I first met Pierre while I was out with some friends at a local San Francisco dance bar. I had been single for a month after getting out of a four-year-long relationship. I was very drunk when we met, but I was having a great time hanging out with my friends and meeting new people. I was a social butterfly that night, and I looked great in my high-waist jeans and flowery crop top. I was also wearing my signature dark red lipstick.
Anyways, in my intoxicated glory, I was (loudly) complaining about how I was the only single one out of all my married friends. Pierre heard me mention “single” and he came right up. To be honest, I didn’t even remember what he looked like the following day. I gave him my number though. I think I thought he was good looking. Afterall, homeboy told me he was a model. The French accent also seduced the crap out of me.
I remember he called nonstop the next day. I found it endearing. At the same time, after chatting with him for a bit, I found it really weird he wouldn’t share his last name with me. He also didn’t have a car. He really wanted me to go over to his apartment to have some “barbecue”. Model or not, he was a stranger. I didn’t care that he was tall, dark, and handsome. I’ve read Ted Bundy’s Wikipedia man, and I did not want to end up being murdered.
After hours of talking on the phone, Pierre finally agreed to take me out to a damn restaurant. I would pick his ass up and drive us there. We had an OK time, but I was distracted by how good looking he was. Those eyes could pierce into your soul for years, but there was a darkness in them. Pierre was hot, but he definitely gave off that serial killer vibe.
I noticed many red flags during that first date.
- He ordered two shots.
- He talked about himself the entire time.
- He flirted with our waitress.
- He paid in crumpled bills.
- He kept pressuring me to go back to his place.
Got damn why did I ignore the fucking red flags!!!!!
It was my first date in over three years, so I was rusty at filtering out guys. I should have just left and never talked to him again. At the same time though, I was fascinated with him. He was different and foreign to me, which was what I was looking for. I wanted adventure. I wanted to live life with excitement. I thought he could offer that to me.
I don’t know if you’ve ever heard about Frenchmen and their reputation for being great at romance. That shit is all true. It was a whirlwind in the beginning. After one week, I became his girlfriend. After two weeks, he told me he loved me. After one month, I moved into his apartment. After half a year, we got our own apartment together. After 9 months, we got a dog. After a year, we got married. That shit all would have been great if we had a good relationship.
Unfortunately, it was full of fighting from the very beginning. The first week we dated was probably the most peaceful time for me. I fell for his spontaneity and charm. I thought his craziness was refreshing. Our first fight wasn’t until the two week mark.
My friend Stella had invited me to a house party with some friends. I told Pierre that I didn’t want to go because there were a couple guys there who had shown interest in me before. After hearing that, he insisted on going to the point where I just went so that he would stop. At the party, he was cordial and engaging enough.. until he told me he loved me. Uhh.. I didn’t answer him, which made him mad, so he left the party. What made him angrier was when he realized he left his phone in the Uber.
I SHOULD HAVE LEFT RIGHT THEN. This dude started going on about how he KNEW there was something shady with our Uber driver (our Uber driver was a very nice guy by the way), and how the driver was probably going through all his pictures. Pierre was being a huge drama queen, and I hated that I was the person who needed to take care of him. I tried to make things easier for him, but he was acting like such a spoiled brat.. screaming at people on the street, asking me why I brought him to this party.. I called another Uber to pick us up, but once the driver pulled up and saw how Pierre was acting, he CANCELLED THE RIDE and drove away! That has NEVER happened to me before. This guy was going to kill my Uber rating too?!!?
I ended up forgiving him for that, and I told him I loved him back a few days later. Crazy bitch up in the house.
At the time, I was subletting my friend’s apartment and in the process of moving out of my old apartment with my ex boyfriend. I was going to hire movers and put my things in storage, but once Pierre heard about this, he insisted on helping me move. He also volunteered his apartment for me to store his things. We had only been dating for a month, so I wasn’t completely comfortable with this. At the same time, I thought about how much money I would save by accepting his offer.
