I got happy/sad when he said he was leaving. Happy/sad in that way I get whenever something I’ve been really conniving about works.
I’d been pushing him away in a million obvious and several thousand less-obvious-but-not-exactly-subtle ways. Every morning, I made coffee for one; I hadn’t asked him for his half of the bills in months; I never went to bed at the same time as him; I wouldn’t kiss him before, after or during sex; I left empty boxes of tampons all over the apartment; I’d vacuum when he was napping; I constantly threw away his Brie before it was bad; eventually, I had to ask him to stop singing in the shower.
After over a year of tolerating his voice, his doo-wop as he soaped himself up—doo-wop, which cracked and pattered with the logic of a bonfire—I pulled open the shower curtain and said, “Please stop.”
I hated it, I said. It was driving me crazy, creating knots in my shoulders, unleashing toxins that my brain had managed to bury deep in my anatomy beneath trans-fats and chewing gum.
“You used to love it,” he said, in a sad little boy way, shampoo about to drip into his eyes.
“I used to lie.” I had to be cruel. And since I hate being cruel, I had to be somebody I hated.
He nodded and said, “Sure.” Like it was his idea to stop in the first place.
But he was too sweet to notice anything, except my hair. He’d loved my long hair like it was mother’s milk. He’d draped a strand across his chest every night. Petted it as he sank into sleep with a quiver. It was his security blanket and mine was my hand buried under the stomach of Brown, my cat. Brown slept at my side like he’d been trained to since he was so tiny I was afraid I’d crush him. That’s how we all slept every night until I went away for work one weekend.
I knew he loved my hair more than anything. It was dead. It was easy to love, I figured. So one, day without permission, without warning, without much thought at all, I decided to chop it off.
“How do you want it, honey?” Raoul—the dark, fey, some-type-of-minority Supercutter who drew my name on a ticket—asked.
“Off at the chin,” I said and began to tear up, which made Raoul instantly love me. By the end he was sure I was doing the right thing, an he thought I had to push him away as nicely and quickly as possible for my “healthiness.”
Also, Raoul thought I looked “too too hot” with my new short hair. “It sharpens your chin, makes your eyes sexy as hell,” he told me as I slipped him a ten, which was the biggest tip he’d ever gotten. I hoped that all he had done was make me look more like a boy. I hugged Raoul, and as I did, I cried, cried so much I had to apologize.
Raoul grabbed my hand. “Don’t worry, honey. Tears are fantastic for my skin.”
But it didn’t work.
When I got home, he stared at me for a full minute. Then he had me stand right under a lamp, so he could interrogate it, strand by strand. Then he professed undying affection for my new hairstyle in the most sincere tone of voice I’d ever heard. His tone made Mr. Rogers sound like an insincere prick. He’d won again.
When we first met he’d made me promise not to ever cut it. He did it every time right before he went down on me. The one part of sex he was good at.
And I had disobeyed that, violated our oral contract, betrayed him. And what did he do? He fell in love with me all over again. It was even worse than the first time. He took pictures of me from every angle. The printouts were all over the house. He framed several. He made screensavers of me. He begged me never to grow my hair long again and turned every day into a decision. A decision I couldn’t make.
Whenever he was nice, I got sadder. I couldn’t be cruel enough. So, I had to think about Brown. I had to think about that Monday morning when the taxi dropped me off. A fading pink flyer with a staple through Brown’s nose, dangling off a telephone pole. It was the picture of Brown I loved, the one where he was smiling. A picture I’d been edited out of. We never saw Brown again.
He had no idea how the cat got out. He looked everywhere at all hours and cried about it every night for a week until I said I’d forgiven him. Then it was like Brown never existed. He was just gone.
A few weeks after my haircut, I didn’t come home all weekend, just stayed at my sister’s. I showed up Monday night, and he started apologizing. When I forgave him, he invented new things to apologize for, but he couldn’t do anything wrong. That was really the problem. That was really painful thing. Painful in that ironic way. Like I knew I wasn’t in any real pain and he was, and that was the painful part.
