He said, he was going to kill me if I ever looked at her again. I looked at her. I just couldn’t help it.  I saw her for the first time in high school, ninth grade, she was getting a drink of water, when her papers fell. It was like a from a scene of a movie. Everything was moving in slow motion, and I’m standing there staring with my mouth open, like the scenes, when the guy sees the girl, everything starts to slow down and then music starts to play, until they’re blasted back into reality? That was what happened.

When her papers fell, I snapped out of it immediately and came to her rescue. I was going to ask for her name, but as I looked to see what the mysterious girls name was, she was on the arms of another guy nudging her away before she even had a chance to say thank you. She turned around with an apologetic look on her face, with a distinct longing hidden behind her eyes.

Three years later, and we’re in the same college. The boyfriend just so happened to be dragged along as well. He was still treating her, like she was garbage, like she was dirt. But she wasn’t, she was the best thing that had ever happened to me! I finally had her, and he was trying to take her from me. How can you be with someone, whose scared to be with you, because of someone else? He changed her.  She was different. Pale. Silent. Skinny. Still beautiful.

I knew something was wrong with that picture the second I laid my eyes on it. The way he was holding her arms, the way she was staying as far away from his as she could. The way she never dared to look any other guys in the eyes. She was frightened. And I was scared for her, but I was determined. I wasn’t going to let him get away with that, so when I saw them again, I said something.

They were standing by the lockers. He had her pressed up against the wall, a little too close for school standards. Her face was facing the side, as if she were trying to find better air to breathe. I could distinctly make out an off color about her wrist. As I casually got closer, I pretended to drop my stuff. She saw me, and put her arms down. She wanted me to see it. I know she did. They were finger prints, finger prints fit for a footballplayingwomanbeater. You didn’t need to be a detective to know how bad he was treating her behind closed doors. All you needed was a few context clues and this thing called eyes.
I stepped up to him and, boldly, pushed him away from her. The entire class hallway seemed to freeze, and waited for the jock to pop off like an angry guerilla. That was the first day I had ever gotten beaten up, but it was also the first day I stole the heart of a young woman who needed my help. I was going to be that person. I was going to protect her. I wanted to protect her.

Months later, we were seeing each other on the low. Every other night would bring new scars, new tears, and the same conversation. I would ask why she didn’t just leave him, and she would explain how she was afraid. He was crazy. He deserved what he got. But did she? No. I would hold her until she fell asleep, secretly plotting a plan to get him out of her life forever.

One day, I thought I had finally accomplished that plan. It was three years later, and we were fresh out of college, she was pregnant, and I was restless. That JerkFaceLoserBoyfriend was still forcing his way into her life, even though she broke up with him numerous times. He just can’t seem to take no for an answer. It had gotten to the point where she was scared for her life. He was stalking her, obsessed, wanted her back. Needed her back. It’s understandable considering she was the best person alive. But him, he deserved what he got. His love wasn’t real, mine was. His love was pain, mine was hope.

I waited for his call at night. The one he always sent to her, when he thought I was sleeping. I would listen to their phone calls at two o’clock in the morning. I could hear his voice through the phone begging for her to come back to him. I could hear her whisper, how she would rather die. That part always made me smile.

She had her baby. She had you. Then he showed up and it was the perfect time. The perfect moment to carry out my plan. I would finally be able to get him away from her. I took that moment and ran with it. The next night, I quietly snuck out of the house. I was going to teach him a lesson once and for all. After all of these years, of hiding and sneaking around, we needed to take a stand. For her, for each other, and for you, our child. I did what any sane father would do. I found him, waiting outside. He was on the phone. I looked at the time on my watch, and I knew what he was doing. He was talking to Miranda. Our Miranda. I got angry. I didn’t do anything harsh. I decided to just go back inside. When I got in there, I went up to our bedroom, and realized the perfectly solution. Get rid of the problem.

They’re trapping me inside these white walls. They’re saying I’m crazy. But I’m not! I did everything I was supposed to do! But they say I’m writing to ghost. Are you ghost? No! I’m not a liar, and I’m definitely not crazy. I freed her. 

They say that this is just my imagination, but I saw everything with my own eyes. I admit my ways were a bit unethical but they refuse to hear the other side to my situation.  She was scared. He was there. He had his arms around her, and I wasn’t going to let him get away with hurting her. She turned around and screamed. He jumped up. I was saving her. She needed to be saved. He was always there, always around. It was time to stop the nonsense and get it over with.

It was red everywhere. She was free. He was out of her life forever. There were flashing lights and confusion. Why was I being taken away? I only did what was right. She will never have to endure that kind of pain ever again. She will never have to move again. She will never have to breathe again.

Now here I am, being held against my will. They say that you’re not real. That you are just inside my head. They say that I was the crazy one, that I was the one hurting her. But I wasn’t, I loved her. They say I have an obsession. But I don’t. I didn’t. It was the only way we could all be happy. I’M NOT CRAZY! I’M NOT CRAZY! Time is up, and they’re taking away my supplies. I will see you again. 

Goodbye for now.

                        -Your father, Smith

p.s. It’s been five years. I haven’t gotten a letter back. Will you please write back? I have other stories to tell.