“Hi, what’s going on?”
“Not much, you sleepin’?”
“Well, yes I was. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, I just wanted to see what you were doing, hear you voice. I wanna see you.”
“I wanna see you too…”
“Oh but you were sleeping, you sound so cute, groggy like that.”
“You want to see me now? What’s up, did you go out?”
“Yeah, we went out drinking. I’m downtown… It’s probably too late, you can’t come get me. That would be inappropriate…”
“Oh but you sound so cute, I need to see you.”
“Well, it is inappropriate, but I’m up now. Are your friends with you, are guys stranded?”
“Yeah, but we can get a cab, like…”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll be there in 20.”
I got up, put my sweatpants and my reading glasses on. I was ecstatic. He booty-called me. He wanted to see me. His cuteness at my cuteness was unbearable. I was overjoyed. This was it. He could not stand being apart from me either. When I found them, I realized the level of alcohol that had been consumed. His two buddies were just as wasted so I let them sleep on my couch. Once I closed my bedroom door, Liam had his bedroom eyes on. “I want to go down on you.” “That’s a very sweet thought darling, but here’s a glass of water. You should sleep.” A few sloppy, yet highly passionate kisses later he was out cold, snoring. At 5.30 his usual alarm for work started ringing. Since it was Thanksgiving, Monday was a holiday. He was absolutely passed out. So I reluctantly got up to find his phone to turn off the fucking alarm. As I swiped, the alarm silenced and the screen unlocked to the home screen of his text messages.
There it was, third name down. She was right there. The last text exchanged between them was “miss you.” See from the home screen, you cannot tell who sent it, just what it said. He was snoring so loudly. I had to look. I had to see. Did he send that?? Did she? When? Why? So I went in. Next thing I know, I have read a month and a half of daily messages and I do not feel well. Wait, I feel like utter shit. Oh fuck, get up, run, quietly, run. I had barely managed to shut the bathroom door as my guts came spewing out. For the first time ever, I fully understood what “sickening” meant. I had used the expression several times before. “This makes me sick.” I had no idea what it meant. See this is how important words are. I had consistently over-exaggerated my feelings of disgust. This was the first time I understood the expression and I hated it. How could he? How did he dare? Calling her baby, calling her his. I had to go back, I had to check again. Was this all a nightmare? I am going to wake up anytime soon, right? This cannot be happening.
“I keep comparing this chick to you. She will never match up. So boring. No chance.”
Nope there it was, in real life, shining at me through the darkness. Black on white. Words set in writing, definite, cold, painful, sickening. I need to take a break even as I sit here writing this. That feeling haunts me to this day. What was I supposed to do? It was now 6:30am, still pitch black outside. I tried to make myself as small as physically possible in the bed. There was no waking him in this state. And what was I going to do? Kick all three of them out in the middle of the night? How could he?? Was he fucking kidding me? The fucking liar. I was so disgusted. I want to hit him. I want to spit on him. There were so many messages, so many innuendos. It was so insulting. How dare he even mention me to her?? Who the fuck is this cunt? I tried to fall asleep, to hopelessly make it stop. Sleep would be my release. Time would fly. That’s it Christine, just sleep. His snoring was like the dagger in my heart, consistently poking at it, twisting and turning, rhythmically, ensuring I could not breath. SHUT THE FUCK UP! I screeched inside my soul. I had to keep fighting the gagging that would not stop. And so I lived through to 8am, when one of his buddies got up and asked me for directions home.
When I walked back in the room, he felt me get back into bed, through his intoxicated, sleep haze. “Come here.” He tried to hug me. “Don’t fucking touch me.” Confused half asleep look ensued. “I did something bad last night, so don’t fucking touch me right now.” “What?” “I read your messages.” Pause.
“So aren’t you gonna say anything?” He asked. “Well, it’s disgusting and you’re a fucking liar.” Pause. He got up and angrily walked to the bathroom. When he came back in, he was packing up, drunkenly insisting he was going to leave; I was never going to believe him; it was no use. “Well if you want to leave and give up this is your cue. But I’m sitting here asking you what the fuck is going on. So if you wish to dignify me an explanation, I’m all ears.” And then he proceeded to give me an explanation, so plausible, yet so easy that you begin to slowly hate yourself for being in your own shoes and having to make choices. So I sat in silence, contemplating my options. I looked up at this man who had done little but lift me up and smash me back down. How could I have hurt so much from this one man and still be looking at him? Hours prior I had felt more hatred and disgust towards him than I thought I was even capable of for anyone. Could I believe him? Could I take the risk of being the biggest idiot, fool the world had ever seen? Was it possible that he was so fucked up as to not realize what he had been doing to me? Kick him out and it’s over forever.
We argued for hours. His buddy left half way through, probably having no clue of what was going on, since I had miraculously managed to keep it down. I asked questions, he answered them. Always giving me enough to believe, not enough to reassure. He apologized profusely. He did not beg. He just stated and felt bad for me. He felt bad I had to go through that. Did he feel bad about doing it? He did much later, but probably not that instant. I was tired. I could not argue anymore. I couldn’t think anymore. I was delusional from emotion and lack of sleep. I have never been so confused in my life.
So we paused. We paused life and watched Back to the Future. We had sex several times. It was the best afternoon we had had since before the summer. The whole time we had been back together had been so difficult and tedious. That afternoon, it felt like we finally had some release. He looked and felt relieved. Relieved that I had found out, relieved that someone knew the depth of the shit he had gotten himself in. This made me want to believe him. He did not say anything to make me feel this way. There was just something about his behavior, his touch that felt like he was relieved. He looked like for the first time in a while the stinky, disgusting, horrifying mess he had made was on the table. It was manifest and someone was there to accept him and recognize he was a human being that had just majorly fucked up and had to start facing it. I did not trust him. I would not for a long time. I hated him for what he had done to me and the thought of it still makes me very angry. He left in the evening. I fell asleep quite fast. Sleep, finally. The next morning I realized sleep was no safe zone either. The dreams I had that entire week will probably haunt me forever. It felt like my subconscious was trying to tell me: “yes, Christine, that was rock bottom.”
But we had the best day…