He just needed to leave, and I wanted to stay because the less I loved him, the more I loved our little apartment. He’d found it, but it’d become mine. The chances of finding freeway-adjacent hardwood floors with central air, a little garden that allowed pets seemed infinitely lower than the chances of falling in love with another sad guy. And I could live without love. My apartment was something else; it took the thought of losing it to make me see that. Whenever I thought about having to leave, I had to swallow or walk out of the room. I had to contain myself, so I wouldn’t just tell him to take his Barcalounger, his two framed Diego Rivera prints, his ice cream scooper and go.
“Are you sleeping with someone?” he finally asked, first thing in the morning, right at six AM, right as the alarm went off.
“Why?” I asked, turning into my pillow, staring off aimlessly as I imagined ruined women had to, unable to just say the truth: no. Even the idea of sex with another man repulsed me because I knew it would just make me think of him becoming sadder and sadder until he’d just cry tears out every pore. Tears that wouldn’t stop.
Just cry. And leave.
“I don’t know. Sorry,” he said, jumping out of bed and pulling his jeans on. He began wearing a shirt to bed a few weeks after I stopped sleeping nude. I considered buying him pajamas around then—those long-sleeve pajamas dads used to have to wear. But even that was too much of a mixed message. It was still a gift.
So, we lived in limbo, like that was making things easier for either than us. But it was. It was easier than talking about it. That talk was what I lived to avoid.
And then when he stopped trying. He was almost cute again, but I knew it was coming. All the pictures of me had disappeared. He was packing.
As it got closer to that moment, I couldn’t eat. On the actual day, I couldn’t even drink water. I didn’t want anything in my body.
He asked me to sit down. Then he told me he was going, and it was over.
I nodded at him, as serious as a nod could be.
Half of my brain had forgotten the last four months and almost slipped into the “being rejected” mode. I nearly told him everything. But then he took his hand in mine and stared at my eyes, intent on me seeing his tears forming. The other half of my brain, I’ll call it the happy half, felt his spongy hands smearing his sweat into me. The happy half told me, “Don’t cry. Don’t yell. Don’t be too serious. Don’t be glib. Don’t smile. Just nod.”
He was looking for something, anything inside of me to hold on to.
And he kept staring and staring and staring saying with his eyes what he finally had to say with words: “So, I guess you have nothing to say?”
“I hope you have a nice life.” It was the most sincere thing I’d ever said. I made Mr. Rogers sound like a selfish prick.
“That’s what I was afraid you’d say,” he said.
This story was inspired by Jeff Hurlow’s Myspace Portrait Project.
71 comments ↓
You selfish bitch. Why couldn’t you have been honest with the guy? Stringing him on like that because you liked the apartment more than him? He should have kicked you out.
If he found the apartment, how had it become yours?
Man, that is one pathetic guy. I think I was that guy one time…
The sad part of this story is as i was reading it i felt like emailing it o my Girlfriend, i am that guy
Superb piece of writing… highly evocative.
Fucking hell, Jason. You can imagine people being like that?
I like speculation about my imagination.
Ah what a bitch. Pray that you won’t meet him in a couple of years. He’ll be making out way better than you. In both senses.
I’d kill that bitch and stuff her body up in a cottonwood tree.
Yeah bitch, snatch her ass in a bear trap, have her swingin’ from a tree so high, nobody find her for days, glock glock, know what I’m sayin. Dumb ass bitch playing *bleep* damn.
you are every man’s ex wife
I’ve met her. Unfortunately, several times. I think Jason’s met someone like her too. In fact, I think she’s a composite.
Everything that a women does is a test. Nothing is as it seems. A man can be “too nice” and “not caring enough” in the same moment. The reason that women want a man to be a mind-reader is because a woman’s mind is constantly changing.
Most women don’t want a man who “needs” them too much or is too engrossed. She loses respect. And a woman can’t love a man that she doesn’t respect.
To the previous poster, Ibod. Violence is uncool. Get help.
