When I was 16, I started dating a boy. He was what you would call “the bad apple.”
I was the girl who saw the “good” in him. I felt like if I just loved him enough and showed him kindness, etc., that it would be enough for him to change his ways.
We dated for six years. After six years, I’d had enough of lying, cheating and stealing. I decided it was time to move on.
When I broke up with him, he kidnapped me and held me hostage, at gunpoint, at his apartment. As a result, I had to call into work sick for three days.
Finally, I convinced him to let me go home and get clothes, so I could go to work the next day; I told him that if I missed any more work, I could lose my job.
He let me go but threatened that if I were not back in a certain amount of time, he would come to my apartment and shoot my roommates and me.
Once home, I called the police. My boyfriend was taken to jail, and I started my new life.