You Said You’d Kill Yourself If You Couldn’t Have Me But You're Still Here - Victoria Zickas

My name is Victoria (Tori) Zickas and I started taking writing seriously in my freshmen year of college. I usually write poetry, but sometimes I write short stories too. I started off as a criminal justice major here at UAlbany and switched to an English major all because of one creative writing class. Anything is possible :)

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You said on Valentine’s Day that if you didn’t have me, you’d kill yourself. Lock yourself away forever with a lined-up shot to your head. Or maybe you’d crucify yourself like Jesus Christ, with nails squished into your palms and feet, dried blood frozen onto your pricked forehead only because you see yourself as a higher being. 

You said you’d become toxic if you found out I was dating another man, giving me the idea that I am still trapped in a relationship with you. My flight or flight still goes off when I think of you. I don’t have a choice in my thoughts because you infiltrate them by sending me bouquets and new, black work shoes. I hate that I still get texts from you, ringing on my phone, ringing in my hand, ringing in my ear. That same ringing in my head like an alarm. 

Am I not allowed to exist because I gave you that chance in Troy? When you came to our first date 15 minutes late and I wore a dino sweater because didn’t think it was a date because I didn’t think you were attractive enough for one because your eyes reminded me of my dad’s. You told me you thought that I was unattainable. Maybe you like the unattainable, actually, you like the idea that I am unattainable but lucky for you, I ignore my dad’s phone calls. But I think that's obvious. 

Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name? Because I know you say that you fumbled me. Do your friends know? Did you ever talk about me to them? I would assume so, but not in the way that I tell my friends about you. I tell them about all of the things you put me through and every time I don’t get a response back, I get a horrified, contorted expression instead. I remember when I first told my friend Vanessa that me and you were dating. In front of you, she pulled me into her and whispered: “You can do better.” 

Why do I miss you? I miss you so much that I feel bad when I even think of not responding to your texts, I can’t even make myself return those stupid shoes you sent because I know you bought them and that they were for me only, not for some random person to buy, not knowing the history that led up to them being sold in an outlet store.

I could block you and delete your number from my phone. I know that my phone gives me that option, but you do not. You know where I work, you know my boss, and you know my address. You have access to me whenever you want. You don’t give me the option to remove you from my life or my thoughts. I am forced to talk to you because I know that if I don’t I’ll get another package or a plethora of texts about how I ignore you and that you wish me to be happy and have a better life without you. 

I am waiting for the day when I do block you, in fear, not in confidence. I know you would never hurt a fly and you’ve never laid a hand on me but you’ve threatened me with the monster that subsides in you, that hasn’t been let out in years and I don’t know what kind of crazy it is. I’ve seen the type of crazy that eats at my battery by a hungry man, I’ve seen the type of crazy that breaks into my house and puts everyone in danger, and I have seen the type of crazy that beat my mother while I slept. 

I don’t want to date or even look at a man, so you have no worries, I know it will be like that for a while because I know myself. I know that there will be a day that my love for you will scream through my chest and bleed into a text message because everything screams when it dies.