Midnight Collision

Part3: The first slap

Since we’ve already talked about Christmas, why should New Year’s Eve be left alone?

I’ve always longed for that big, messy, loving group of friends to celebrate life with — the kind that shows up, sticks around, and fills your year with memories. I never had much luck with that growing up, but this New Year’s felt like a rare win. I spent time with my sister, and then a newly formed group of friends invited me over to ring in the new year. It felt warm, unexpected — lucky.

Now, Landon doesn’t know what boundaries are. But during one of our weekend drives, I was in the car with him and one of his close friends when they told me — very clearly — that “Holi and New Year’s are for the boys. No girlfriend can say anything about it.”

Reading that now, I want to go back in time and slap the audacity right off both their faces. But back then? I laughed nervously and accepted it — as if I had no say.

So when the night came, we both did our own thing. I was with my friends, sipping, laughing, letting go. The clock struck 12. We clinked glasses. And then, my phone rang.

It was Landon. He’d come to wish me, to kiss me at midnight — surprise! My heart melted. This was the version of him I kept waiting for. The one who showed up. I ran out, saw his car parked, jumped in with a smile… only to see his friend in the backseat.

Apparently, they had to go back soon. Boys' rule and all that. But I didn’t care. He came for me. That was enough — or so I thought.

Twenty minutes later, that surprise turned into the very first nightmare of our relationship.

He slapped me.

It started with his phone. I was holding it to play a song. He stepped out to pee. And then the messages started popping up — from her. The girlfriend before me. The girlfriend alongside me. The woman I didn’t know I was sharing him with.

She was cursing him out in messages that made my hands shake. Furious that he’d been dancing, touching, getting close with another girl at the party. A stranger, yet not a stranger anymore — because I saw the pictures. Him, arms around her waist, lost in a moment that wasn’t mine.

I asked him. Quietly. Then again, not so quietly. His friend tried to shut me down — “It’s just dancing, let it go.”

But I couldn’t. And then, just like that, he raised his hand.

The yelling blurred into tears. I was crying. He was shouting. I was shaking. And somehow, somehow, I ended up apologizing for using harsh words.

He dropped me home around 3 a.m. That night — or early morning — I decided I was done. I couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t unfeel it.

I even found my escape. The most beautiful, peaceful days I’d live. But that escape — that person — deserves a chapter of their own.