This story comes with several content warnings. There will be mentions of attempted suicide, drug overdose, alcoholism, homophobia, and domestic violence. If this story is too heavy my dear reader, please take care of yourself first.
In my universe, the names of the humans in my life may be changed to protect their privacy.
Inception of an Innocent Dream
Of everything I wanted in life, I wanted to be an excellent wife and mother most. I already gave up the dream of being an author at 16, and I knew English teachers didn’t make much money – but that’s what I wanted to do.
If only I had the opportunity to marry a man who would be the provider I was told I wanted. Only then could follow my passion freely and make my salary of peanuts work. I could live a simple life and happily take care of my family.
Considering what it would take to be a good wife and mother was a no-brainer. I was raised sheltered and Christian, so my path was laid out for me. I needed to be devoted to God first and serve my husband second. I became more religious from ages 18 to about 21. Never mind those pesky feelings I had towards other girls. That was for play not for longevity. At least, that’s what I was told and believed at the time.
In my teens, I considered myself bisexual but hetero-romantic. Meaning I liked boys and girls but I’d only date boys. I was serious about being a mother and at the time, I only knew of one way to do so. How could I take another girl seriously if I wanted children? (Yes, I was this dumb. Please feel free to boo teenage me for this ridiculous take.)
A fresh 18 years old.
I thought I knew everything.
If I could marry well, I could really do it – love and be loved in a soft way. In a way that expresses kindness and generosity without threat of violence. For a God-fearing, kind-hearted man, I would give him 2 children and a well-decorated home.
I already cared for my siblings since the age of 9 so I was pretty familiar with cooking, cleaning, and getting kids ready for school. I figured being an actual mother wouldn’t be too much different, and as a bonus, I’d get to make the rules. In my house, my kids wouldn’t need the dishes to squeak to prove cleanliness and they could even have as much Dr. Pepper as they wanted.
I could prove to myself that love and family in a healthy way was not only possible, but an environment with which I could thrive and grow as a person. A proper partner didn’t need violence. I didn’t need to be yelled at or hit or plainly tortured in order to learn.
Tough love, shedding blood, and gaining new scars wasn’t the only way to be “loved”.
Along Came Larry
The years put wind to my face and I found myself in a teacher’s college at a state university.
Week one I met a guy at a dorm party I’d spend the next two and a half years with – Lawrence. He was charismatic, God-fearing, and wanted to be a lawyer. We moved in together after matching Disney sweaters and Adderall powered sex marathons.
Larry was younger than me and highly intelligent. At times, I found myself in awe of him. Larry was the type of guy that would annoy you until you loved him and then surprise you with a deep conversation.
Year one point five, he’d ask me to marry him over Chinese food in the living room of our studio apartment. No ring. No frills. Just maybe we should do this for real? It’s been long enough and this is what people do. Right?
It wasn’t romantic but I convinced myself that it was perfect at the time. We were two college kids in love. We hosted taco nights with our friends and binge watched Scandal together. Our home church even knew us as couple destined for greatness. A future lawyer and teacher – how precious. Clearly we were a match made in heaven.
I’d buy my own ring at a JC Penney as a “placeholder.” Spoiler alert: it was never replaced by an actual engagement ring and we told no one about wanting to get married. We wore promise rings though which were cheap and turned our fingers green.
The Beginning of the End
We upgraded to a 2 bedroom post “proposal”, when we both got good paying jobs at the same company. I use good paying very loosely my reader. This is America after all. Life was good… for awhile.
Despite doubling our salaries with our fancy new jobs, Larry hated it. He hated the job more than the average disgruntled employee and would intentionally cause problems just because. He stayed in the role only to help with the bills and he made that very clear.
One day Larry came home with exciting news.
“Babe, I got this amazing opportunity to work at a law firm. So boom, I met this guy and he told me he’d get me an interview. They just called me, after-hours mind you, and they scheduled it for tomorrow! Bae, there’s only one other applicant. I’mma get this job!” He pulls me into a bear hug in our tiny kitchen.
I’m giggling and shit, “Hell yeah babe! That’s what’s up! Look at God!”
In my head: Look at my…I mean our… dream unfolding. I’m on the right path. If this really shakes out...
“God is good!” His voice lifts.
I’m planning our future mentally like: Having his foot in the door of a law firm before he’s even in law school is so impressive! His resume will look leagues better than anyone else’s...
My instincts take over, “All the time!”
“I trust in Him so much, babe,” He cradles my face and peppers my cheeks with kisses. “The way my faith is set up…”
What is he even saying?: If the job pays well, we could even get a new car in a couple months. Then, wedding planni…
“I quit my funky ass job bae. We’re coming up!”
HUH?
“Wait, without even having the interview yet?”
