9 YEARS EARLIER - 18 YEARS OLD
Standing outside of Bonneville High School, I tapped my combat booted foot on the concrete. Dean was late, again. The constant checking of the time on my cell phone only served to amplify my feelings of frustration, a wave of irritation that built with each passing second.
It was twenty minutes past the time he promised me he’d be here. With a determined stomp, I stuffed my phone in my pocket and headed toward the closest bench, fully intending to wait there until his ass showed up.
Stella: Where r u?
Dean: omw, sry babe.
At least he hadn’t bothered with an excuse. I knew it was all bullshit. I’d been fed enough bullshit from Dean to smell it a mile away.
He had probably gotten caught up in his buddy Waylon’s garage smoking dope again and forgot to set an alarm to come get me. He was unreliable at best.
Dean was already out of school. He’d dropped out mid-way through his senior year to focus on his ‘music career’ - I was currently trudging my way through my senior year.
If you ask me, his music career was a crock of shit. He wasn’t even that good at playing the drums, yet his buddies all blew smoke up his ass, claiming he was going to be the next Travis Barker.
We’d started dating at the beginning of this school year. My friend Bethany was dating Waylon, who was the lead singer of Dean’s band, ‘Die Trying’, and I’d gone with her to one or two of their practices.
I instantly found myself drawn to Dean; He had that bad boy, rocker-esque, stick it to the man vibe about him. He had shaggy black hair that he let swoop over one of his eyes, a tongue piercing, and a couple of inky black tattoos swirling up his arms. To this rebel girl with abandonment issues, he was a walking wet dream.
Before we knew it, we were inseparable, a bond formed in shared experiences and mutual understanding. Dean was adopted after spending years bouncing around in the foster care system. He knew what it was like being abandoned by those who were supposed to love you the most.
Bethany and I showed up to every single one of ‘Die Trying’s’ practices in Waylon’s garage. We thought we were hot shit getting to date guys in a band.
After a couple months of dating, Dean started making little suggestions about the way I dressed and did my hair. He begged me to buy a pair of Doc Marten boots, some fishnets, and exceptionally inappropriate length skirts. I complied, telling myself that it was for my benefit as well as his.
He turned me into his personal ‘emo’ Barbie doll. At first, it was flattering. He always claimed he was trying to make us the ‘it’ couple. The skirts and fishnets, he said, made me look sexy. He’d follow that up with a comment here or there about what I ate or drank and how it would affect my body, sandwiching his jabs between compliments.
Eventually, Bethany and I had a falling out. She claimed Dean was emotionally manipulating me. She said she’d seen a huge change in the way I dressed and acted, and it wasn’t the Stella she’d become friends with. She said that I’d been moodier and snappy, especially when it came to conversations about Dean.
I told her she was just jealous because Waylon didn’t think she was sexy or ask her to wear clothes that made her look more grown up. I didn’t need her meddling in my relationship when she couldn’t even handle her own.
She had called me delusional, screaming that I’d come running back when Dean broke my heart, and we hadn’t talked in weeks. Dean told me it was for the best and she was just jealous of the relationship we had because Waylon had been cheating on her throughout their relationship, anyway.
I believed him, my heart trusting his every word. I always believed him. Even if there was a little part of me that wondered if Bethany was right after all.
7 YEARS EARLIER - 20 YEARS OLD
Dean and I had officially been together for two years. He’d started working a construction job, and I’d been serving down at Granny’s Diner on the corner of First Street & Landmark Road. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills.
Shortly after graduating high school, we found ourselves in a small, single-room apartment, the sounds of the city a constant hum in the background. It sure wasn’t glamorous, but for two twenty-year-olds out on their own for the first time, it was perfect.
I could look past the occasional roach or leak if it meant I was with the boy I loved.
My parents disapproved of Dean and my relationship, but I knew in my heart we were soul mates.They constantly voiced their disapproval, citing different ways he’d molded me to fit a vision that was so much unlike my true self. It had almost always ended in an argument. I didn’t understand how two people who’d spent the majority of my childhood letting me be raised by nannies could suddenly care about who I spent time with.
Every time we talked, the chasm grew wider and wider until I didn’t feel as if there was any way we could bridge that gap. After a while, I’d stopped calling home. I didn’t want their constant ridicule. I was an adult, I could make my own decisions.
Dean treated me like a princess. After a long day at work, he would come home and sit at the kitchen table with a beer, eager to hear about my day. He was everything I’d everdreamed about in a partner, and I couldn’t wait for our life to truly begin.
Now, if I could just get him to take off his dusty work boots at the door instead of tracking mud and debris all over the place, that would be a plus.
We’d climb into bed each night, make love, and fall asleep to the sounds of the hustle and bustle of the town outside our window. We didn’t live in the best area, but it was all we could afford.
We often fell asleep planning how we envisioned our future. Dean promised me a house, his eyes shining with dreams of rock-star wealth, once the band made it big. I held onto that dream, even when things started to feel bleak.
3 YEARS EARLIER - 24 YEARS OLD