“You can leave your things here and move them back out when you find your own apartment,” Pierre said to me when I told him I wasn’t comfortable. I thought it was disrespectful for him to come move my stuff out of an apartment that I shared with an ex. I don’t even know what happened, Pierre kind of steamrolled past my wishes, moved my things out of my old place into his bedroom, and basically claimed it as his own. When I finally found a place I could move into, he guilt tripped me, “You’re going to move into an apartment without me? We’re going backwards if you do that.” Ugh, the manipulation. I see it so clearly now, why didn’t I see it before? It was my fault for letting him do that though.
After living with Pierre, I found out a few more unsavory things about him.
- He was living in the U.S. illegally because he had overstayed his visa.
- He was wanted back in France for almost killing a dude.
- He was an alcoholic.
- He was self-centered, insecure, jealous, and spiteful.
- He had a record for harassing women in another state.
- He had no real friends.
WHY DID I STAY WITH HIM!!!!! Ugh. I was so in love and so whipped, that’s why. By the time we moved in together, all my friends hated him. He was starting to severely insult me.. with choice words that rhymed with “You ducking hitch,” you are a huge blut, and you’re probably out ducking some guy’s tick.” Yeah, the whole verbal abuse thing. We already had countless fights, and I tried to leave him several times. I always came back.. he was always so sincere and sweet when he apologized. The makeup sex was really good. Sorry, I forgot to mention that he also had a huge schlong, and he knew how to use it. I made excuses saying that the alcohol made him act that way, and he would change if he stopped drinking.
Blah, blah. Fast forward.
We started living together. Pierre was telling me about how things would be different once we were out of his apartment with his roommate. I believed him. We were fighting all week before we even moved in, and just a few days before, he had poured soda all over my car dashboard because we were arguing. That was some cray cray shit. I felt like I was dating a psycho hot cheerleader.. the kind of person who would slash your tires. I STILL TOOK HIM BACK AND THEN I MOVED IN WITH HIM WHYYYYY!!!!
It felt like I was with him for a lifetime. While Pierre could be really giving.. he would cook, clean, do my laundry, and help me any way he could.. he could also be the exact opposite. When we were fighting, he would make a mess, leave me upset and crying, call me the dreaded b-word, make me feel trapped. I admired him for his persistence and dreams for himself. He really wanted to make it as an American actor (Don’t even get me started on that.. the whole time we were together, he bragged about how he was going to make great movies one day, and how shitty other actors were). He had stopped drinking for a few months already too, so he was just acting like a normal asshole instead of a verbally abusive asshole.
Anyways.. around the one year mark, I decided to marry him.
We got married at City Hall, and the whole process was pretty easy. I actually remember being really happy that day because we didn’t fight at all. I loved him. We hired an immigration lawyer to help him become a U.S. Citizen too.. and then I got laid off. I didn’t have the extra money to support him anymore. Things got pretty hard.
During this entire period, I had stopped hanging out with my closest friends. Especially my male friends. Conversation was kept at a minimum. I never said anything bad about Pierre. I never ate out at restaurants because it was a waste of my money. I was no longer a social butterfly, I actually became more reserved and timid as a person. I had stopped working out everyday. I stopped going to basketball practices (FYI, I played in a co-ed basketball league). I was in dedicated wife mode.
Yes, I lost myself, but things were pretty smooth up until his family paid us a visit three months after we got married. The night they arrived, Pierre drank again and came back home in a violent mood. This wasn’t the first time he secretly drank, but it was the first time his verbal abuse escalated to physical abuse.
His sister told me that Pierre had a really troubled childhood. Their father was his hero, and he was very abusive to their mom. He grew up with the belief that women and men were not equal. Men were better. He also grew up spoiled, never hearing the word no. His sister also told me that Pierre knew he was an alcoholic for a long time already. He didn’t care.
This was his own sister.
Anyways, shortly after this, I didn’t feel safe around Pierre anymore. Sure, I grew up with hardcore daddy issues, but my dad never laid a hand on my mom. It was not the kind of household I wanted to be in. I ended up calling my mom to bring me back home to Connecticut, so I could figure things out and move on.
(Read my first post from when I moved back to Connecticut: Moving Back Home)