Zombie Trance Preview

I guess you could say I’m a bit wimpy because of how I just ended the relationship -- I put my safety first. Instead of telling him face to face while visiting him in his hometown in France, I sent him an instant chat message. In fairness, I haven’t seen him in about a year, and I see no point in flying to another country just to tell a guy I don’t trust and I’m a bit afraid of “Hi honey, it’s over—goodbye.” 

I am a Korean undergraduate student at the University of Michigan, the Ann Arbor campus. My Korean name is Mi-young. I love this name because it means everlasting beauty. I have a friend, a mentor. His name is RK. He is helping me learn what boundaries are for dating and in life. Don’t ask me why my parents and religious community in my hometown didn’t teach these lessons. When the topic of sex came up during my childhood, all the elders in my small community had learned ways to change the subject. It is almost as though these trusted sages were afraid to talk about penises, boobs, and vaginas. Why were such beautiful parenting topics treated with such scorn? In part that is what this story is about.

*****

About two months have passed since I sent the message to my ex and I’m feeling good. I arrive at my building. It’s about 4 pm. I’m tired. As I enter the hallway a large person is hanging in the shadows at the end of the dark corridor. I feel safe in the neighborhood and my building, so I don’t take a closer look at the figure in the distance. Ann Arbor is one of the most diverse cities in the world, and that is one reason I love it. It is a safe community as long as you know where to go, and where not to go at different times of the day. I take another deep breath as I look at my phone and consider all the good choices I have made recently, including breaking up with my useless boyfriend. I feel proud of myself.   

Although I don’t miss him, on occasion I flip through a few pictures of us. Soon I will probably delete them. My ex is one of those husky types who stands about 6’4”. He is about double my size. I was impressed by him in the beginning for all the wrong reasons. He is full of muscle, former military, and black belt. The more I got to know him, the more uncomfortable I felt around him. He is in his late twenties, a student, and unemployed. He loved to dictate to me what my role was in the relationship, including how to help him out with his sexual needs. If you are a university girl and you’ve dated a guy with too much bravado, then you know the type. 

I exhale: He’s in another country, far away. I assure myself. I smile because I recall the feeling of freedom I got when I sent him the message about breaking up. He is the type to respond quickly when he disagrees, so his no-response is a great sign.   

I feel movement near me -- like someone is approaching me, so I look up.  My heart stops and my breathing becomes constricted. I feel my body shaking. My hand trembles so much that I almost drop my phone. 

My ex is standing so close to me that he is literally towering over me. 

“Hi. What are you doing here?”

I haven’t seen him face to face in about a year. I’m immediately startled at how weak my voice is. Using baby steps, I retreat into the wall behind me, which causes me to feel trapped.     

“Mi-young, I want to talk with you. I’m not happy with how you ended our relationship. I decided to fight for you, so here I am.”

He pauses, stares at me, and asks a stupid question. 

“So I’m here for you. I love you. Good?”

“Huh?”

“If I don’t fight for you -- I’ll regret it.”

He smiles at me encouragingly, like I should jump up and hug him. Instead, my face goes pale. Since I’m Asian, going pale means my face turns really white. My mouth drops open but no words come out. I’m dumbfounded:

You can’t be this stupid.

As soon as I think this, I fear that maybe he heard me, so instead of saying more, I only stare, looking for any sign of anger from him. None. As usual, he is not watching or trying to understand me. He is gesturing and telling me things, trying to get my submission. 

His definition of what is romantic is one of the reasons why I broke up with him. He never tuned in to how I felt. He missed so many cues about why his behavior often startled me. When I confronted him about his not-so-romantic gestures, he told me it was my job to accept his personality because this is how he shows love and affection. 

On multiple occasions he said to me, “Get used to it — this is how I express love.”

I’m shaking and I don’t think he realizes he is the one causing it. But then again, maybe he does. What an asshole. But I gotta say something, so I blurt out the first sound that comes to my mind. 

“What?”

I said, ''I'm here for you. Good?” 

My mind is trying to make sense of this, so I’m not paying attention to what he is saying to me. I look around nervously and look back at him. Each time he repeats himself, my eyes blink. This pattern repeats at least three or four times. The problem is when I blink, I sort of forget what he just said. 

