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December 8, 2011
Our long-distance relationship ended suddenly. Early in the morning she called me seemingly out of the blue. I'd known that she'd gone out for drink specials the night before, but I hadn't known that she'd spent the night going down on a stranger who'd brought her home.
I spent the last two weeks of school in a daze. There'd been very little indication that anything was wrong, even looking back on the time leading up to her infidelity. I'd been totally and completely in love with this girl.
I blocked her out of my life, and tried to return to some semblance of normalcy.
I blocked her out of my life, and tried to return to some semblance of normalcy. I buried my grief in the sheets of every woman I could sleep with, while smoking and drinking more than I had in a long time. Outwardly I was normal, and had started to be able to function again. But when I headed to a new school that fall — one she also attended — it all came rushing back. Driving past her apartment reminded me of our lazy days spent finishing a box of condoms in a weekend.
More importantly, I was still having nightmares. It'd been five months at this point, but I still woke up in a cold sweat after dreams of us being together. Ignoring her just wasn't working. I called her, and we got coffee. We caught up on each others lives, only lightly touching on what had happened.
She invited me to a wine night with her and her roommate later on that week. After a couple of glasses, our handholding turned into a makeout session in her shower. Throughout the rest of our sexual encounter she asked jealous questions about how many people I'd been with, and whispered things like "I missed this so much," and "there's been nobody as good as you." Even in the heat of the moment, I knew she was lying. When I woke up the next morning, I had a moment of clarity. I put my clothes on and left.
Afterward, I didn't answer any texts or Facebook messages. My ex had decided that a night of being fingered by a frat boy was more important than my family, my friends, and me. No matter how much nostalgia I had for aspects of our relationship, my slip-up wasn't worth it. I needed to keep the little self-respect I had left.
— Ryan
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Commentarium (6 Comments)
Ah man, if the call for these stories had come six months from now I might've had something really special to share.
These are all really good though. Enjoyed each and every one of them. Complex subject and fittingly complex emotions for the stories about it.
A little background: in high school, five of my friends died in drunk driving accidents. Another of my close friends is missing a large chunk of intestines from when a drunken lady friend wrapped them both around a telephone pole in his camaro. My grandfather and my father are both inveterate alcoholics--I wrote my grandfather out of my life after he left me stranded at a debate competition, he was on his way to pick me up when he was pulled over and arrested for driving drunk. To say I'm a little paranoid about drunk driving is putting it lightly: I won't drive after having had a even a single beer, and I'm leery of letting any of my friends drive after drinking, even if they're probably under the legal limit. I drink like a fish though, and I have no problems with boozing or drug use as long as there's no driving involved. Summer into junior year of college, I dated a townie named "Tom". We had met at work three years prior, but both of us had always been in a relationship and then he transferred to a different location. That summer, I ran into him on campus and we started hanging out... and by hanging out, I mean the first night we spent together ended up being in my bed as we talked and made out until dawn. We didn't actually have sex until two months later, but our relationship was crazy intense, at least for me. Things changed gradually and Tom seemed more interested in partying with my friends than in just hanging out, but whatever. One thursday night, Tom was hanging out at my house as the 7 other people I lived with got ready to head out to the bars for the night. I lived with all seniors, so they didn't really have any work to speak of. On the other hand, I had an intense assignment due the next day at 8am. Tom pouted and wanted to go out, I shrugged and told him to go have a good time--I had homework to do anyways. I had one condition : come back after the bar so we fuck. Sexin' is a major source of stress relief for me. Apparently, my friends gave Tom an intense amount of shit all the way to the bar for ditching me to hang out with them... none of them particularly liked him. Tom got angry, came back to the house, got his car, and went home. I finished my project at around 2 am. Bars close at 1 around here, but it's not uncommon for people to head out to house parties after. One by one my room mates straggle home, but no Tom. I'm getting increasingly worried about him. I texted him, no response. It's 4 am. It's 5 am. It's 6 am. There's no answer. Tom was a heavy drinker and prone to starting shit when drunk. I was freaking out. I called the nearest local hospitals, and then I called the drunk tank in my town, and in Tom's. Tom finally gets back to me the next day, says he got mad at my house mates and decided to go home. Even though he parked his car at my house, knew I was expecting him later that night, and was aware of how weird I was about drunk driving, he decided to just disappear. Then he told me I was overreacting and criticized the close friends I lived with for not being nice enough to him. I promptly dumped him. I couldn't go through another night agonizing over whether he was alive or dead, and I refused to stay with a man who didn't care enough about me not to make me worry like that. The next week, he asked if he could come watch walking dead at my house since he didn't have cable at his. We ended up fucking and getting back together. The sex was as good as it had always been, but I didn't trust him anymore and I think he was hurt that I would cut him off so quickly. A week after we got back together, Tom told he was getting off work early and asked if I wanted to see him. I was out with friends, but I said yes nonetheless. Tom worked weekends as a short order cook at a pub near his house, and he was apparently sauced after his shift. He got into a minor accident, it had been raining and after a particularly sharp turn his car spun out into a ditch. Again, I waited all night for him to show up. He didn't, he claimed his phone had died or some such shit and sent me pictures of his car in a ditch. I promptly dumped him again (for good this time). When he picked up his stuff from my house a couple days later, I looked at the bruises on his face and wondered what I had ever seen there.
Lol @ me for reading this.
@Yawn, I second that sentiment. I feel like I should get to lock the OP in a car driven by a drunk for the same amount of time it took me to read this crap!
love this. all of them
Man, the last sentence of this is such a beautiful image.