It Was The Demons, Not Me

It Was The Demons, Not Me Chapter Three

At first, he was quiet.

Then he began trying to explain.

I didn't want explanations.

I wanted the truth.

"How many of them are there?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

"How many?"

Still nothing.

Then his eyes filled with tears.

I had expected anger.

I had expected denial.

I had expected him to accuse me of invading his privacy.

Instead, he cried.

And that confused me.

The man who had hurt me suddenly looked like the wounded one.

He apologized.

"I'm sorry."

I looked away.

"Why did you do it?"

He lowered his head.

Then he said the words that would stay with me for years.

"It's demons."

I looked at him.

"What?"

"It's demons, not me."

I couldn't understand.

He continued.

"I don't want to do these things. I don't want to lose you. Something comes over me."

I stared at him.

Part of me wanted to believe him.

Another part of me knew what I had seen.

But then he reached for my hand.

"I love you."

Those three words weakened me.

Because I loved him too.

And when you love someone, you sometimes don't want the truth.

You want an explanation that allows you to stay.

So I stayed.

I told myself that perhaps something was genuinely wrong.

Perhaps he was struggling.

Perhaps he needed help.

Perhaps I could support him.

Perhaps love could change him.

I didn't realize I was beginning to confuse forgiveness with permission.

The First Gift

The following day, he told me to dress nicely.

I was confused.

"Why?"

"Just look beautiful."

I almost smiled.

After everything that had happened, perhaps he was trying to make things right.

Later, he arrived carrying a whole bunch of sweet treats.

Chocolate.

Sweets.

Little things I liked.

He handed them to me one by one.

"I got these for you."

I looked at the gifts.

Then I looked at him.

Part of me wanted to remain angry.

But another part of me was relieved.

The gifts felt like an apology I could hold in my hands.

I thanked him.

He hugged me.

"I'm going to change."

I wanted to believe him.

I needed to believe him.

That night, I told myself that perhaps the worst was over.

Maybe he had realized what he was risking.

Maybe losing me had frightened him.

Maybe the demons he talked about really were responsible.

I didn't know then that gifts can sometimes cover a wound without healing it.

The next gift was jewellery.

Then came dresses.

Beautiful things.

Things that made me feel special.

Every time he brought something, I felt a little more guilty for remaining angry.

It became easier to forgive.

Easier to forget.

Easier to tell myself that everyone makes mistakes.

But there was something I was slowly learning.

A gift can make you smile.

It cannot erase a betrayal.

The Ring

The day he gave me the ring, I thought my life had come full circle.

A relationship that had begun in church had survived a storm.

At least, that's what I wanted to believe.

He placed the ring in my hand.

I stared at it.

It was beautiful.

For a moment, everything else disappeared.

The girls.

The messages.

The photographs.

The phone calls.

The doubts.

All of it seemed far away.

He looked at me.

"I don't want to lose you."

I was emotional.

I said yes.

But there was something inside me that remained broken.

I couldn't explain it.

The ring was on my finger, but my heart wasn't celebrating.

I had said yes while hurting.

I had accepted the promise while carrying memories I hadn't healed from.

I wanted the ring to represent a new beginning.

Instead, it became a reminder of everything I was trying not to think about.

I touched it whenever I felt afraid.

I told myself:

He's choosing me.

He loves me.

He's changing.

I believed those words because I wanted them to be true.

Then came the betrayal I could never have prepared myself for.

My roommate.

The Betrayal That Had No Excuse

There are some wounds you expect from strangers.

There are others you never imagine coming from people close to you.

I never expected my relationship to cross that line.

But it did.

He slept with my roommate.

When I found out, something inside me went completely silent.

This wasn't another suspicious phone call.

It wasn't another message.

It wasn't another girl I didn't know.

It was someone who had been close enough to me to know what I was going through.

Someone who knew about us.

Someone who knew I loved him.

And he still did it.

I looked at the ring on my finger.

It suddenly felt heavier.

I remembered the sweet treats.

The jewellery.

The dresses.

The promises.

The tears.

"It's demons, not me."

Those words came back again.

But this time they didn't comfort me.

They angered me.

How many times could demons be blamed for a decision a human being made?

How many times could betrayal be given another name?

How many times could I be hurt and then persuaded to stay?

I confronted him.

He cried again.

"I'm sorry."

I had heard those words before.

He told me it wasn't really him.

"It's demons."

I stared at him.

"Again?"

He nodded.

"I don't want to lose you."

Then he did something I never expected.

He gave me another gift.

A ring.

I looked at it and almost laughed through my tears.

How could something so beautiful feel so painful?

He thought the ring could represent forgiveness.

But I was beginning to understand that forgiveness doesn't mean pretending nothing happened.

And love doesn't mean accepting everything someone does to you.

Still, I wasn't ready to leave.

Not yet.

I was trapped between the woman I wanted to be and the woman I had become.

One wanted to walk away.

The other kept hoping.

My Body Started Speaking

The relationship began affecting me in ways I couldn't hide.

I was tired.

My thoughts were constantly racing.

I couldn't relax.

I would wake up wondering where he was.

A phone ringing could change my mood.

A notification could make my heart race.

Whenever he went somewhere without me, my mind created questions.

Who is there?

Who is he talking to?

Is there another woman?

Is he telling the truth?

I had become someone I barely recognized.

Love was supposed to make me feel safe.

Instead, I was constantly preparing myself for another disappointment.

Then one day, I went to the clinic.

I wasn't expecting the conversation that would change my life.

The nurse checked me.

She looked at the readings.

Then she looked at me again.

"Do you have a lot of stress in your life?"

I hesitated.

"Yes."

She asked me what was happening.

I didn't tell her everything.

But somehow, tears began coming.

I told her about my relationship.

The betrayal.

The arguments.

The emotional exhaustion.

The fear.

The uncertainty.

She listened.

Then she told me that my blood pressure was high.

Her words frightened me.

She explained that I needed to take my health seriously and reduce the stress affecting me.

Then she said something that I couldn't forget.

"You need to take action concerning this relationship."

I looked at her.

She wasn't telling me whom to love.

She wasn't making my decision for me.

But she was making me look at something I had refused to see.

My body was speaking.

My heart had been speaking for months.

My mind had been speaking.

And now even my health was telling me that something had to change.

I went home quietly.

The ring was still on my finger.

I looked at it for a long time.

For months, I had treated that ring like a promise.

That day, it looked like a question.

Was I staying because I loved him?

Or was I staying because I was afraid of losing the future I had imagined?

I sat on the edge of my bed.

I turned the ring around my finger.

Then I pulled it off.

For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine life without him.

It hurt.

But underneath the pain was something else.

Relief.

And that frightened me even more.

Because I realized that somewhere along the way, leaving him had stopped being my greatest fear.

Staying had become it.