That is the only sound I make as many scenarios run through my mind. One scenario is that we’ll go up to my room, he’ll tell me to relax, and he won’t leave until I agree to start dating again. Then to celebrate it, he’ll force me to have sex with him. I try to stop my wandering mind, but I’m also afraid to say no to letting him go to my home, which is a small one-person studio-type apartment, because I don't know what he might do if I make him angry. He has a temper and I have seen it before, which is another reason I broke up with him.

“What?” 

His demeanor is demanding an answer. Once I realize my blinking eyes are not enough of a response, I say the only word I can.

“Ok.”

I’m not sure what I just agreed to, but it triggers a response from him that I’m used to. He likes to do this nod and frown look. It’s his way of saying, “You’re kind of slow today, but I’ve learned to deal with it.” 

“Sorry, but you just really surprised me.”

I hate saying sorry, when I really want to say, “Go to hell and leave me alone you asshole.” But I hold my tongue.

I want to express my anger by shouting, but I see little purpose. I tried it in the past and he treated me like I was the crazy one. So I look at him with a nod, giving him the cue that I don’t have more to say.

“Let’s leave this hallway Mi-young and go upstairs to your apartment. We need to talk in private.” 

There aren’t any people around, so what he really means is “I am going to force you to take me back as your boyfriend, so we’ll do this in an environment where I have more control.”

“Um.”       

Guilt and confusion are now filling my mind. I want to shout “help,” but I feel like a guilty flirt. Being raised in a Christian home, the guilt I carry for having sex with him is also guiding my emotions and their confusing conclusions. He can easily accuse me of leading him on in the past. I can hear him calling me a tease as he describes our past sexual experiences. I was less than a pro in bed with him. Somehow, these memories also have caused me to feel much shame.  

What has further fueled all this confusion? I became close to a small group of European girls during my earlier university days. They often commented to me about how I overthink sex. I was confused by their comments -- I am still confused by their comments.  I’m open to the idea of having sex with him if it means it will settle him down. How do I make these choices? I’m so conflicted that I want to scream rape, but he hasn’t done anything — yet.  

“Let’s go, Mi-young.” 

I follow him to my apartment. Upon arriving near my door, in the common areas, I look for someone I can send a rescue signal to, but the place is deserted; either everyone is gone or they are in their rooms. I know that in one or two hours, the place will be busy, especially the kitchen area.

A well known script goes through my mind, “You’re such a flirt. You can’t have a boyfriend like this without getting naked and servicing him. . .” 

We approach my room and he gestures for the key. He knows this is inappropriate because I should be the one to invite him in. I submit. He takes the key, opens the locked door and we both go in. I notice how he locks the door and motions for me to take a seat while placing the key in its place near the door. I make a motion to move towards the door, but he uses his whole body to block the opening while he nods “No.” I grab my single chair, which I use at my desk, hoping he doesn’t invite me to sit next to him, so he can get romantic on the bed.  

As luck would have it, he starts his grand and well-prepared speech while he is standing. I see him shake a little. It’s a gallant speech about how he has changed in the past year. While delivering it, he stops a few times as though he is reading from a teleprompter and needs a minute to find his place.  

At this point, my level of confusion is at a high point. I hate him so much and know I will never trust him again. But as that emotion comes and goes, guilt shows up to remind me what a flirt I am, which arguably makes his actions understandable. I don’t really understand him at all, although we’ve known each other for more than two years. I don’t know my role, so the confusion rushes in more. This was the ideal type of man that my imagination came up with. It was part of my dream world. Now I have him and I’m confused by why I don’t want him. 

As he talks and talks about whatever, I spend the time calibrating his mood while smiling and nodding when I think it’s the appropriate time. He probably worked on his speech non-stop for at least a few days. In fairness, he is trying so hard.

He finishes, obviously happy it’s over and happy to take a seat on the bed.

“So, can we give this a try?”

I lie a lot.  

“I still have feelings for you but your surprise visit has me confused. I don’t know what I want now, so I need time to think.” 

