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I didn't know how to let go. I thought he was the best man I was ever going to meet in my lifetime, and so I held on.

But I should have listened to his best friend who emailed me (how he got my email address I'm sure I don't know) telling me to break up with him. I shouldn't have asked him to repeat the story again, about the credit card bill for the hotel he spent the night at with some girl in NYC. It wasn't really cheating. I should have wrapped my head around all of that back then.

That horrible tantrum he threw one hot summer night in our old place. I had just come in from a very long, hot flight after visiting my relatives, and we were bickering. About what, I don't even remember, but it was midnight. He stood up suddenly, so fast. We used to have a glass coffee table, but he swung down and smashed it, sending the glass flying everywhere. When I opened my eyes, I realized that I had locked myself in the bedroom with the phone. Who did I call? The downstairs neighbor called the police. Glass and wood were everywhere. He was banging on the bedroom door, sorry now. I left it locked. I called Matt & Sandy, and they came down. Sandy and I went out for a walk, and Matt patched him up and pulled the glass out of his arm. From outside the apartment building, Sandy and I watched a police car pull up in front of our place. He knocked on the door, and when no one answered, he drove away. No one said anything for a while. I didn't sleep that night. I didn't know what to say.

We got engaged and he broke it off. He didn't actually tell me in words that he was leaving. I came home from work to find all of his things gone. He and his best friend knocked on my door at midnight, loudly demanding to pick up the few things he left behind.

I had given up my apartment to move in with him and then suddenly I had no place to live. I had to move back home with my father for the next six months until we got back together again.

We got engaged again. We got married and moved into a little house. Then he lied to me. Then he got fired. I worked every single weekend to pay the bills while he stayed in the basement and presumably worked on his resume. I gave his phone number to everyone. I posted his resume everywhere. Finally, I told him to get a job at Target. Two weeks of heavy lifting on the night shift and he found himself an office job.

He got frustrated one night, and because I was there he smashed my head on the coffee table. I remember sitting on the floor, reaching back to find clumps of my hair falling out. I bled all over the table, the one I told him to take with him when he finally left. If you look close enough, you can probably still see the stain.

It has taken me awhile to become a different person. With each passing day, I'm slowly purging him from my life. Slowly, ever slowly, I try to wash away the stains.

Learn more about this author, Tami Novak.
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