“Of course baby,” wet lips press against my neck as I go stiff, “don’t you trust in God and in me? I got this. I put in my two weeks,” he kisses my unresponsive lips. “They said I should know the results of the interview next week. The job would start at the end of the month. That’s only one paycheck missed. C’mon it’s fine. It’s all good.”
He slaps my ass and gives me a quick peck. Flashing an unconvincing smile, he dances away to take a shot of bumpy face gin in celebration.
I stood stunned in silence as he called his favorite cousin to brag. As much as I had faith, my gut was screaming, “What about our bills if it doesn’t work out?”
Uncontrolled Drinking is Very Bad
Is literally anyone surprised he didn’t get the job?
Pretty immediately after getting the rejection call he started to drink heavily, party more, and treat me like his personal servant. The loss of opportunity seemed to crush his spirit.
At 1am on a random Thursday, he called me to pick him and his best friend Isaac up from a house party. He then proceeded to waste my time by extending the world’s longest drunk goodbyes with his new “friends” all whilst knowing I had an exam in the morning.
I drove to the spot in my pajamas and bonnet and waited for him. Calling, texting, calling again only to be met with radio silence. I eventually fell asleep in my car. Upon finally stumbling his sloppy ass into the car, two hours later, he proceeded to openly insult me.
I won’t tell you the insult my reader, it hurt too badly. It’s something I am still self-conscious about more than a decade later.
Mind you, this was in front of a quickly sobering Isaac, who was trying to actively teleport home to escape this nightmare of a situation. Of note, Isaac is a sweet guy with the most incredible manners. A true gentleman. And here I am…boo boo the fool arguing with this drunk asshole he calls his friend and I call a fiancé.
Arguments like this became more frequent between Larry and I.
Unemployed and glued to Call of Duty, he would drunkenly demand dinner the moment I got home from working overtime to cover his half of the bills. The apartment a wreck, I would always find him in the same dirty spot on the couch as when I left for work. If I didn’t cook, he wasn’t eating. If I didn’t clean, there would be maggots in the sink.
Weeks dragged into months of taking his deep depression out on me. Six months to be exact.
This Isn’t the Last of Larry
I broke up with him. After six months of unemployment, insults, and filth, I finally got mad enough to leave. I wasn’t, however, mad enough to kick him out of the apartment. Homelessness is unimaginably difficult, and I couldn’t imagine being the reason someone suffers that way. I’d regret that choice a few weeks later, but that’s a story for another time.
He took one room, I took the other.
On day 2 post break-up he would loudly cry in his room on the phone with another girl to try to get my attention. I blasted Amy Winehouse’s “Stronger Than Me” in retaliation.
Day 3 post break-up, I had a mock-interview with my manager in preparation for a promotion I applied for. I was dressed in my interview attire, had my flashcards at the ready, and was psyching myself up. One hour of customer service calls, then it’s showtime.
My cellphone rang. I silenced it. It rang again. I silenced it. It rang a third time. I look at it like, “Who the fuck is blowing up my phone right now?” It’s Isaac?
“Hello?” I’m pre-annoyed.
“Hey something’s up. You gotta get home.”
I can hear the tension in his voice. “What’s up? What’s going on?”
“Larry, man, I think he’s overdosing. I don’t know what to do.”
“What?” My body froze. “Overdosed on what? What do you mean?”
I can hear Lawrence slurring between sobs in the background, “I’d rather die…She’s really leaving me…” Bile warmed the knot forming in my throat.
“Man, I don’t know. He got drunk and drank a whole thing of lean he said. His heartbeat is real slow and…he…”
My thoughts could’ve beat Usain Bolt in a race. I ain’t hear shit he said after that to be honest.
“What the fuck?” Whispering, I power walked from my cubicle to the break room. “Lean??”
Although we weren’t together, and I didn’t see a future with him, I didn’t want him to die. I told Isaac to hang up with me and call Larry’s mom, who was a nurse, while I tried to leave work.
I found my boss, and tried to explain that I had to go, but my voice faded into uncontrollable sobs, “How did this happen?” I fell apart.
The violent reality hit me all at once. He wasn’t going to let me leave so easily. I couldn’t believe he honestly went this far like… This isn’t what I wanted at all. I just wanted to stop arguing.
My boss, bless her, would not let me drive during a full mental breakdown. She booked a conference room for me for the entire remainder of my shift – the mock interview could wait. The cold plastic table in that frigid office was my best friend for the next two hours.
I cried and shook until I couldn’t anymore, and then I nervously drove home. The apartment was eerily quiet and empty.
My phone showed I got a text from Isaac confirming Larry’s mother got to the apartment. She apparently packed his things and took him to his childhood home before I could get there.
I’m not sure if he actually overdosed that day, but I can tell you that he lived.
I thought this would be the end of the tale of Larry and I. Turns out it was just strike 1 in the ballgame of chasing my dreams, and the beginning of Larry’s post-break-up crashout.
I was 20.
-Z. Nova narrating through B.W.’s eyes | 2025
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