Prologue:
Years ago, when my love was pure, I gave my heart to a girl. I was juggling a full-time job, leading student associations, volunteering, and studying – all to give her a good life. But when it mattered most, she turned her back.
Something was said to set things in motion. I’ve replayed it countless times, wondering why I was attacked and why she didn’t step in to stop it.
She answered my call afterward, and while most of that conversation remains hazy, one thing stood out. With pain radiating through my index finger and pulsing into my body, her words were, “Do you really wanna continue this?” That moment still cuts deep, clear, and sharp.
It was raw and I was confused. This was what I posted on reddit at the time:
So I guess I’ll start at the beginning. I have a 3.9 GPA, I was president of the American Medical Student Association at my school, I volunteer every Sunday at the local hospital and I’m at the lab helping my professor out with his experiments almost every day. My ex-girlfriend, let’s call her Rachel lives on the top floor of a house with the first floor being occupied by a guy, let’s call him Evan and his girlfriend. Evan has this friend, Alex who’s been texting Rachel for the past couple of years.
It was two day before finals week, and me and her were supposed to be studying (we were in the class together and she made me promise to make sure she studied). I walk over to her house to pick her up around 8 and I find her drunk outside with Alex. I say my hellos and tell her to come with me to study. She tells me that it’s Evan’s birthday and she’d like to stay a couple more hours but to make sure get her by 11. I say we don’t have much time, the final is cumulative and it’s in a couple of days. She insists that it’ll be fine. I return home and continue to study. Around 10:30, she texts me asking if she could stay there. I say no, we have to study. She tells me to come over to pick her up.
I drive up there with my dog in the back seat, she’s sitting out by the fire with Evan and Alex. I walk out of the car towards them, and wish Evan a happy birthday and try to shake his hand. He screams “Fuck you nigga!” and out of nowhere slaps me. I had no clue what was going on, I’ve only seen the guy once or twice before and didn’t think he was malicious. Before I could wrap my head around the situation he starts whaling on me. In a daze, I manage to get to my car, I remember my ears ringing and missing the door handle a few times. I finally get the door open but my dog jumps out. I turn to see where he is, only to notice the knife in Alex’s hand.
I panic, and grab the bat in my car. I start swinging to keep distance while yelling my dog’s name. I just wanted to get out of there. Evan manages to clasps the bat between his ribs and arms. He proceeds to use it as a lever to swing me onto the car. Alex tackles me and starts sawing at my finger. I drop the bat, Evan continues punching me in the head as my finger is being sliced. Luckily, Evan’s girlfriend runs out and pushes them off of me. I run into my car and my dog jumps in. Rachel, who spent her time yelling ‘stop!’ runs into the car with me. There’s blood dripping everywhere, I see slices of meat on my finger. I clasp it with my other hand and the bloods starts to pool onto my palm. I start screaming “I’m calling the police! I’m calling the police!” as I’m driving away using my elbows to steer.
Rachel pleads with me to not call the police. She tells me that they were drunk. She tells me that I shouldn’t try to start a problem, it’ll just end up bad for me. She tells me that Evan has been having a hard time with his life. He’s raising his girlfriend’s eight year old daughter and he’s been trying to become less angry, things just escalated. She tells me that I shouldn’t ruin their lives for a mistake. I sympathize and decide not to call the police. The ordeal is over. At the ER, I get a few stitches in my mouth, 7 on my finger and a cast around my arm. I guess I didn’t know the extent of the damage.
The next day, as I was walking into my apartment the police yell out my name. I turn around and they notice my cast, my stitches, and my hand. They ask what happened. I tell them that I was attacked. They ask why I didn’t call them, I tell them because my girlfriend insisted that I don’t, they say that I should have called them first. I end up going to jail with a fresh wound and stitches. They take away my pain medication, narcotics aren’t allowed in prison, they are to be thrown out. I’m in an unbelievable amount of pain. I lie in the prison bed shaking and sweating. My parents pool all of their resources and bail me out.
Rachel tells me she’s going to make things right but she can’t see me again. I don’t understand why, I didn’t think I did anything wrong. Why am I being punished more for something I didn’t do? She tells me that she’s breaking her own heart but she can’t see me anymore. She makes a video statement retelling the story. I still have no idea what happened. Why I was attacked? why can’t she see me anymore?
I visit my doctor and he tells me that I need to see a specialist. The specialist tells me that he needs to operate on my hand right away. He schedules me for surgery this upcoming Thursday. I call Rachel a thousand times. She sees it as me trying to force my way back into her life. She blocks me from any mode of communication, she tells me if I continue trying to contact her, it’d be harassment.
I still have no idea what’s going on. It’s been nearly 20 days and I’ve received no information. I have to get surgery on my hand and I’m the most scared I’ve ever been in my whole life. I’ve spent three hard years at school, working my ass off at the hopes of becoming a surgeon, and now I might never be able to. The girl that I’ve loved for so long cut all ties with me. I feel hopeless and alone. How am I supposed to pay for any of this? Can I sue them for attacking me? What am I supposed to do?
Epilogue:
Even after everything, I still carry some strange kind of love for her. It isn’t romantic; it’s just the echo of knowing someone so deeply and being betrayed so completely.
I was pushing forward, building a future for her, and she resented it. This was during the “boss-girl” era, and her boredom and lack of ambition must’ve made being around me feel like staring into a mirror she didn’t want to face.
She saw something I couldn’t. And in that gap, something snapped. Whatever she said to her friends that night, it set everything in motion.
I don’t know if she ever thinks back about that night or if it makes her sick the way it makes me sick. But the fracture she left behind is jagged. And jagged edges never fully align.