Gustavo B.

Hey loves. I'm back.
And today is my birthday-so new year, more posts detailing more details than ever before.

 Have you ever felt like someone else in a situation that you thought was going so well? This will be short.

I met Gustavo in a seminar for improving business English-which makes all the sense of the world because I'm a translator by trade. Turned out I had the best English of all the people who were participating, because of all the time I'd spent going over and over documents and texts related to my trade.
There were mostly women in the classroom and I became friends with three of them, two of which I still talk to sometimes. And there were some men-one of them being Gustavo.
I never noticed until much later (and after my friends actually told me, because I was so oblivious to it), that Gustavo always liked to sit close to where I was. Or diagonally. Make small talk. Ask things. He was there-and I was just thinking about the next coffee break. The next moment I could go to the bakery at the corner and get something to eat because I was just so. damn. hungry.
One day, the course ended and we all exchanged contact information to stay in touch. He asked me out to have dinner. Young and silly me was thrilled and said yes: you have to keep in mind I've always been the odd one out because I'm so fat or so silly or just so...So. 
 I didn't see the hunger in his eyes when we had dinner. I saw a man who was grieving still for a dead father and other things that were wrong in his family. But all families are like that, right? Right? Wrong.
He told me then he had a gun in his house, and when I told my friends at the seminar about it, one of them said I should get out of that situation as soon as I could.
I didn't listen to her: I was too inside my own fantasy of being wanted by someone who seemed good. A good man, something I always wanted.
We went out a second time to dinner close to his house. Red flag alert.
I didn't see it.
We went to his place for a quick drink. I should have run.
He asked me what I thought of his gun. I didn't answer. I was starting to be scared.
He asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend-so that I could sleep with him.
He said he didn't date much, just when he met the parents of the girl. I had never introduced anyone to my parents then.
Why didn't I listen to my friends? He took me to the bed. My eyes were pleading silently.
He took off most of his clothes except his white shirt. He fucked me without passion. I kept my eyes closed.
I felt like this wasn't happening.
This wasn't me. 
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He came quickly and I just told him I had to be in my home soon.
He said he couldn't take me and asked what was wrong with me, why was I reacting like that. I had told him I didn't want or need a boyfriend-then why had I consented to be with him?
He said I was like all other women.
He gave me money for a cab and kicked me out. I took the money and ran. Took a bus instead and ate the money, fueling my anxiety and my extra weight.
I stopped trusting men so much after that night.
I started to use them as they had already used every inch of me.

And I hate guns.