When Dave Raped Katie

I found the script to one of my favorite movies from when I was a kid on my laptop. I saw it before, but I couldn’t figure out why it was there. It’s When Harry Met Sally.

Rob Reiner. Nora Ephron. Billy Crystal is Harry and Meg Ryan is Sally. It’s from ’88 or ’89.

I don’t know why I always loved it. If you don’t know the story, Harry and Sally meet and hate each other, then they run into each other again and become friends, then apart, then they come back together and fall in love.

I always compared Dave and me to that movie. We’d be together, then apart, then find each other. Well, he would find me, then make me chase him. He’s like a toddler or a cat. Then the third time, we fell in love.

This is clearly the rapey horror movie version of When Harry Met Sally, known as When Dave Raped Katie.

Typing…

That is what someone wrote in the script I found on my computer. It’s the last scene, typed in right before Harry tells Sally he loves her and she yells at him. Like a messenger app would. I saw that today. I couldn't breathe. 

I remember yelling at Dave about telling me he loved me that night. I yelled, “Fuck you, you want me to tell you I love you? Fine! I fucking do love you, Assclown! Fuck you!”

That was me telling him I loved him after all those years.

His “I love you” was obviously manufactured to elicit compliance while he raped me. He didn’t mean it. I know that. His lips get thin when he lies. The first time he said it sober, it wasn’t true. I knew that.

But I loved him.

I had for years.

It’s so hard to remember the good times and realize the monster that was lurking, and it’s so hard to remember the bad times and not remember that we were so good together.

LawyerBoy said it’s just Dave messing with my head, putting that on my computer. That’s the actual truth.

I know that reasonably and logically. I know exactly what is happening and why. I know better.

I knew better then. I know for goddamn sure now.

And in the back of my mind, I mourn not him, not us, but me.

It’s not that we don’t get another chance. It’s that I will never be the same. I’ll never love anyone like that again because it’s so fucking unhealthy and I got so destroyed in it.

Dave, honey, remember when I said to you on my patio that day before my birthday that it was all your choice? Every bit of it. How much time we spent together, what we did, where we ate, what we watched on television. You were the only one who had a say. I would have done anything.

I did.

You said it that night. I asked you who put you in charge and you said, “I did.”

The outcome is your doing. You left me with no choice that night, no choice in our relationship, no choice.

Ropes are kabuki, you said. You didn’t need ropes with me.

I would have forgiven you. Hell, if I thought you cared, I would forgive you.

But you are the one who made the call as to what you chose to do that night. That has repercussions, as uncomfortable as they might be. You know that.

And frankly, I need that. I need to see remorse.

I read that email from Cunty McLawyer again. That said it all to me. You "won't apologize to anyone for anything." 

I may mourn, but I’m better off with the cycle being broken. 

I was always the runner-up anyway. 

and I always faked the orgasm.