Adam Beck - I feel your pain. I am that guy too
I’ve been this girl. I’ve been that guy, too. This is a brilliant piece. The key to it all, I think, is the word “everything,” second line, fifth to last paragraph. Gorgeous.
Instead of being totally passive aggressive, she should have just told him the truth about what’s really going on. I’ve met a guy like her, having a PA partner really rips you up inside. I know it’s just a story but kudos to the guy for taking initiative. He’s the bigger person.
B#&% I would have kicked your ass out as soon as you wouldn’t get in bed when I tell you to
Way to rip lyrics from a Weezer song, then not give credit.
I was that girl this time two years ago, its difficult to tell someone you love them but you need space.
Its difficult to explain to someone that they need to leave, just because.
It isn’t enough that she hates herself that everyone else has to hate her too?
and this is why every man should be a complete asshole to chicks for a week out of every month. It keeps them off balance and for some reason, the chicks need it. If you’re too nice, they walk all over you. So remember; romance gets the girl, but being an asshole keeps her around.
Interesting story of losing attraction for someone. I have to say it rings true in a lot of weird ways, even if it isn’t kind. - Eric MOnse
proof of what I learned a long time ago. The more you treat women like shit the longer they’ll like you.
I was that guy…when it ended I became a better person. I thank her for that silently in my mind every time she calls me and tries to get together.
I’ve been that guy, fortunately, she wasn’t that girl. We’re still some vague kind of friends.
Nice piece.
Everyone wants honesty in relationships, but there’s a reason nobody really has it.
Imagine if she’d just flat out told him to leave right at the beginning. A guy like that would want to know why and then would try to fix it, appearing again and again to say “what about if I change this? or this?” etc.
Making coffee for one is a little too subtle, though. You probably could have just conspicuously lost interest in everything he said and did, acted bored with him, refused him sex, and stayed out late without him or over weekends away at your sister’s or friends’ place. You can send strong messages without just telling him.
He’s your ex though, so you’d know him best. I wish relationships weren’t like this… I’ll have to be mean to my girlfriend for about a week now.
I have less respect for the entire female gender after reading this story, even though I know that’s not rational. It has made my mind uglier. I am angry at these characters and at everyone in the world who resembles them.
It seems to be a bizarre, morbid truth that the biggest mistake you can ever make in life is loving a woman unconditionally. Why is that?
I’ve also seen examples of where women fall over themselves for a guy who is a complete and utter prick to them, even to the point where they beat them so hard that they lose their child.
Then I go: now wait a minute, who’s the psycho here.
I’d love to love a woman without a care in the world. The sad thing is that my baseline temperament is very even and I have rivers of patience with people. It’s just an accident waiting to happen. I miss not having a significant other, but I certainly have enough self-respect that I would never tolerate this kind of treatment.
Either love me or stay out of my life. If a woman wants to play mindgames, I can do that too. But it would not be pretty. I play for keeps, I don’t fake it, I play to win. It would not be pretty at all.
And all I’m looking for is someone who knows how to enjoy dandelion wine and the slow flowing river of life. I ask too much, as per usual.
booooorrrinnng.
You’re a passive-aggressive bitch who needs some serious therapy.
You’re dishonest with others because you’re not honest with yourself about your manipulative, self-centered behavior.
Instead of playing “find the clues” Sherlock Shithead, perhaps you should just be honest with your partner from the get-go.
That would save everyone involved a lot of unnecessary time and energy playing the mind-games you’ve invented to cushion yourself from the harsh responsibilities that come with romantic relationships.
i can’t believe how awful a person you are.
Are you my x-wife? Is this us? We don’t have a cat named Brown (stupid name). I am/was absolutely this guy, not sure if I still am or if I ever want a relationship again. I don’t even know how not to be “too nice” so I’m fucked, I suppose.
Got to say though I’m diggin’ my emotional self reliance and she’s lost what little she had.
I’ve been there too.
