What’s the most psychopathic thing your ex has ever done?

Hostage During the Storm

That first night after the breakup was like something out of a nightmare. The hurricane was raging outside.

The wind howled so loudly that I could hear it echoing through the house. The windows rattled, but inside it was worse.

I had no choice but to sleep on the floor in the living room. They didn’t offer me a bed or even a blanket.

I used my jacket as a pillow and wrapped my arms around myself to stay warm. The hardwood floor was cold and hard.

Every time I shifted, I could feel the ache in my bones. My stomach growled.

I hadn’t eaten since the night before, but I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen. Tim had made that very clear.

I tried to wrap my mind around how it had come to this. How did the man who had once told me he loved me so much now stand there and break up with me in front of his entire family, then humiliate me and literally leave me to starve?

Despite my mind racing, I tried to sleep. I curled up into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest in a desperate attempt to stay warm, but it did nothing.

The worst part was there was no escaping it. I couldn’t just get up and leave.

I was stuck there, trapped with these people who had made it painfully clear that I didn’t belong. Just when I thought I might finally fall asleep, the sound of the hurricane outside tore through the silence.

A deafening gust of wind slammed against the house, rattling the windows so hard I thought they might shatter. I jerked awake.

My heart raced as the storm roared outside. The wind howled like a wild animal, and for a moment I forgot where I was.

The cold bit at my skin, and I could feel the fear creeping in again. I lay there trembling.

I was too cold, too hurt, and too angry to rest. By the second day, the reality of the situation hit me hard.

I woke up with a sore back from the floor and an emptiness in my stomach that I couldn’t ignore. I could hear them in the kitchen laughing and chatting like everything was normal.

I was in the living room, out of sight, out of mind. It was like I didn’t exist to them anymore.

Tim didn’t even glance my way when he walked past me to go outside to check the storm damage. By afternoon, the hunger had become unbearable.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so desperate for food. My stomach ached, twisted, and gnawed in a way that made it hard to even think straight.

I felt weak and light-headed, and every minute that passed only made the pain worse. I had been too afraid to sneak into the kitchen.

I stayed out of sight as much as possible. When Tim stepped away from the others to check something on his phone, I couldn’t help myself.

I walked to him cautiously. I begged him to give me anything.

I told him that I hadn’t eaten and how weak I felt. He barely glanced at me; his eyes were still fixed on his phone.

“I told you you’re not welcome here anymore,” he muttered.

I told him that I was starving and I just needed enough to get through the day. He finally looked up.

For a moment I thought I saw a look of guilt on his face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He sighed heavily, as if I was nothing more than an inconvenience.

Then he told me that I would have to figure it out on my own. He reminded me that they needed the supplies for the storm.

I stood there stunned, feeling the sting of his words like a slap in the face. My mouth was dry, and my stomach clenched even harder.

There was nothing left to say. He turned his back on me and walked back to his family without another word.

That night after everyone had gone to bed, I made the decision to sneak into the kitchen. I was terrified of getting caught, but I didn’t have a choice.

I needed to eat. I crept down the hallway as quietly as I could, my heart pounding in my chest.

The house was eerily quiet except for the sound of the wind and rain outside. When I got to the kitchen, I opened the pantry and grabbed a couple of cans, a can opener, and a bottle of water.

My hands were shaking as I did it, and I felt like I was committing a crime. Just as I was about to leave, the floor creaked.

I froze, holding my breath. After a few tense moments, I realized no one was coming.

I hurried back to the living room, my heart still racing, and began to eat in silence. I sat in the dark, opening the can as quietly as possible.

The metallic pop sound was deafening in the house. I ate quickly, barely tasting it.

It was the most miserable meal of my life: baked beans and a can of cold chicken soup. The water felt like a blessing.

Every moment I feared being caught. When I was done, I couldn’t keep the evidence with me.

I knew that if anyone saw the empty cans or the bottle, it would only make things worse. So I gathered everything up and crept down the hallway, moving as silently as I could.

The trash can in the kitchen was too risky. Instead, I carefully pushed the back door open.

The wind from the storm was still howling outside, and I slipped out into the yard. The ground was soaked, and the rain still fell in a steady drizzle, but I didn’t care.

I crouched down by the side of the house behind the bushes and buried the cans and bottle beneath some leaves and mud. I wiped my hands on my pants.

I tried to calm my racing heart before heading back inside. The wind roared.

For a moment I stood there in the dark, feeling the cold rain on my skin until I went back inside. Even though I had to sleep on the cold living room floor again that night, I felt a little bit better with a full stomach.