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My Boyfriend Used Our Sex Tape to Keep Me Trapped

Novelix Completed

18+、治愈、慢热型爱情、同事变恋人、追悔莫及、被虐待/被霸凌、出轨、背叛、大女主、果断的、独立的、医生、第一人称视角、女性力量/大女主、职场、现代/都市、现代

I brought a cake to surprise my boyfriend of seven years. Outside his birthday party, I heard my own voice—he was showing his friends our sex tape. Then I watched him kiss another woman. When I ended things, he threatened to send the recordings to my hospital. He thought shame would keep me trapped. Instead, I saved his messages, called a lawyer, and accepted the fellowship I'd delayed for him. Now he's begging me to come home. But I'm building a career in Boston—and getting to know a man who asks before sharing even a photograph.

Chapters (3)

第1章

I'm standing outside the private room at my boyfriend's birthday party, holding his cake. One of his friends says, "Does Claire know you're showing us your sex tape?" Then I hear my own voice coming from Ryan's phone. He promised no one else would ever see it. My hands tighten around the cake box. Through the partly open door, I see Ryan stretched out on a leather couch, tilting his phone so his friends can get a better look. One of them leans closer. "Holy shit. That's Claire?" Ryan grins. "Who else would it be?" They laugh. I stop breathing. I know that recording. I know the room, the lamp beside the bed, the promise he made before he picked up his phone. Just us, baby. Nobody else ever sees this. I believed him. The first time he asked, I said no. We were lying in bed. His hand was warm against my shoulder, and he made it sound like something sweet. Something couples who trusted each other did. "I like looking at you," he told me. "Is that so terrible?" "I don't want anyone seeing me like that." "No one will." "What if you lose your phone?" "It's locked. And I'll keep everything in a private folder." I still hesitated. He put the phone down and kissed my forehead. "You know I'd never do that to you." We'd already been together for years. He knew my parents. He kept a spare charger in my work bag because I always forgot mine. When I came home from a bad shift, he could tell whether I needed to talk or needed him to sit quietly beside me. I thought knowing those things meant he knew how to take care of me. Eventually, I said yes. Only for us. He promised. Inside the room, one of his friends whistles. "Jesus. She seems so quiet when we hang out." Ryan takes a drink. "She was shy at first." "Not anymore." "You're welcome." More laughter. The cake box tilts. I straighten it before the frosting can hit the lid. I traded shifts to be here. I told Ryan I couldn't get away from the hospital. He said he understood, but I heard the disappointment in his voice. So I called a colleague. Picked up the cake he likes. Wrote Happy birthday. I love you. on the little card tucked beneath the ribbon. Now the man nearest the door asks, "You sent that to the group?" "No," Ryan says. "I'm showing you. Give it back." He takes the phone from another friend. Relief hits me so suddenly that I hate myself for it. Then he turns the screen toward someone else. "Watch this part." I step back. My shoulder touches the wall. I want to go in. Take the phone. Ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing. But they're all in there. All those faces that have smiled at me across dinner tables. Asked about work. Hugged me goodbye. I can't make myself stand in front of them. "Man, you're lucky," someone says. "She's gorgeous, she's a doctor, and she actually puts up with you." Ryan shrugs. "Yeah." "Yeah? That's all you've got?" He looks down at the screen. Then he locks the phone and drops it onto the couch. "Look, you eat the same thing every day, eventually you want something else." A couple of them laugh. One doesn't. "You're talking about your girlfriend." "I know who I'm talking about." The words land so cleanly that, for a moment, I don't feel anything. Someone asks, "So you're breaking up?" Ryan reaches for his glass. "Did I say that?" "Your mom would kill you. She likes Claire more than she likes you." "Exactly." He says it lightly. Like I'm a practical arrangement. Like the last seven years are something he plans to keep in a drawer while he looks for a better way to spend the evening. Another friend raises his drink. "You're not married yet." Ryan taps his glass against it. "Thank you." I look down at the card beneath the ribbon. I love you. Inside the room, someone asks whether they should invite the women from the next table over. Ryan smiles. "Now you're talking."

