June 24, 2012|
Just thought I'd share the latest goings-on with the blonde. It seems our relationship may have already peaked and is now deteriorating rapidly. At least that's what it seems like. I don't really know what my feelings are and which feelings have been pumped into me by my pianist friend who sees this whole situation in a very cynical and bright light.
Last night, the blonde and I were at a party. She was showing a gay friend pictures on her phone. The blonde didn't want me or another friend to see, but wasn't being discreet at all. I was sick of it and about to leave. Originally I was going to take her home to keep her ex-boyfriend from taking her home, since he always tends to drive drunk. But then it was arranged that she'd stay at that house so I headed out. She didn't bother saying goodbye once she had a place to stay, but once I was outside the house, discussing the matter with the pianist, the blonde texted me, begging me to take her home, to keep her from getting raped. Drunk babble. I agreed. A friend and the blonde's ex boyfriend were saying the blonde should stay, but she was kind of communicating to me that she wanted to leave. The ex called me bro when trying to tell me that the blonde was staying, and I said "I'm not your bro". Which I felt too aggressive about. So I followed up with, "I am iiv. And it's my birthday." I just got fed up with her ex always trying to take control of her, to treat her like an object for his enjoyment. I snuck out with the blonde, confronted her about the pictures, and she said it's someone she's been hooking up with. And that bothered me, but I couldn't be too bothered, because I figured all along that she might be having relations on the side. I always convinced myself of that anyway, even if the evidence was to the contrary, because I wanted to be prepared if it turned out to be true. So it turned out to be true, and the whole way back, I wanted to know who it was when finally she revealed that it was a longtime friend of hers, and hearing that, it didn't bother me at all anymore. Because that was understandable, that was something I could accept. At least for the time.
When we were upstairs in her bedroom, in the darkness, I was preparing to go to bed with her when she said there was another secret that was even worse. After much back and forth, she revealed that she had fucked her ex boyfriend once because he's hot and easy to have sex with. This was something else I anticipated, that I had "prepared" myself for. But I'm also not naive enough to think that any amount of preparation can steel a person for the reality. Nonetheless, it wasn't a shock. And it was actually a sort of relief, to hear that it was in fact not an ongoing thing, but rather something that happened once, that made her realize she didn't want to do it again.
She cried in my arms a lot that night, and I still don't know why. I don't know if it was guilt over "cheating" on me, the person she had no particular social contract with, or anguish over her own tendency to self-destruct. I kissed her, and then I fucked her, hard. I wasn't performing at my peak, but for the first time, I was really successfully fucking her, as opposed to the other times that I was too nervous to perform. I felt a sort of fucked up comfort in this situation, this situation where the pretty unattainable girl turned out to be as fucked up as all the other ones I've been with, to find out that the situation that was a source of so much anxiety was as fucked up as I thought, to have her finally drop the bullshit and tell me how much she liked me, like I inherently knew she did, that she liked me so much that she would wonder if she loved me. Her ex called at some point, sounding like a wounded puppy, trying to ask if he could come over. She answered "maybe some other time" or "maybe later" or something, and that sat in me like a calorie dense meal.
But, in a way, my relationship with her, for the first time, was right. It was wrong and dirty like all my other ones. It was normal to me, finally.
And in the morning, I still felt fine with it actually. I don't know if it was shock, or maybe it was simply perspective. I don't know. But then I talked to the pianist, who was first row witness to the emotional turmoil the girl had put me through. And he kind of replaced my idealism with cynicism, and I let him. She liked me, but she overstated her liking me because she wanted me to stay, because she's spoiled and wants what she wants, and doesn't think much of other people, and is willing to do what it takes to get what she wants. That our having an open relationship was in fact dishonest, because she didn't disclose to me her other partners, that she wasn't upfront about that, so she's a sneaky person. That she may like me, but she doesn't like me enough to stop trying to fuck around. And that went against everything I wanted to believe. That she likes me as much as she says but is trying to escape human emotions, that our relationship was in fact honest but she wanted to exercise discretion. That maybe it would evolve into something else.
I told her I don't know if I can keep doing what we're doing, and it hurt that she seemed ok with that. It hurts that she seems to be able to take or leave me. She said she didn't know if she'd have a monogamous relationship with me. I chose to take that as a "no". Because I don't feel like waiting for someone on a fence. I said I didn't feel that she respected me.
I choose to believe the drunk side of her, the side that tells me she likes me way too much, that she thinks she likes me more than I like her. I spent all of today with her, because I knew, that this may be a haze, the last day on Earth, caught up in my emotions about her so that I couldn't really see anything for what it is. Today was our last chance at being together, before the reality of the situation became overwhelming. She went down on me before we left the apartment, and that seemed like a strong argument in favor of me seeing the girl after this day.
We went to Pride, which was boring, but we didn't give it much chance. She was being affectionate when some people we knew, one of whom I used to fuck, came up to us. She didn't like that they saw us, an argument in favor of not seeing the girl after this day. The blonde and I wandered the city, we had a good time, we were affectionate. I intended to go through the day, experiencing it before logic took over, before fear took over. It was like a fog entrenching on us, a shadow over the horizon, but we couldn't see it for the time being.
I dropped my guard about mentioning other women, I mentioned how I have a friend who sometimes makes out with me out of nowhere, that some of the girls dressed revealingly were exciting to me. The blonde expressed a level of jealousy that seemed absent before, and that seemed nice. Going by my instincts, last night was a pivot point, a change. That our relationship was more honest, that it was changing to her realizing she likes me, that she would hold onto that, that we would perhaps begin dating instead of this pseudo-dating. My protection, my guard, it tells me that none of that is worth investing in.
On the bus ride back, we were leaning against each other, holding hands. Lovely. She made me food. We fell asleep. We woke up, she was texting. And then she wanted me to leave so she could focus on her homework. And that's when the fog rolled in. Why did she want me to leave so suddenly. Was she arranging for someone else to come over? Before it was only something I suspected, but now it was a possibility as real as her homework. Turned out she was texting the gay friend. But it was too late, the world we lived in had ended. I realized the acute pain of this relationship, of the uncertainty that was before was only suspicion. My paranoid and obsessive thoughts had become reality. And it became clear that what happened wasn't something in our past, it was something that would continue to happen. My old paranoid thoughts were now accompanied by knowledge of the reality. She asked me why I was quiet, if I was mad. I didn't wait for her to walk me out like normal, I just headed out and she came with me. She said something about me hating her and wanting to never see her again as I unlatched the door's lock. I spun around, hugged her, told her to have a good night, and left.
I listened to two tracks from the Castlevania: Lords of Shadow soundtrack on the way back. The End and Love Lost, and I felt for the first time like crying. As I approached my mother's house, I thought of how much it would suck to end the only thing that's ripped me from the confines of that place. Would it be worth putting myself through the pain and abuse for a chance at escaping home? The girl was always an escape.
As soon as I opened my MacBook Pro, the blonde began typing to me on Skype. "welcome home" she said. She was desperate to talk to me. Obviously. The open part of me told me that was because she adored me and couldn't stand to be without me. The other part, the one that desperately doesn't want to look stupid, that side told me she wanted only to hold onto the reigns of a situation that was running away from her.