On The Floor Part 2

    Google has implemented a very useful feature if you use Gmail. It’s a tool that forces you to solve math problems that are incredibly difficult when you’re intoxicated. This prevents you from drunk emailing people things that you would most likely regret the next morning. How do we get this tool implemented for text messaging?

I sent the text that I knew I shouldn’t have. I was opening a can of worms that would probably be best left on the back shelf of some barnyard pantry. I wasn’t sure if I would get a response from The Devil, though I obviously wanted one. What I didn’t expect was to start a small war: Battle of the texts!

“You left me.”

That just set me off. I left The Devil for treating me like crap, which is probably the smartest thing I’ve done in this relationship to date. Don’t get me wrong, when we’re behind closed doors, The Devil treats me pretty well. I don’t know if it’s because he’s been screwed over in the past, or if he just doesn’t want anyone to see him acting like the romantic comedy he wants to be. I’m just so tired of this push-pull game that we’ve been playing. I don’t have the energy to keep up with the constant turn-arounds. 

After several hours of messages I ended up with a bruised fist from punching the wall and a bloody arm from my encounter with a kitchen knife. Not something I’m proud of but I literally went off the deep end. In the past I’ve used my best friend Rachael to help talk out my craziness. With her living on the other side of the country I’m left to trudge through the complicated mess inside my head alone. In the end, after all the drama I ended up in The Devil’s bed. Something I still haven’t admitted to my friends, knowing I would never hear the end of it.

Why do I do it? I keep asking myself this question. I’ve yet to reach an answer. I think it has something to do with Jerome. Three years ago I ended a perfect (literally perfect) relationship with Jerome, whom I had been with for a year. My reasoning was that everything was so perfect I wanted to pull my hair out. I was bored out of my mind. Had I known that I would spend the next two years mourning this relationship I may have made a different decision. The Devil is the first guy I’ve had the love feelings for since Jerome. This is the only reason I can think of for not throwing in the towel. It has to be worth it at some point, right?

For now there’s no definite future with The Devil, we’re heading in opposite directions. I’m choosing to not classify us as anything more than “fun” for now. If I put the relationship status back on us I’ll get sucked into the jealousy trap again. Here we go again.

On The Floor Part 1

I don’t think that I’ve learned anything from my time with The Devil. Well, I have learned one thing: I’ve learned that I need to build walls that are bigger. They should be ten feet taller than they are, strung with barbed wire and tapped into an anti-jerk supply.

Things were finally going just how I wanted them to. The Devil was acting like my boyfriend and not the guy that f**ks me. We were going out together, doing couple things, he was even introducing me to his friends as his boyfriend. He almost gave me a stroke when he held my hand walking down the street. I do have to say that hand holding is a bit much even for me. I’m not so much into the public affection thing. I mean maybe if you get me drunk, but that’s mostly just to offend people on the street.

Three long nights of clubs, friends and fun all seemed to be the turning point. It was like The Devil had reverted back into the person he had once professed to be. On a lighter note: We’re very different people when it comes to the club scene. Give me a drink, a dance floor and some top 40’s hits. Give The Devil a drink and a dark corner to stand in. I thought it was important to show that there’s been a little more to us than the parade of endless drama.

Then again, I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I talked to my roomie about the turn around with The Devil, talking about him has become a topic of obsession. As I told her how great things were I knew in the back of my mind that it probably wasn’t going to last. Do I even need to say it? I was right.

Let’s get to it. I’m a jealous person, that’s a fact. The Devil is just as jealous, if not worse. I don’t know how to jealous people are supposed to have an open relationship. I’ve managed to hide my jealousy from The Devil, but it finally caught up with me. I can’t understand how someone that says he loves me wants to sleep with everyone else. Is it me, or is that a contradiction? As a Virgo that drives me nuts. I ask myself: Why am I not enough? Why isn’t he interested in me? Does he really love me? Does he think I’m as hot as the guys he’s looking at? Mostly neurotic insecurities, but my brain chooses to ignore logic in this instance. 

