About Me

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Part 3.1 Frat Boys Suck!!!

Long before becoming a Zeta; I was a 3 person by nature. I was born to be a Tre. Everything in my life (in retrospect has happened in threes)I like my alliteration in threes, I'm the eldest of 3, I'm the 3rd person in my family to get a college degree. The list could go on...

My granddad told me that trouble comes in threes. Adhering to his wisdom, I agreed and believed him. So it should have been no surprise that my 3rd attempt at obtaining a healthy relationship would lead me to this...

I met frat boy (although he wasn't greek yet he was on line) through my suite mate. They were study partners and he asked her to introduce us. When we met, I was still dating Chi-town and I was upfront with him about that. So we agreed to only embark upon a friendship.

The week before Christmas break he crossed. So when break came we rode home together because we lived in neighboring cities. We talked only twice during the break. Once to wish me a Merry Christmas, and the second time to wish me a Happy New Year and to ask for a ride back to school.

We remained friends, and I had gotten him a lanyard as a crossing gift. When the whole birthday debacle happened he was there to comfort me. We ran into each other in the library and the conversation just flowed. We started talking and it was just a natural transition for us to be together.

I don't know how or why I didn't hear the loud ass sirens. Again! Everyone had warned me since freshman year to never ever date Greeks. And I had made a point to hold fast to that warning...until now. But I didn't see him as the prototypical "Greek" He was a shy country boy; kinda nerdy with the cutest little baby face. We had so much in common. We studied together, played cards together, shot pool, dominoes and got good grades. I was majoring in accounting and he was a marketing major we were a seemingly perfect pair.

About a month into our relationship things took a turn. His new found popularity due to being Greek began to surface. Girls started throwing themselves at him. Even when I was with him, girls would walk right up and tell him they wanted to fuck. It was as if I were invisible.

You would think he would at least play them to the left while I was there, but he didn't. He entertained it and said things like "I bet you do" or "you know you can't handle me sweetie." Then laugh like she had told him a funny joke. When I expressed how uncomfortable that made me feel, he said "hey I have an image to maintain. You know I don't want them." Something in that declaration made me feel a little better, but I should've known better.

(Let me clarify something here. Before he and I got together and prior to his Greek status, chicks were not checking for him. He and I had long talks about how girls used to diss him. How the only girls to ever give him the time of day were the 3 girls he had dated over the course of his ENTIRE life (which includes high school). Other girls dismissed him. So he often asked me what I saw in him and I poured out my heart to him. I told him I was more captivated by his brain and personality than anything else. I explained that while I did find him attractive those were the things I was falling for. Looks fade but character is forever. I wanted him for who he was and not what he looked like.)

Over the next week or so I could see the changes in him. No more shyness, contacts replaced the glasses, and he worked out like a body builder; often walking around shirtless. Now I'm all for self improvement when you're doing it for yourself, but I knew there was something more. I complimented him on his new physique, but I told him that I hope he had not changed who he really was, but when he assured me that he hadn't I was not convinced.

The following week the frat was having a male auction. And the flier said the winners gets 24 exclusive hours with whomever they had purchased. I told him I was uncomfortable with him participating, so he promised me that he would just host the event.

However, the night of the event he called me to tell me that he was being highly requested by the females so the bruhs wanted him to be the headliner and he had agreed. He asked me to come and buy him, to make it a win win. On principle I couldn't do it. I felt like auctions were too representative of slavery.

My suite mate decided that she was going to go and she was going to buy him for me but that did not happen.

The frat had a record attendance and his immediate ex who we shall call hurricane bought him for $750. Yes seven hundred and fifty dollars!!!! (No one else went for more than $50) When my suite mate returned and told me what had happened I cried. I didn't see or hear from him for 2 days. Within those 48 hours; which seemed endless, I made up in my mind that I did not want to be with him, but I couldn't stop thinking about him.

My roommate Shaunie decided to treat me to lunch at a nearby eatery on the 2nd day because she knew I wouldn't have left the room otherwise. I was trying to focus my attention on our conversation when I saw him. He and hurricane were cuddled up in a booth in the restaurant. They were so wrapped up in each other they never looked up at me or Shaunie. I ran out of the place before either of them could notice me. Shaunie ordered us some food and met me at the room some time later.

