HE CHEATS ON YOU
He cheats on you. Well okay, it's not really "cheating" because you were never together in the first place. Don't get me wrong… you were together, but you had never bothered to put a title on it.
How long have you known each other? How many dates? Not long. Just a few. But still he gets to you. He get's right inside. Just like that. In a pinch.
And you ask yourself, "Why did I do it?" "Lord, why did I try. When it always turns out the same way."
You think back to your last relationship. The same thing happened. Was it your fault? What did you do to deserve it? And honestly, why do you even think it's your fault. When anyone can tell you, it's not.
Your in the car. Driving. Salutations and what movie do you want to see? Doesn't matter, he says to you. You should have seen this as a sign of guilt. Right from the start.
But your blind. Rather, you don't want to see. Not the truth, anything but the truth. So help you God. You want sugar, spice, puppy dogs and all those other things girls are made of. You want love. But not from a weakling. You are powerful, and you won't stand for inequality.
You stop. You wince. Did he really just say that? Wasn't it last night that he told you, he was a virgin and that he wanted to save it for you? Wasn't it last night? Or maybe it was a week ago, but the memories all blur together now. Every memory that you have of him is dark, shaded. Tainted by your hatred of what he has done to you. What they do, all mankind. All of it.
You want to seem strong. You don't want to freak out like those other girls, because you still must remain cool, even to the asshole beside you. Be cool, be strong… don't act like a woman. No tears. Being feminine is your greatest weakness. Highest hurdle.
You see the stop sign in front of you. Out of habit you brake, but your not really thinking. Your experiencing. And when your mind really does catch back up with you, you can't make one thing from another. Each thought is a circle. Each circle is a spiral. And you feel like your in the movies… turning… turning… turning.
Slow motion, action cam. And your watching yourself from the outside. You watch yourself turn. It feels like it will never stop. And when it finally does, you don't know what to think. You ask yourself, "Am I overreacting?" "What's wrong with me?" "What's so wrong with me?"
But it's not really a question. It's a statement. A declaration of your stupidity. Gullibility.
They always seem to start like this for you. Can you recall ever meeting a decent one? One who really cared. Can you recall it?
You'll will remember tonight forever. Just like you'll remember him. Etched in the pain and discomfort that is he himself.
You go to the movie. What else is there to do? Your cool, you're fine. You didn't like him that much anyway, or at least you didn't think you did until he uttered those words, "fooled around with…" and the sentence stops there, because that's the only part that really matters.
Maybe it's because you had invested so much hope this time. Hope that you hadn't really had the last couple times. A newborn hope that you managed to put together from fragmented memories of your dad, and his friends and all the decent men you've ever met. The ones you knew that you could count on. After awhile, you get so desperate that these things mean more to you than your actual experiences.
You feel guilty, because while he was getting drunk and fucking her, you were thinking about the same thing. Only you made the conscious decision that the relationship was worth more than instant gratification. You told yourself that he would never do that to you. He likes you too much. Finally. A guy who likes you too much. Finally…finally… hope. In fact, you sat there, you stared at the stars… and the full impact hit you. You really liked him. In fact, you were giving up certain things by liking him. But did it really matter? In a blink of an eye, you decided that those small things didn't. You liked him too much, you know, for who he was.
But now, that personality has faded. You can't even like him for who he was. Because it's not who he is anymore. It never was, only a clever façade.
Most of all, you want him to know what he did to you. The pain. The bitter pain of realizing you weren't good enough for him. Double cross… he said, she said… he said that she said that he said that she was…
It makes you sick. It makes you want to throw up. It makes you want to cut your skin in long slivers with a pink plastic razor, so that it will finally end. Sleep will end it. If you can manage it.
You drop him off at his place. You tell him not to call you… you want it to sound callous, mean and punishing. But you can't go through with it, the minute the words are out of your mouth your apologizing. I didn't mean that… I …You go back to your dorm, knock on somebody that you don't even trusts door and fall apart, hoping they won't talk to much shit behind your back. Maybe there is some goodness in them. You have to rely on that.
But you can't move on, you look at her picture on the internet. You think, "Man he must have been drunk." But that doesn't help much. Should you forgive him? You know he feels bad, but not as bad as you feel. Never as bad. No one feels as deeply as you do.
You decide you have to call him. You have to settle it before you can move on with your life.
He makes stupid jokes that piss you off even more. In the end you decided to meet him halfway. Because you always do that. You hate for anyone to feel bad. Not even the ones you despise.
You sit and write this on your laptop, opera blaring. You sit and write this. But it's still not over. Sometimes you cry, sometimes you smile. Because you know he at least gave you one thing.
A good story.
I just had to get this off my chest, so I didn't edit it. It was kind of a stream of consciousness. Sorry about the spelling, but I think you'll get the jist.