At the beginning of 2013, I was 18 years old. Stacey had another miscarriage and was deeply depressed. It was likely caused by the abortion pill she had taken previously. The gynecologist told her she would probably never be able to have children. I didn’t know how to help her.
She told me she’d been contacted by a woman from Serbia who claimed to be her biological mother. Apparently, Stacey had been adopted. She told me that she eventually met her biological family, who came to Split to see her. When she met her parents and siblings, one of her siblings spat in her face. She ran home after that. Stacey has remained in contact with her biological father.
He informed her that her biological mother had been killed in a car accident. This news deeply affected Stacey, and she struggled to function at school. She began experiencing insomnia, sometimes going 2-3 days without sleep. As a result of the trauma and lack of sleep, she eventually started having hallucinations.
One spring evening, we went on a date. After I sent her home, I went for a walk towards my own house. A minute or two later, she was suddenly there, running towards me and crying hysterically. She told me she had seen the dead body of her biological mother on the floor of her apartment building. I comforted her until she stopped crying, calmed down, and then went home.
A few days later, we were at Stacey’s house, in her room. She told me she saw a man dressed in black standing by the window. I looked, but there was no one there. She started crying and said the man was insulting her and laughing at her. I didn’t know what to do. Then, while still crying, she pulled a doll out of the closet and told me she wanted to have a baby.
She managed to live a relatively normal life, and I wanted to support her as much as I could. Somehow, our relationship continued, but it wasn’t the same as before.
One evening, Stacey and I went for a run. We went to Bačvice to run along the sea. It was windy, and the sea was wavy. On the way, we ran into her cousin, who was a police officer. She introduced us, and then we continued on to Bačvice. We ran to try and counteract our lifestyle, which was filled with cigarettes and marijuana.
We ran east from Bačvice, towards Stobreč, and she was running on her tiptoes. I told her that my rowing coach had taught us that short sprints are done on your toes, while longer distances are run on your heels. This led to an argument between us in a public place, while people walked by. We stopped running and started walking. Stacey would stop every now and then to emphasize her point. As we approached the “gay beaches” that separated Split and Stobreč, our argument escalated to the point where I felt like I wanted to die just to make her stop bothering me. I started running towards the Stobreč, intending to drown myself. I could hear Stacey running and screaming after me, but I eventually lost her and continued running alone.
I reached the “gay beaches,” and my phone started ringing. It was Stacey. I answered, and she cried and told me to come back. I didn’t say anything, hung up, and kept running until I reached the middle of the beaches. The phone rang again, and this time it was her cousin, the policeman. I put the phone down and started wading into the choppy sea. I walked until the water reached my hips. Suddenly, a large wave crashed into me, pushing me back and almost knocking me over. I stopped trying to drown myself and returned to the shore, mostly soaked. The phone rang again, and I answered. It was her cousin. I told him I’d be back. I returned to where I had started running, and Stacey and her cousin were there. He gave me his hoodie so I wouldn’t get sick, and we got into his car. I don’t remember anyone saying anything; they just drove me home.
A few weeks later, it was a beautiful, sunny day, and I was wearing sunglasses. I drove to Stacey’s apartment, and we went to a coffee shop. Afterwards, we were in the parking lot smoking cigarettes when we somehow got into another argument. I told her I wanted to break up, and she replied that I had “impregnated her with two children who were aborted, so I have to repay her somehow.” Then she started crying, saying she wanted her mom and her babies back. I broke down and started crying. I hugged her, but it felt meaningless. I drove her home and then went for a drive myself. I headed toward the suburbs, crying as I drove. I hoped no other drivers would notice, hiding my tears behind sunglasses. Halfway to the suburbs, I decided to drive there and kill myself by crashing into a wall near an industrial zone. I stopped crying and wondered if this was the end. But it wasn’t. I slowly drove past the wall. I parked the car nearby and stayed there to calm down. Suddenly, I saw another car approaching, and I recognized my aunt from the suburbs inside. She looked confused to see me there, and we barely waved at each other.
