Chapter 1: 17 Red Flags

Hey Sis; welcome to the blog. Now before you read this please understand; this is my truth. It’s raw, unedited, unscripted, and still some of the most humiliating moments of my life. But I’m here to share it with you for three reasons.

• One: I believe there is someone—whether a young lady, woman, or man—who can learn from my story.
• Two: To raise awareness about domestic violence, grooming, and most crucially—yet often overlooked—spousal sexual abuse.
• Three: Writing serves as a valuable form of self-care for me.

So, where do I start? This question has haunted me for quite some time. How can I share my story with honesty and without shame? How do I reveal something so painful that I’ve tried to forget for many years? I suppose this journey requires revisiting the past, so I’ll begin at the only place I know: the beginning. This chapter recounts the start of my abusive relationship. This beginning laid the groundwork for my suffering over the next nine years. As you read, you might find yourself asking, “Sis, why are you giving us all this background? What does it have to do with domestic violence, grooming, and spousal sexual assault?”

The answer is straightforward: RED FLAGS.

To truly understand my situation, you need to know how I got there. Red flags are the universe’s initial warning signs. There’s often something amiss that we tend to overlook because we want to believe it’s not as serious as it seems, or we shy away from confronting uncomfortable truths. Nonetheless, it’s crucial to pay attention to these red flags, as they help us grasp the reality of our circumstances, enhance our self-awareness, and evade harmful situations. By recognizing these warning signs early in relationships, we can avoid significant heartache and potential violence. Addressing those red flags directly empowers us to shield ourselves from toxic relationships.

With that being said… Let’s go back to 2012 or as I like to call it… The beginning

At the age of 16, I encountered my abuser for the first time. I was a spirited teenager, brimming with rebellion and an insatiable longing to embrace adulthood. This yearning had been a part of me since childhood; I vividly recall dreaming of growing up, craving the independence that came with being an adult. My abuser and I; (let’s call him…. Cipher) remained “friends” until I was 17. Which as a young girl I thought it was admirable. Cipher was clearly attracted to me and was patient enough to wait for me to be just a little bit older.

Once I turned 17, Cipher felt like we could allow things to progress. He expressed knowing the relationship was wrong; so, to protect his image I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone his name, show anyone photos of him or be seen in public with him until after I was 18. We loved one another, or so I thought and we were determined to be together at any cost. Even if that cost me the most important thing in life such as my family, my friends and my teenage experiences like going to prom, going to my own high school graduation and even furthering my education by going off to college. The choice to be together was difficult for him as well I’m sure but he would justify it by telling me that I definitely didn’t “look” like a 17-year-old girl, and I sure didn’t act like one.

Now the photo for this blog post is me… Indo at age 17. You tell me if you think I “looked” 17 or not? Because in hindsight I think to myself, what does a 17-year-old look like? And how does one act? You couldn’t be seen with him? You couldn’t go on dates? Really sis!?

Cipher was a gifted writer and a captivating speaker. His words caressed my soul; his expressive prose wove an enchanting rhythm that ensnared my heart completely. I was utterly spellbound by his expression, captivated not only by his charming smile but also by the intoxicating warmth of his voice. In the depths of his eyes, I felt seen as the woman I yearned to be—a longing I had chased for far too long. And thus began our “love story,” even as our families and friends voiced their concerns about the staggering eight-year gap between us. To be fair, they weren’t wrong; a tiny part of me was aware of it, yet I masked that truth. Despite their apprehensions, we pressed on.

Now, while much of the history blurs together, one vivid situation remains etched in my memory. The first time I laid eyes on Cipher’s sister, whom I’ll affectionately call Sabrina, I was struck by her beauty and the joyful presence of her precious baby girl, radiating innocence. Yet, from the moment we exchanged words, I sensed a palpable tension in the air. Usually, people warm up to me, but Sabrina was an entirely different story. She peppered me with questions: Where was I from? What was my name? And, of course, my age slipped into the conversation. Under the weight of Cipher’s sharp gaze, I hesitantly answered “18,” knowing it was a legally comfortable number. I could see the frustration etch across her face, an expression that screamed she sensed my deception. She demanded to speak with her brother privately, leaving me alone with her beautiful baby girl.