Something was up and she wouldn’t say. Admitted to nothing, wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t communicate. I knew it was over but tried to figure out why, tried to fix it. I know I was a bit of a pushover, but she took it to the next level, demanding attention and trips on vacation then not speaking to me. It was a relief when we broke up but I still don’t understand her thought process, though I realize that so much of what we as humans do is driven by chemical signals that we attempt to rationalize after the fact.
I think in the time since I’ve become much more of an asshole, telling my partner what I want and when and ending it if that’s not what I get or if it even smells like she’s playing mind games. I’ve left a girlfriend after a month for asking me what I thought she was thinking. But really it surprised me how many women are comfortable with this arrangement. I mean I’m disappointed that I can’t have a relationship of equals with a woman anymore, but that’s what guy friends are for.
Very well written. Good or bad, relationships are incredible.
Male version of this:
“I’m breaking up with you.”
It rocks to be a man.
Women.
ZZZZZZZZZzzzzz…
It’s not enough that she hates herself. She hates herself and behaves this way because she is a profoundly stupid, self centered, egotistical, drama queen.
American women suck. I can’t say it enough. American men, look elsewhere for a bride and mother of your children or you’ll suffer.
This is why honesty is more important that anything else in a relationship. If we could focus half of the energy we spend in hiding things from people on telling them how we actually feel, we would be able to avoid the dramatized unwinding of friendship played out in this short story. If nothing else, when it’s time to separate, you will both know and avoid much of the pain associated with a break up.
I was this guy once. Man, I was a real pussy. And to a girl named Courtney too. Holy shit, what if it’s the same Courtney from up there? That’s freaky.
I want to get rid of my girlfriend, but the subtle hints don’t seem to be working. I’ve tried leaving the toilet seat up, blocking Dr. Phil and the View on the satellite, faking my orgasms (peeing), and setting hardcore porn as my desktop wallpaper … she just doesn’t seem to get the message. What is wrong with her? Certainly it isn’t the fact that I’m too big of a pussy to just come out and say “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE YOU SELF-CENTERED SOULLESS CUNT”… it must be her.
Drew wrote:
“Ah what a bitch. Pray that you won’t meet him in a couple of years. He’ll be making out way better than you. In both senses.”
Yeah, my ex wife did stuff along the same lines as this girl. She was selfish, and wanted to get rid of me, but keep her lexus and big house (filled with expensive furniture I had worked 7 years to pay for). After all her mind games didn’t work, she kicked me out, tryed to ruin my life. That didn’t work either. Now she’s living with her parents in a tiny bedroom. Her lexus got repoed. She lost almost all her furniture due to a fuck up on her part with the moving company.
)
I on the other hand, and having the time of my life. Pursing my dreams of writing and being a rockstar…and going out with girls half my age, waaaay hotter than her. (and my ex was borderline model material
A truly powerful piece of writing. The fact that so many people are becoming introspective enough to see how they relate to the situation expressed, it just goes to show what an effective piece of literature can do. Thank you for an interesting few moments of soul searching.
Oh my god. I don’t even know what to say.
what a bitch. self centered asshole who’d sell her own baby for some comforting ice cream. good writing though.
fortunately, I am totally happy with my relationship right now. but I’ve always been terrified that my life will turn out this way or similarly.
I think they boyfriend probably killed the cat because he was jealous. Also, nice job on communication there, how easy it must have been on you!
I really enjoy how many people do not understand that the author of this is a male.
“HAY UR A BITCH GIRLFREND”.
Nice piece, Jason. Reminded me of myself at 21.
This is fiction right? Some people think it’s real. Anyway it’s well written. I find it incredible how stupid the woman is (even for a character). I mean shit, if she wanted to break-up so bad why not just tell him to “get the fuck out” and be done with it? …Then you wouldn’t have a story to write I suppose.
Perhaps its simply mirroring real life. Women behaving like some men have for years. Its a sad comment on our modern throw away society.
I was that girl a year ago… That was my ex.. right down to him losing my fucking dog when I was at work.
Excellent writing.
The bloke might have been a bit pathetic, but the way you treated him was an order of magnitude more pathetic.
