love, my loyalty, my entire life this was what he thought of me?
“I’ve never cheated on you,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Why would you even say that?”
But Dami wasn’t listening. He was too busy scrolling through my messages, looking for proof of something that didn’t exist. And as I watched him violate my privacy without a second thought, something inside me broke.
That night, as I lay next to him in bed with my back turned and silent tears streaming down my face, I realized the truth I had been too afraid to face.
This wasn’t love.
Love didn’t make you feel small. Love didn’t isolate you from the people who cared about you. Love didn’t make you cry yourself to sleep every night, wondering what you did to deserve this kind of pain.
But even as I lay there, my heart shattered, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I still hoped that maybe just maybe the man I fell in love with was still in there somewhere.
I still hoped that one day, he’d stop breaking me