As I stepped into Cipher’s bedroom, I braced myself, but the thin walls betrayed our secrets, allowing me to hear every piercing word from Cipher’s sister. “SHE’S A FUCKING CHILD! WHAT DO YOU SEE IN HER? WHAT CAN SHE OFFER YOU!? SHE’S WAY TOO YOUNG TO BE WITH YOU! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YALL!” Cipher remained silent, caught in the crossfire of a sibling tempest, unable to defend our bond. I listened, tears streaming down my face, feeling as if her words were a direct attack. What could I offer him? I believed I made him happy! How DARE SHE question us! With every insult, my outrage grew; her rudeness was unbearable. She knew I could hear her! I swore I never wanted to see her or hear her voice again. Can you imagine that? An older sister boldly waving the RED FLAG right in my face, and somehow, I still remained blind to it all.

After Sabrina left; I was ready to leave. I had had enough of this entire situation. I was tired of being shamed by our family and our friends. I was tired of hiding, lying and being kept a secret. Leaving was a struggle. Cipher said things to me like “Don’t let them break us apart?” “They don’t understand how much I care for you! Everything I do is to keep us safe.” “Don’t let them tear us apart. No one knows you like I do, and no one is going to care for you the way I do.” When I left Cipher’s place to return home, he called me over thirty times.

The following day, my best friend—let’s call her Veronica—spent the entire day with me, trying to persuade me to cut ties with him. “Indo, he’s unstable! He’s not good for you. Hand over your phone!” She took my phone for the day, and when I finally checked it again, I had 62 missed calls along with over 50 texts and instant messages. I will always remember Veronica warning me, “Girl, if you speak to him again, I will never talk to you again.” After she returned my phone and we parted ways, I was in disbelief. I thought he loved me deeply and was suffering because I wouldn’t respond. I felt it was unfair to leave him in that state. I decided to give our relationship another chance, and with that choice, I lost my best friend. She couldn’t continue to watch me go through this anymore; this wasn’t the first time Cipher displayed this kind of behavior and to her it wouldn’t be the last. I became so angry with her; here was another person “hating” on my relationship; trying to pull me and Cipher apart! This caused me to confide in Cipher even more. Gradually, he became my sole friend, my only companion—my everything.

Before I knew it, college was knocking at my door! I had always fantasized about packing my bags and heading off to a new adventure—freedom, new digs, and a treasure trove of experiences awaited! I tossed my hat in the ring and got accepted to three schools—cue the confetti! But when I shared the news with Cipher, his reaction was like a rain cloud at a picnic. He looked like I’d just told him I was joining a circus! “So, you’re really going to leave me?” he said, eyebrows furrowed like he was auditioning for a soap opera. “How can I trust you won’t be entertaining other guys? When will I even see you? That’s a lot of jet-setting for me!” He threw in some classic “if you love me” drama, and I felt my frustration bubble. “It’s not all about you!” I thought. “Why can’t you just cheer for me?” But as he spilled his worries, somehow I began to see his side. Being apart would be tough on our love story, and the thought of him all alone tugged at my heartstrings. How could I leave him hanging? I decided that once I graduated high school I would enroll in community college, thinking it would bring happiness to everyone, right? After all, love is about compromise, isn’t it? And love often involves sacrifice, doesn’t it?

After endless battles with my family over my “totally misunderstood” relationship and Cipher’s never-ending trust issues, we came to a brilliant solution—I should move in with him. You know, to “build trust” and spend more time together. Because nothing says trust like isolation, right?

Before I knew it, I was living in Cipher’s home, cooking his meals, catering to his every whim, and playing the role of his personal assistant—helping him chase his dreams while slowly letting go of mine. He needed help with bills, and like any good partner I stepped up. I got a job right across the street so he wouldn’t have to worry about my “safety” (aka making sure I wasn’t talking to other men or person for that matter). Between working, going to school full-time, and handing over every dime I made, my life revolved around keeping him happy.

And then, just after turning 18, life threw me the ultimate plot twist. Yep, sis—you guessed it. I was pregnant.

(But we’ll get into how that happened later, sis—because trust me, that’s a story all on its own.)

Trust me it’s a lot to digest. So we’ll end this chapter with a quote..

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” — Maya Angelou

See you in Chapter 2
Publishing 2/21/25 Love, Indo.