coppola, katherine l.

[Deleted]

full name katherine lily coppola. date of birth 04/01/1992. home town darien, connecticut. current city new york city, new york. education new york university, undergrad. occupation blogger. ________________________________________ Sometimes there were family dinners. Often there were roses and other presents. When we were 16, he bought me my first designer handbag and I cherished that thing more than he could have imagined. I cherished it because he worked hard to buy it for me. Sometimes at these family dinners, he'd reach under the table and touch my hand and smile that pretty boy smile. Holden sometimes threw food at me later when we loaded the dishwasher and after we'd all sit on the porch. I smoked rose cigarettes back then, under the illusion that they were cool and they didn't smell as bad as the regular kind. I was wrong, of course. Then again, we all ended up being wrong about a lot of things. Though there were times where I could have seen it coming. In the same time he would reach under the table to grab my hand, his father reached under and grabbed my leg. He would look into my eyes and grin, and his father would look into his roast beef and later fucked me with his eyes. I suppose some of the before is just as bad as the after. I wonder how long it takes a person to heal when they realize ignorance is just bliss. It's also denial. Connecticut is small and white. There are a lot of bugs. Sometimes there are murders and rapes, but they all seem distant from my life, as if it would never happen to me. Girls go missing everywhere, a sad state of fact that we all keep at arms length and never really discuss because they aren't our friends, our sisters, our mothers. They are girls we don't know. We don't know, so we don't care. High school was fine, we spent the majority of it at my house, getting away from the groping he didn't know was happening. My parents never sent him home empty handed, and sometimes they let him sleep over, as long as he slept in the guest room. At the time I hated them for their white picket fences and the boundaries they set out for us. When I lost my virginity to him in the back of his car, I almost wished it had been in a bed. But now things are different, as time always promises. I haven't responded back to his messages in over a year. Sometimes I watch the television just to remember how his voice sounds, or the way he chews. He dates a blonde girl, a blonde like me, though she is leggier and more famous and most likely has more to offer. I keep my Instagram and Twitter private, just in case someone finds out who I am and what we used to be. But our relationship was part of the before, not part of the after, and I've swept him and his father under a rug and pretend they never existed. When I got into NYU I always worried I'd see him around, and sometimes I see him in other people, but it is never him and I'm okay with that. I'm an RA now, in my final year of my undergraduate and I mostly keep to myself. I have friends who can walk confidently in high heels and I've got a fairly successful personal blog. I've been on a few dates but no one has ever stuck. Sex is fun when I'm drunk, but I'm never high anymore and even so, I'm sober too often. My parents have stopped asking how he is and once I caught my mom watching the show on Bravo late at night, crying silent tears into her glass of wine. I think she realized I could have been one of those girls. I never told them that he touched me. I try not to think of the before, now in the after. I have to actively stop myself from googling him, something that I've trained myself not to do before we even broke up. We both knew long before I pulled the plug that things had changed. I could see he was afraid to touch me, after. He was afraid he would wake up as a monster. I can't tell you if his father's 'condition' is genetic, but I hope for his sake it's not. Though, Ezra has never harmed me, only loved me. But the before Ezra and after Ezra are different. We aren't the same anymore. ________________________________________ your name holly. play-by hanna edwinson. member group student.