How spineless are you to be able not end the relationship yourself?
This is how all the nice guys girls are always asking about (where are all the nice guys? I can’t find one!) become jerks.
I used to be a nice guy. She divorced me. Now, I’m a jerk and I get laid anytime I want and have more women than I know what to do with.
I don’t know why, but women like you seem to need to be treated like shit some portion of the time.
OK, girl, you got it. And you’re Karma will make sure you never get another nice guy. You’ll get a guy like me.
So, wanna fuck?
This selfish twat is a product of liberal feminism.
ruining families… a never ending cycle
I’ve been treated like this but instead of getting drawn out relationships full of passive aggressiveness, I just end them myself because I’m perceptive enough to see it happening.
I refuse to change my behavior though.. I’m not going to treat a girl like crap just because she treats me like crap. That would be letting the terrorists win. Will I always be single (or in the friend zone) due to this principle of mine? Maybe. But if that’s the price I have to pay, so be it.
Girls LOVE to be my friend but I don’t really have time for friends. It seems like as soon as it gets remotely romantic, they need a guy to abuse them. But it’s not a one time thing - it’s continual never ending abuse. I’d rather be single than put on that show.
So girls, if you’re looking for a nice guy, I’m the nicest. But you only get 1 fuckup and then you’re dumped forever. Next time you find yourself testing a guy, think about that. A man worth anything is not going to give you a second chance.
This is FICTION children. Why are you calling people names? You do know what fiction means, right?
Awesome.
You are one fucked up bitch.
You’ll die cold and alone. Not even your cat liked you, that’s why it left.
If your relationship is falling apart have the decency to tell the guy that you want it to end. Don’t be so greedy and make the whole thing about you and your oh-so-important apartment.
Worthless cunt.
Great fiction, boyo. Very based in real life, and I’m glad that you use your writing as a way of holding up a mirror to society; I try to do the same.
one coward and one panzy, nice combination..
I love the maturity of the comments on this webpage: as if noone knew relationships were more complicated than “killing a bitch,” as if noone has actually had a damn relationship.
Sweet sassy-molassey. You are a terrible human being.
Great piece of fiction. Characters are rich and believable without needing to give any real substance to who they are or what they do outside the relationship.
To everyone who thinks this was non-fiction: You’ve likely dated someone like this (either male or female) and not known it. A lot of people are like this fictional couple.
Great piece of writing! Superb!
I’ll take him. you are a bitch.
A tale of a wildly psychotic, pathetic passive agressive whore who blames her childish destructive need for strange cock on the man stupid enough to put up with her lame bitch ass.
Typical.
If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you know that you wrote this out of guilt. Even if you have not yet admitted it to yourself. It is your humanity crying out for redemtion. No matter what others or you yourself think, you are not a monster. At the end of all of this, I highly doubt, however, that you are happy. Building hapiness off of anothers misery can only ever lead to misery. I wish to you both the best of luck.
Yawn.
Passive Agressive people make wonderful writers!
Both men and women can be unpleasant, passive-agressive creatures. Maybe you shouldn’t move in with the first warm body that presents itself. If you do, maybe you shouldn’t be surprised when the relationship doesn’t work as well as you’d hoped. If all you want is a roommate who pays half the bills and offers sexual favors, maybe you should write up a contract for services rendered and not try to call it love. Comment #45/Bug sums it up nicely.
Loved it. Its such a sad situation, but i am far from thinking the female character is a horrible bitch that should die… Falling out of love with someone who still loves you doesn’t make you a horrible person now matter how you go about the breakup. The other person would be crushed either way.
Wow, spineless, shallow bitch resorts to passive agressive behavior due to an acute lack of courage.
WHAT WILL THEY THINK OF NEXT?
You’re a sad human being. I pity you.
What a disgusting story.
I’m actually amazed how many people throughout this whole string of comments didn’t notice its fiction…
Good story.
Eamon: Doesn’t really matter if its fiction. It happens, exactly like this, and its sad. In fact to my best friend.