Inkspill

A Short Story Based On You & You & You

By Stephanie C

*based off a scene in the novel You & You & You by Per Nilsson.

I thought we were in love. I thought he loved me. I thought I loved him. Though it turns out “my stereotypes are true” (Nilsson 188). My immigrant gangster boyfriend, Victor, hits me. Hard. Then he apologizes and rubs my bruises and whispers and my ears and makes me want to do whatever he says. That, surprisingly, works every time.

I was walking home with Victor. Casually. Of course, it would be like any other day, where he would come over to my apartment and, well… “Make love to me”(99). Normal. It was just as we entered my apartment and I closed the door when Victor hit me. Though it may have been more or less like a “quick smack” (98), I collapsed. I wasn’t weak. I could have taken that kind of hit any day. It had only hurt like hell, because it was my boyfriend who had hit me. Him, of all people. I stayed there, on the floor, restlessly with my hair covering my face. Then out of nowhere he pulls me up to the wall, “upright in front of him” (98). He had been scarier than any robber or thief that could hold me at knifepoint. That was because my “love” for him was my weakness.  “The person who’s in love is always at a disadvantage” (185).

The story went like this, more or less. The two of us were supposed to meet at the bar. Then I spot him. Victor. “Three girls are standing around him” (94) with his hand on their backsides. I can tell he’s having a good time. The thing is, I’m not mad. Jealous? No. Sad? No. I can tell Victor can see me, even just out of the corner of his eye. I decide “to teach the guy that I love a lesson” (96). I lean in towards a man in the corner of the bar, around his twenties. Instantly, we connect. Instantly, Victor jumps up and I pretend to notice him. Well I guess that made him mad.

“‘You don’t dis me. Ever. Do you get it?’ (99)” He says. His voice, sterner then ever before. I felt like if I said the wrong thing he would throw me against the wall. The only thing I can do to calm him down and prevent him from hurting me more is doing what we came to my apartment for. Of course, he strokes my hair and  “lovingly” kisses me and he thinks that will make up for what he did. No way. Because those aren’t kisses of love.

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