The day came when I woke up knowing this relationship wasn’t going to work out. I knew that for my own sanity I should probably just end it. The Devil is always going to be promiscuous. He likes, and I quote, “variety”. I on the other hand want to know that if I’m not in my boyfriend’s bed, no one else is either. I got out of bed, dressed and left The Devil’s house; I was already irritated with him from the night before. He had hooked up with a guy in a bar bathroom and was mad at me because I played with a guy from the train on the same night. It’s an open relationship by his choice, see the problem? I spent the entire day trying to decide if I wanted to continue with this relationship. 

As evening set in I arrived home from a long day of running around and logged onto Facebook for some innocent conversation with friends and strangers. A week prior The Devil had changed his status on the site to say we were together. I had never mentioned him changing it, or anything of the sort, it was completely his thing. When I logged on I was greeted with no less than five emails asking why we had broken up. I was confused to say the least. That’s when I realized he had changed his status. I didn’t know if that meant he was done with me, or what; all I knew was that I had had more than enough. I sent him a text, being too angry to even hear his voice. I told him that I couldn’t do this and that I wasn’t interested in playing games with him anymore. I went over to his apartment, thank God his roommate was home, to retrieve my things.

It wasn’t until later that night, after several drinks that my feelings caught up with me. Suddenly I felt like I was making a mistake by leaving him, but I knew I couldn’t stand to be with him. I laid on the floor, my phone in hand, and a drink in the other. I typed through my beer goggles: I’ll miss you for a very long time. I just want you to know that.

It's All Your Fault

At last glance it seemed that The Devil and I were finished, but it may have just been half time. After my meltdown a few nights went by before I was again invited over. With this sleepover there was the precursor that we would not be having sex, probably not a bad idea. That didn’t stop me from questioning the intentions of The Devil. I mean, he invited me over with the “I miss you” and then he pushed me back with “it’s just a sleepover”. It feels unnerving to lie in the arms of the person that says they don’t want to be with you.

We spent three nights in the same bed with not so much as a kiss. For me this was just adding to the confusion. I was able to get a small break when he had to leave town for work, which happens often. Two nights before he was supposed to return I received a midnight message. He started back in on the: I miss you. It was what I wanted to hear, at the same time I wanted to put my hands around his throat. I was surprised when he asked if I had slept with anyone since the last time we had been together. In all honesty I hadn’t, my frustration and psycho spells with him had kept me so busy I hadn’t had the time to find anyone to play with. He assured me that he hadn’t been with anyone either, not that I had asked. (Note: I later found this out to be a lie.) Then he asked the question that will forever make me question if this is all just a game for him.

“Do you really care about me?”

Really? I mean, really? After everything that’s already happened and what I’ve let him put me through he needs to actually ask me if I care about him? I told him that I loved him and he told me he loved me too and that I should know that. My first reaction was surprise. How would I know that? Should I know The Devil loves me because he spends more time trying to hook up with barflies than he does with me? Maybe I should know by the way that I always have to seek him out. When I told him that I didn’t know, he was shocked to say the least. That was when I decided it was time to just lay the cards on the table and let him inside my head for a minute.

I told him that I felt like I was just a placeholder for the ex he was obviously not over. The Devil sent back a little frown face; did I mention this was all through text messaging? Talk about being disconnected. He assured me that he would get over the ex and that he had the love feelings even though he doesn’t say it often. Again, this is all exactly what I wanted to hear. 

When he finally arrived home we rented a movie and spent the night in. Typical. Until he mentioned that he wanted me to go do laundry with him the next day (he’s never done his own) I hadn’t realized that we had never actually spent any time together outside his bedroom, unless you count that one time at a bar. The next day I took the bait to do laundry together; I thought it was an excellent opportunity to get some answers. Then there was the answer I needed to hear but didn’t really want to know. 

“I’ll never get over the ex.”

There’s always the possibility of an ex haunting a relationship, but no one wants to acknowledge it. For now, I’m back in limbo. I have a feeling that the ex will come back into the picture or some cute guy will come along and The Devil will easily sway, there’s too much evidence supporting this idea. 

