I Let A Stranger Take Me Home.

I wasn't supposed to be in town that night but my flights got mixed up and there I was. Obviously I was dying to see him again. Dying. I hadn't been taken with someone like that in..ever. I'd never been hit by love so hard in the face i came a little. I'd never looked someone in the face and immediately realized our lives will never be the same again.

But we'd only been on one date.

Just one.

So I tried to get away with pretending I wasn't in town. Especially because I had a cold, my period, unshaven legs and dirty hair. I had been on the road and in hotels for four weeks straight. Unless you've done that you have no idea what it could do to your beautiful skin. I was aching to fuck him. Aching. I didn't want it to happen like, that. Not when I was dirty, sick, weak and vulnerable. It would have messed with my image. I'm not sick, dependent, tired, weak girl. I'm too much, in your face, please beat me to death girl. And you can't be that with a dripping nose.

For all my plans though, I crumbled the moment he asked me which town I was spending the night in. And then three seconds later I crumbled when he sent me a prescription and told me he'd pick me up in twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes.

I ran to the bathroom. I washed my face. I had no clean, sexy clothes and there was no time to wash my hair and in any case I had a fever. I had a razor and I figured the least I could do was shave my legs but one second after starting I got so tired I had to lie down. Fine, it wasn't just a cold. I got up to try again (I'll be my own heinous self with a partner, you know, and I think that's good too but it was the first time!) and I held the razor in my hand and I watched it for a few seconds and I thought to myself, with unnatural confidence,

'Fuck it. He loves you, he won't care.

I don't know why I was so confident of this after one date but I was. I didn't even debate it. I just put on a disgusting workout head band and a little bit of eucalyptus oil on my clothes and put on my rucksack over my shorts and disgusting T-shirt that didn't actually belong to me. Oh and there were, purple and white sneakers.

I walked out of my old apartment complex and he was already around waiting for me.

It was humid. It had been raining all week. I was sweaty and possibly delerious from the fever and fatigue. He smelled just like before and so did his car and it was all so heady and normally, I would have just thrown myself at him, instead I just sat there feeling nervous and awkward.

I explained the hairband.

Then I took it off and tied my hair up with it.

He touched me. He held my hand. He seemed genuinely happy to see me. It's amazing when someone looks at you like that. Surely, it's the point of living.

We drove into his area of residence and he stated his identification at the barricade. That's when I learnt his last name. He still didn't know mine. I don't know why. I knew it didn't matter. We were going to fall in love with or without knowing that. For a constant cynic, I can have endless faith.

As we were driving through the dark lonely streets, I thought of something that I had completely failed to take into consideration. I didn't even know this guy. I had no idea where he was taking me.

"Hey," I asked him with a lot of bravado, "You're not going to like rape or kill or do horrible things to me are you?"

He smiled but he didn't look at me.

"Oh I'll do horrible things to you," he said, "I'll make you take medicine, and rest and drink lots of fluids..."

He thought his joke was really funny.

Okay, I thought his joke was funny too but I didn't laugh. It's sexier not to laugh when you're dripping out the nose.

Many months later he told me he realized he would fall in love with me when I asked him that question. He said it was endearing that I was finally letting my fear show. Apparently some people think asking them if they are serial killers means you trust them. I hate it when ridiculous claims like that are actually true though. Life is not click-bait goddammit.

Later that night as I lay in his bed desperate to hurt and fuck, he just kissed me and held me instead. It fried my systems. Who the fuck was this man? This man who didn't just want my holes to hurt them and my hurt to break it over and over? In the morning I cried like there was a pain inside me I couldn't alleviate with any pill or balm.

"Does it hurt?" He asked as he drove me to the railway station.

"But you didn't hurt me at all," I told him still in tears.

"You look like you hurt." He said and kept on driving.

I did hurt. I hurt because I was used to suffering for love. I gave my everything always to love people who didn't value it or used it only to hurt me more and manipulate me more. I suffer for love because somewhere inside me I believed that unless I put myself through hell for it I wouldn't ever deserve to be loved. Because inherently I saw nothing lovable in me. Except my dedicated to withstand all pain for love.

But then there was this guy.

This guy who was so happy he got to spend the night taking care of me and kissing me. This guy who refused to fuck me when I was feverish and delerious. This guy who ran me a fucking bath and dried me off with a towel. A towel!

That night I went home with a stranger and it was the first time in my life I ever felt safe. No, really. It was the first time I ever experienced safety. After years and years of broken toys and bones, of knives under all my pillows and constantly planning for rape, I finally felt safe.

It hurt so magnificently.

Like someone turned on a switch and suddenly I could feel everything.

He taught me to suffer in love, because I don't have to do anything for it. I don't ever have to earn it. His love is not the price of admission to this show. It's a given. Freely. Always. No matter who I am being. No matter how insane, sad, sick, disgusting, depraved, awful, excited, shameless I am being. I never have to earn his love. I can always have it. I could always have it.

He made me feel safe.

And it broke my heart.

Because in one crushing moment, I realized I'd never felt that before. Never. Until I let a stranger take me home, and he took care of me.