第2章

I move away from the door before anyone comes out. There's a short hallway near the restrooms. I stand there with the cake pressed against my coat while one of Ryan's friends crosses the bar. He stops beside a group of women. Points toward the private room. A few minutes later, three of them follow him back. I tell myself to leave. Instead, I take one last look. Ryan shifts over to make room for a woman in a red dress. She says something I can't hear, and he laughs. His arm settles along the couch behind her. I recognize that movement. The easy invitation. The space made beside him. He used to do it when he saw me walking toward him across a crowded room. The woman leans closer. Ryan touches her face. Then he kisses her. I turn away before they stop. Outside, the air is cold enough to hurt. I stand beside a trash can with the cake box still in my hands. It takes me a moment to let go. Then the box drops. I leave the card where it is. My phone buzzes before I reach the corner. A picture from Ryan. He's sitting between two friends, smiling at the camera. The woman in the red dress is outside the frame. Wish you were here, baby. Hope work isn't too awful. I stop under the awning of a closed store. Another message appears. Don't worry about me. These idiots are keeping me entertained. I look at his face. The same face I've watched across breakfast tables for years. The one I used to search for in a crowd without thinking. We met when I was twenty-three. I was exhausted from classes and convinced I didn't have time for a relationship. Ryan brought coffee anyway. When I mentioned missing the cookies from a bakery near my old apartment, he drove across town to get them. He once waited three hours outside the testing center, then held me while I cried because I was sure I'd failed. For my birthday, he booked a restaurant I'd only mentioned once. I used to count those things when something felt wrong. When he flirted too long. When he called me sensitive. When I found myself apologizing at the end of an argument I hadn't started. I counted every kind thing he'd ever done and used them to explain away the rest. My phone buzzes again. Also, about last night. We should've used a condom. You're taking care of it, right? Really not the time for a baby. I read it twice. We talked about it this morning. I've already handled it. What hurts is the assumption underneath the message. His birthday. His fun. His future. My responsibility to make sure none of it becomes inconvenient. I type: Already handled. His reply is immediate. Knew I could count on you. Love you. I put the phone in my pocket. It starts raining on the walk home. I don't stay outside to punish myself. I duck into a pharmacy, buy an umbrella, and wait beneath the awning while I open it. Such an ordinary thing. Taking care of myself. By the time I reach our apartment, my shoes are wet and my hands have stopped shaking. We've lived here for three years. Our graduation photographs sit on the bookshelf. There's a mug in the sink with his coffee still drying at the bottom. My sweater hangs over the back of a chair. Nothing looks different. I wish it did. I take a shower. Put on clean clothes. Sit down at the desk in the spare room. An email from Dr. Patel is still near the top of my inbox. The research fellowship in Boston. I applied months ago. Went through the interviews. Asked questions about the work, the funding, the schedule. Then the offer arrived, and Ryan asked what he was supposed to do for a year. "Visit," I said. He laughed. "You're seriously thinking about leaving me here?" I told the program I needed a little time. The acceptance deadline is Monday. Tonight is Friday. I open the offer again. Since the offer arrived, I've kept rereading it, trying to work out how to make the move easier for Ryan. Flights. Weekends. Holidays. An apology for wanting something I've worked toward. I start a reply. Thank you for your patience. I'm delighted to accept the fellowship. I read it once. Then I send it. A few minutes later, I write to Dr. Patel. I've accepted Boston. Thank you for encouraging me to apply. Her reply comes while I'm brushing my teeth. Wonderful news, Claire. We'll talk on Monday. I put the phone on the bedside table. There's no message I need to send Ryan tonight. For once, this decision doesn't need to go through him.

第3章

I wake to an arm around my waist. For a moment, I don't know why my whole body goes rigid. Then Ryan presses his face against my neck. "Hey, baby." He smells like alcohol and someone else's perfume. I pull away. "What time is it?" "Early." He tries to turn me toward him. I put a hand against his chest. "Don't." He pauses. Then he smiles. "What? You mad I woke you up?" "I said don't." I sit up and move toward the edge of the bed. He catches my waist. "Come here." "Let go." "Claire." There's irritation in my name now. I've heard it before. Usually, I explain. Soften my voice. Find a way to make saying no feel less like an insult to him. Today, I take his hand off me. He sits up. "What's your problem?" "I don't want you touching me." He looks at me as if I've spoken in a language he doesn't recognize. "Okay. Wow." I reach for the robe hanging from the bedpost. He catches my wrist. "Look at me." "I am." "You don't show up for my birthday, and now you're acting like I did something?" I stare at him. He waits. Actually waits for me to apologize. "I had a long night," I say. "Move." He gives a short laugh. "So did I. Doesn't mean I'm taking it out on you." He pulls me toward him. I brace my free hand against his shoulder. "Ryan. Stop." "Would you relax?" He leans in. I turn my face away. His fingers tighten around my wrist. I slap him. The sound makes us both freeze. He lets go. I get off the bed. For a second, he only sits there, one hand against his cheek. Then he looks up. "What the hell?" "I told you to stop." "You hit me." "You wouldn't let go." He throws back the covers and stands. I move toward the door. "Where do you think you're going?" he asks. I stop on the other side of the dresser, keeping it between us. "We're done, Ryan." His expression changes. Then he laughs. "Oh, come on." "I'm breaking up with you." "Because I tried to kiss my girlfriend?" "Because I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore." He stares at me. I imagined this conversation on the walk home. In the shower. In the dark before I finally fell asleep. In every version, the words were harder to say. Now they're out, and I don't want to take them back. "You need to calm down," he says. "I need you to stay away from me." He runs a hand through his hair. "Fine. Go wash your face. We'll talk when you're awake." I take my phone into the bathroom and lock the door. For a minute, I stand with both hands on the sink. Then I wash my face. Brush my teeth. Get dressed. When I come out, Ryan is in the living room, scrolling through his phone. He looks up. "Better?" I walk into the kitchen. I have no idea whether I'm hungry. I only know I need something solid to do. Bread in the toaster. A glass from the cabinet. Milk from the fridge. Ryan follows me. "Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment?" "I've told you what I want." "And I'm telling you we're not breaking up over whatever mood you woke up in." I pour the milk. He takes the glass before I can pick it up. "Talk to me." "Put it down." "Give me a reason." I look at his hand around the glass. Yesterday, I would have worried about how angry he was getting. Today, I notice that he could set it down whenever he wants. He's choosing not to. "Do you remember what you promised me?" I ask. He frowns. "About what?" "The videos." His fingers shift against the glass. "What about them?" "You said no one else would ever see them." For the first time since he got home, he has nothing ready to say. I watch his face. "You showed your friends." "No, I—" "I was there." His mouth stays open. "The bar," I say. "Outside the room." "You were working." "I traded shifts. I brought you a cake." He puts the glass down too hard. Milk spills over the rim. Neither of us looks at it. "You came to the bar?" "Yes." "And you just stood outside listening?" I stare at him. He shakes his head. "Why didn't you tell me you were there?" "Would that have changed what you'd already done?" "You let me make an idiot of myself." There it is. Not what he did to me. What I let him do. I push the untouched glass away. "You managed that without my help."