Scar

Having spent the past several days in a depression that felt like ice in the bottom of my stomach, I decided I needed to get out. One benefit of living in the city is that there will always be an endless supply of friends ready and willing to go play. I sent text messages to everyone that might be interested, receiving an overwhelming response.

My married friend was in the mood to go out. He is a very interesting character, in the sense that he is straight. Straight and has sex with guys, but his wife is aware of it. Weird, but who am I to judge? We headed to a jock bar in Chelsea, I’m a sucker for buff guys. Before we went out I had started drinking at home, a great way to pinch a few pennies. I managed to only buy one drink once we were at the bar. Upon leaving it was incredibly early for a New York night and we had to find somewhere else to go. I became distracted by the neon lights of a diner, and the dance club we were walking towards couldn’t have gone further from my mind.

The evening ended unexpectedly with us back at my place. I’ve known Married Man for about five years now, back when we both lived on the West Coast. My phone kept buzzing the entire time we had the lights out. I assumed the friend I had forgot to define plans with, had become irritated or drunk. I continued to ignore the buzzing for the entire two-hour period. As we redressed I looked down at my phone: The Devil.

I felt my heart plummet into my icy stomach; I wanted to scream. Reading the message was unavoidable; I had to know what he had to say after three days of silence.

“Um, so you’re on a date?!?!?!”
“Wow, ok cool. I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m really shocked.”
“:( I miss you”
“I give up. I f**ked up. Grr.”

Reading this all I wanted to do was call him. I put the phone down, not sure it was worth investing anymore of myself into it. In five short messages it had become apparent that The Devil did feel something. I sent a short message back: “Yeah, you f**ked up.” My phone rang. I held my breath before picking up. He wanted me to meet him at his apartment. I wanted to go over. He says he’s sorry, but will he still be sorry in the morning when the only part of tonight left is the vodka on his breath? I’m left asking myself, have I had enough?

Against my better judgment I trudged down the street. I didn’t know what was about to happen. The Devil did his best to joke around with me as if nothing had happened. I’m not a fan of forgive and forget. I am on the other hand a fan of; forgive but never forget. We lay there, The Devil, telling me I had to forgive him. I couldn’t even fake the words for him. Even though he was telling me what I wanted to hear, acting the way I wanted him to act, I knew that he would eventually re-open the scars that were already forming.

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

I decided to stick with my original excuse for leaving The Devil’s house in a rush a few evenings before. Sticking with the “sick” excuse was good enough for me, plus there was little room for questioning. Sometimes a little white lie is the smartest way to go.

Though we had only been seeing each other a very short time, a routine was already coming together. The Devil would chat online a little; I would read his magazines and point out funny things he had probably already seen. Later we would watch something on his laptop and then we would have a little sex. I thought the sex was good, though I could be wrong. It was suggested that we might need to spice things up. This coming from the man who told me after the first time we were together he had told his friends, “It was beautiful. It just flowed.” Once again with the confusing!

Our evening ended with The Devil telling me that he was telling people I was his boyfriend, then he said he loved me. I never thought I would hear these words again. The first time had been at the end of sex when we were both drunk. I took them for what I felt they meant then and discarded them; knowing for him they were probably nothing more than the drunken words of someone that had just cum. To hear him say it again pulled my heart back into the ring, the one place I didn’t want to see it.

The next two days were perfect. I felt like my personal life was coming into order after having spent three years in all but total chaos. Both nights with The Devil were right on target with our routine, he even suggested I bring cloths to get ready for work so I didn’t have to run home in the morning. I thought of that as a big step for someone who told me he was afraid to commit.

Things happen to me in groups of three. The third night was not as perfect as the two preceding it.

“I’m not ready for commitment. I just want to keep things the way they were, no expectations.”

This I received via instant message. To say I was pissed is about the understatement of my life. I vented my frustrations on The Devil. It was time to pick a side, no more of this one-day you want me and the next day you don’t. Love me, hate me, or go away. I don’t have the energy to bounce back and forth with a part-time boyfriend, full-time playboy.

So, with this fresh batch of jolt in me, I can’t say the walls aren’t growing thicker than ever. I think Fefe Dobson said it best:

Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s all I can say to you.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m so over you.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, now I’m hurting you.