Honesty is required in any relationship that I’m involved in, no matter what capacity. It is the best policy but it doesn’t mean it can’t hurt; I learned the hard way.
He had been acting funny, but I could not put my finger on it. His being, everything about him was just off. Not knowing what to say I remained silent because my thoughts were scrambled and I couldn’t pinpoint the actual issue in the first place. I waited. And one day I got my answer.
He texted me telling me he wanted to go to dinner. We went, we ate, shared laughs and had a seemingly good time. The only problem was that my anxiety was increasing there was something that he wanted to tell me. I had no idea if it was good or bad but I didn’t want to know.
We went back to his place and I sat in my favorite spot: The corner of the couch. He let out a heavy sigh and sat next me. I want to vomit. It’s bad. I know it’s bad. He’s going to dump me, but what did I do? “Can you look at me?” I was in such deep thought, playing all of these scenarios in my head the sound of his voice made me jump. I turned to him, folding my legs under me. “What is the matter?” I whimpered, before holding my breath. I squeezed my eyes shut waiting for his truth to smack in the face. “I cheated. I cheated on you and I can’t keep acting like it ain’t happen.” I heard his words. Didn’t get the message though, because I was too busy trying to find a trash bin, a toilet, something to vomit in. He found me in the kitchen sitting in a chair with my head over the trash bin, wheezing, gagging, letting it all sink in. He got me a glass of water with lemon and rubbed my back. “Don’t touch me.” Everything stopped I could hear my heart beating. I made my way to the shower and took off my shoes. I wanted to get clean. I needed to wash the dirty truth off of me. The water was ice cold. They say cold water energizes you but, I wanted hot water to tear into my skin. I wanted to be punished for loving someone that could do this to me.
I only now realize that he waited for two hours for me to finally get the courage to walk out of the bathroom. I was naked and drenched. He wrapped the towel around my body and pulled me close. “I don’t want you to touch me. Please.” I walked past him and made my way to his room. I grabbed one of his t-shirts from his drawer and put it on.
“I want the truth. What happened? I want the details. All of them.” I can’t tell you why I asked. I was already wounded. Why not turn the knife? I craved his words, I was thirsty for his romance with another woman. Did he treat her better than me? Was he more audacious in bed? Why her? What made her special enough to get his attention? He looked my in my eye and told me about their date, the sex, the fallout when he told her I existed. I took it in – the fact that I wasn’t the only one hurting. He was hurting, she was hurting and so was I. She shared her body with him. They’d talked on the phone for days leading up to their date. She most likely developed feelings for him, I feel her pain. We were both betrayed. I compared myself to her for weeks, for months. I’d probably met her before. How many times had we walked past each other on the street?
I fell asleep that night, replaying those details, dreaming about his date with her. When I woke up I knew it was over and so did he. I got my stuff and walked out. We haven’t communicated since then.
I never got to thank him for breaking my heart.