(This is the part where I started to question my standpoint. I paced my room chastising myself for being so petty and not going to the auction. I blamed myself because I didn't support him. I kept feeling like I should have been there. Honestly, I didn't have $750 and even if I did, I would not have spent it on that...or so I would like to believe.)

Seeing him with her should have been the end of it, but you know that would be too much like right. On day 3 (ha) he showed up at my room citing how he was back and since she had spent so much money they gave her 48 hours. He and his LB claimed that nothing happened, and I accepted his explanation. Not because I believed him, but because I wanted to believe. (Had I understood the bond between LBs I would have told them to get the fuck out)

About a week later, he was back to being his "new" self. Flirting with every girl he saw. Disappearing at night because they were having "SET" when I knew better. One day when I called him on it I will never forget what he said, "Look here you fat bitch if you would go the gym and work out, skip a couple of meals maybe I wouldn't be so tempted. I mean it's not like you can ever wear a bikini with those horrid stretch marks but you could do something with yourself."

I was a size 6 thinner than I had ever been.

"He told me that I was lucky to be in his life and I should just play my position." I asked him who the fuck he thought he was and I told him to get the fuck out of my room then I added, "just because you don't think I look good doesn't mean shit; trust me I know someone else who likes it very much."

And that's when it happened. He slapped me. At first he looked shocked, but I truly believe he fed off of my fear. And he kept slapping and kicking me while I was balled up in the corner. He didn't stop until my roommate walked in and screamed at him to stop. She had to call his name 3 times. He looked at her and told her it was my fault, then left.

For the next few hours I refused to move. I think I was emotionally paralyzed. My roommate finally asked me, "what happened?" I just said it was my fault and went into the shower and cried.

I honestly did believe it was my fault. I should have just kept my damned mouth shut. I examined my body and I didn't even see the bruises and scars all I saw were the flaws he had so casually mentioned. I knew I had a smart mouth so I reckoned that I had caused his reaction.

While he was hitting me he told me how "I was lucky to have him, lucky anyone would look at me, and the fact that I had a child meant he was the best I would ever do. And no one would ever love me. And how he barely wanted me. And that I needed to shape up before he was gone."

I flashed all the way back to my son's father. And I agreed that I would never have anyone to love me. So I decided I would do whatever it took.

"Having a piece of man is better than having no man at all" Right?

So I stopped eating and I spent every free minute in the gym. He told me that if I really loved him I would sacrifice at least 4 meals per week. Meaning I could only eat on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And I did it. Even then if he saw me eating something he didn't feel was "worthy" he snatched it from me or dragged me to the gym for an extra hour. (I already spent 4 hours a day in there.)

After passing out and ending up in the infirmary I went to the cafe to eat with my friends. I saw him sitting alone and I went to sit next to him. He looked at my food on the tray and said, "I see some things will never change. I don't want to sit next to you Ms. Piggy" and he poured a bowl of jambalaya on me. I ran out of there so fast, and he yelled behind me, "if you did more of that you wouldn't be such a porker." I was down to a size 4 but I didn't just look thin, I looked ill.

About 3 hours later, his neo showed up at my door to apologize on his behalf. He told me how sorry he was and wanted to know if he could come over. I told him "Hell No!!" So he left. At about 4 am I heard a knock on my door. I thought it was my roommate who frequently left her keys so I got up and groggily opened the door. It was him!

I tried to hurry and close the door but he easily overpowered me. He barged in grabbed me and choked me. He smelled like a bar. He commenced to whipping my ass. When he realized I was gonna fight back he broke my hand. The pain was so horrendous. Everything started to spin and I was eerily silent. I thought my eardrum had burst and I was deaf, but I was somewhat thankful for the silence. I just lay there and I remember him wailing on me for I don't know how long because my hand hurt so bad. He was ripping off my panties when the night officer came in. A neighbor had called the campus police, but the one who came was his frat brother so he got off with a warning and I drove myself to the hospital because I didn't want anyone to see me like this again.

He had made sure not to mark up my face, but there were hand prints around my neck and my body was covered in bruising. When I finally got home, I told everyone I fell down the stairs and that's how I broke my hand and got the bruises. The same lie I told my father because I had to use his insurance. I wore jeans and long sleeves to mask the rest.

You would think this would be the end.

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