I then make some shit up, knowing it’ll force him to do one thing that is difficult for him to do: think about me. My goal is to force him, if it’s possible, to think about my feelings. If I succeed in changing him, this will be an incredible achievement. I have his attention, so it’s my chance to take back a little control. 

“I tried to contact you a year ago and you did not want to see me. I even offered to fly to your hometown. You said no. I had feelings for you then but now, I’m not sure.”

I exhale louder than I had intended as his demeanor changes and he noticeably becomes more relaxed. He nods as though he heard what I said but I’m guessing he is too busy trying to decide what he will say next to sort out what I just shared.  

At this point I feel sorry for him. I want to have empathy for him; after all, we have a sexual history and I want it to have some value. You guessed it, I’m getting confused again. When I am left to figure this stuff out on my own, I get confused.  

As I stare at him, I force a smile and a nod, now and then. All of this takes so much energy because I know what I really want to say at this moment:

I don't trust you -- you fucking crazy bastard. You are forcing me to stay in my home. I don’t even know if you plan to rape me. 

As I think this, I pretend to cough because I like the feeling of covering my mouth as I think these thoughts. 

I try to relax, but I’m so confused, so I reassure myself:

Soon my flatmates will arrive. If you touch me, I’ll scream and accuse you of rape!

Another thought rushes in: 

Do I have the right to feel this way? We’ve had sex. Maybe I deserve to be treated this way. I just don’t know. 

I finally look at a clock and realize that I’ve been sitting and listening to him try to convince me that he loves me for more than an hour.  As his speech slows, I find the courage to tell him I want to leave the home to get fresh air and buy something to drink. He appears happy about my suggestion as he waves at me to leave. I’m guessing he is tired and wants to sit and rest.  

As I arrive at the first floor and exit the building, a campus security guard notices I’m upset. He asks me if he can help, but a brief movie runs through my mind about how my ex might respond if he is escorted out of my building by security or the police.  

“Thank you for your concern. My ex-boyfriend is here but he’ll leave soon. Can I take your number and call if I need help?” 

He nods and gives me a few words of encouragement, such as “we are always nearby,” or something like that.   

Only one thought has been going through my mind about how to resolve this issue. Only one person’s name comes to my mind. I squeeze my fist to show I have power, and as I head back to the apartment, I make a promise to myself.

If RK agrees with me that my ex is crazy, I’m going to tell my ex to leave me alone — forever. Since I have the number for security, I gotta figure this out and end my confusion soon.  

For the first time since I saw my ex over one hour ago, I’m feeling a bit better.   

I return to my apartment, still surprised that he doesn’t notice how I’m shaking. Every time I see him, I start shaking. He stays a little longer, God only knows why, and he finally leaves. As he exits the building, I watch him leave. He uses that strut of his; the power walk that I hate.

I lock the door, sit on my bed, grab my favorite stuffed animal and a blanket, and cry for an unknown amount of time.

At first, I mentally try to timeline the events. Realizing my mind is moving too quickly, I grab paper and pencil and do a little writing. As I prepare my case for my chat with RK, it feels like going before a judge and jury with no lawyer. I feel terrible. I know I’ve done questionable things, so I’m ready to be judged.

I rehearse for the call: 

“Hi RK. Do you think I’m right or wrong? Do you think he is a bad boyfriend or perhaps I should have been more thoughtful with the break-up? I mean, I kind of stalked him by flying to another country to visit him without notice. I even offered to return if he invited me. Granted he never suggested he was angry or afraid of me. On the contrary, he refused to see me when I surprised him because he was busy with “other things.”

“I’m so confused. What is my responsibility here? Would you say I’m maybe a stalker, kind of a little bit?”  

That little voice in my head keeps condemning me by reminding me that RK will explain what I did wrong. I call that little voice my mother because it sounds so much like her. 

My world has changed. It took so much courage to send my ex the goodbye message only two months earlier. He never responded to that message by text or a call, instead, he did an act that in my book is unforgivable: He showed up uninvited, made me a prisoner in my own home, and then left expecting more visits in the next few days, with the unspoken expectation of having sex.

Time to Make a Call

I don’t think I can cry anymore, so it’s time to make a call. It’s time to call RK, my mentor and friend. I send a message first.