The next day, I went to the hardware store to buy a hose that I planned to connect to my car’s exhaust pipe to kill myself with carbon monoxide. I didn’t find the right hose and went home. On the walk back, I inhaled exhaust fumes from passing cars, hoping they would somehow be enough to kill me.
The suicidal thoughts subsided, and I went to get high. One sunny afternoon, I went to the “gay beaches.” I considered it an ideal place to do drugs because it was secluded, and I assumed no police officer would ever go there. As I walked, I noticed a few people around, all of them alone. I climbed one of the trails to explore, reaching the top of the slope. From there, I had a great view of the sea and the islands. I went back down and ran into a guy with bad breath. We talked about the beaches, and I mentioned I wanted to go back down. I offered to let him go first, but he insisted I go ahead. We went back down together and then parted ways. I found a nice rock, sat down, rolled a joint, and started smoking.
As I was thinking about how to solve my problems with Stacey, it started to get dark. A guy was walking home, and when he saw me, he slowed down. I lit a cigarette and watched him approach. When he was a few yards away, he said “hello,” and I returned the greeting. Before I knew it, he tried to grab my testicles. I pulled away, and we both laughed awkwardly. I told him to leave, and he did.
The next day, I was in the car with Stacey in a parking lot, and I told her about my encounter with the man on the beach. I jokingly suggested that we should break up because I was obviously gay. She got angry, saying it was all lies. We had another fight, and she started blackmailing me to stay in the relationship. She threatened to tell my parents about her miscarriages, and I was terrified of their reaction. I felt hopeless and started crying. I cried and sobbed for so long that I felt like I would never stop. Stacey’s phone rang; it was Melissa. I stopped crying and just sobbed quietly instead. An angry Stacey spoke to Melissa on the phone and then said, “He’s here crying.”
A few weeks later, things seemed to return to “normal,” and Stacey went out with Melissa. They went to a nightclub to drink, smoke, and sing along to Serbian pop-folk music. The next day, she told me how great it was and how she and Melissa “closed the club,” meaning they were the last ones to leave.
At one point, we had an argument, and she accused me of giving her genital herpes. She even pulled down her panties and showed me her vulva, which was covered in red, swollen blisters. She claimed it was probably because I was prone to oral herpes, and I had been performing oral sex on her while I had a cold sore. I didn’t have oral herpes at the time, and I even googled to see if oral herpes could be transmitted to the genitals; the answer was no. I told her she was wrong, but she persisted with her blackmail.
She told me she’d heard rumors that we were only in a relationship because I had a car.She even told me that Melissa got hooked up with her cousin, a police officer.
I bought a brand new mountain bike. It had 29-inch wheels, and I paid $300 for it.
August
In August, my Roman soldier and gladiator reenactment group had a performance in the town of Igrane, about 20 km south of Makarska. We drove there in four cars, bringing all our equipment. We arrived and settled into our apartments. The performance began late in the afternoon, and we all dressed in our Roman soldier and gladiator costumes. We joined the other performers and paraded through the town.
After the parade, we performed a choreographed routine of Roman army drills and gladiator fights. After the performance, we had dinner. We changed out of our costumes and into regular clothes. In the evening, there was a party on the edge of town. We drank and smoked. I got somewhat drunk and noticed a girl dancing who also seemed drunk. I went up to her, danced with her, and then kissed her passionately. It felt good to cheat on Stacey. After a while, the girl wandered off, and my group and I returned to the town. Danny and I were in an alley, rolling a joint. The others from our group were on the beach, swimming and hanging out. I had a brilliant idea. I walked into the sea, holding the joint and lighter above the water so they wouldn’t get wet. Then, Danny and I swam a little way offshore to join the rest of our group.
We lit the joint while we were in the water, being careful not to drop it or get it wet. We all got high and enjoyed swimming in the incredibly warm water.
@Limbo 
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