The Woman Who Demanded Trust But Betrayed It

I knew she was trouble, but sometimes when trouble is beautiful, you can't help but express your feelings. In my case, I didn't verbally tell her I liked her; I relied on body language to make it clear. I wanted her to understand my feelings without uttering a word. I let my actions speak for me, but she seemed oblivious. Perhaps she was playing coy, wanting to hear it directly from me. One night, when I asked her out, she responded, “Go out with me as what?” I replied, “I just want us to hang out.” She pressed, “Hang out as what?” I clarified, “Just like people hang out every day.” She persisted, “Hang out as what, exactly?”

I realized she needed clarity. That night, I finally told her I wanted her to be my girlfriend and shared how long I had wanted to say it. She playfully hit my chest and said, “Don’t be a coward. If you like a woman, actions aren’t enough. You need to say what your actions are trying to convey. It’s simpler. Yes, actions speak louder than words, but using words to tell me to close my eyes is easier to understand than acting it out.”

That night, she became my girlfriend, and our love story began.

There was a phrase she often used: “You are mine, and I am yours.” It might sound cute, but let me explain what it really meant.

One evening, she took my phone and tried to access it but couldn’t due to the password. “Kobby, what’s the password?” she asked. I was taken aback. She repeated, “I mean your phone’s password.” Her casual tone confused me. “Okay, let me unlock it for you,” I offered. “Oh, don’t worry. Just give me the password; I’ll do it myself,” she insisted.

There’s something about phone passwords that makes even the most innocent among us uneasy, even if there’s nothing to hide. I gave her the password.

She began scrolling through my photos, asking questions like, “Where is this?” “Who is that girl behind you?” “Who took these photos?” “Why is this one smiling so much?”

Then she moved to my WhatsApp. The password I gave her didn’t work. She turned to me, “Your WhatsApp has a password? What’s the password?”

“Why do you want to read my messages? What for?” I asked.

“I want to meet your friends. I want to know what you tell them and what they tell you.”

“But my friends are out there. We can meet them in person, not through my phone!”

The argument continued, and I refused to give her the password. It wasn’t that I had anything to hide; it just didn’t make sense.

Alice was not someone you could keep hidden. She introduced herself to everyone in my life within a few months of us being together. She would show up at my office unannounced after work, using the opportunity to meet my colleagues. I found it intrusive, but she enjoyed it, so I let her have her way.

One night, a friend called and asked, “Where’s your girlfriend? Are you still together?” I told him she wasn’t with me. When I asked why he was inquiring, he said, “I just saw her at an event. The guy she was with introduced her as his girlfriend.”

“Alice? I doubt it.”

I called her twice, but she didn’t answer. I called my friend again, “Is she still there?” He replied, “No, I saw her leaving with the guy.”

I spent the entire night calling her, but she didn’t pick up.

Maybe I was too trusting, so I started keeping an eye on her. Whenever she stayed over, I would check her phone while she slept. Her WhatsApp had only a few chats, and her text messages were all from service providers. Her call logs had nothing of concern.

Friends can sometimes provide misleading information. It could have been a false alarm; perhaps he saw someone else. People can look alike, so I tried to let it go.

One evening, I spent time at her place and left late. On my way home, I realized my wallet was missing. I called her to see if I left it in her room, and she confirmed I had. I planned to pick it up the next day, but since I had no money on me, I turned back.

I saw her standing in front of her door. I thought she noticed me, but she looked around and dashed into the room next to hers. I didn’t think much of it and went into her room to grab my wallet. I lingered for a bit to let her know I was there for my wallet. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and she was still in that room. Something felt off. She was in her nightgown, and I knew that room belonged to a man she often argued with. Why was she in there for so long?

I moved closer to the window to eavesdrop on their conversation. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have just walked away. If anything happened to me that day, it would have been my own fault. At first, I could barely hear them, but then it became clearer. It was unmistakable that my girlfriend was moaning.

“Should I break down the door to rescue her? Or call the police?” I thought. She never made those sounds when we were together, so what was happening? Or… well…

I didn’t know what to do. I crouched down behind the window, and for the next ten or twenty minutes, all I heard was “Ouch, aww, huuuh, arrh, my god…”

I sat there, heartbroken, listening to my life unravel.

But I had to confront her about what I heard. So, I got up and returned to her room, waiting for her to finish. Around 5:30 AM, she rushed into her room as if fleeing from something. She was startled to see me. “You had to be here this early just for your wallet?” she asked. I remained silent, just watching her. She was holding her hairnet, her hair a mess. “When did you get here?” she asked. I kept staring at her, questioning how I ever trusted someone like her.

“Where are you coming from?” I asked. She replied, “It was my turn to sweep, so I woke up early to get the broom from the next house.” I asked, “And you’ve been looking for the broom since 9 PM last night?”

She started to tremble. “When did you come here?” I told her, “I saw you enter that guy’s room last night. I was outside the window. I heard you moaning. I’ve been here since then.” She sat down, burying her face in her hands. I said, “While you were checking on me, you thought I was doing the same thing you were? Don’t let me see you near me again.”

The man emerged from his room just as I was leaving, but he quickly retreated. He wasn’t my concern. I simply walked away.

She sent me numerous messages trying to explain herself. The weakest excuse was, “I went there to talk to him about something, and he locked the door. I struggled to get out, but he overpowered me. What you heard wasn’t moaning; it was me trying to scream with a cloth in my mouth.”

I told her, “Report it to the police.”

—Nick
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