That one fateful night turned into another and another and spun into a relationship of sorts. Not so much out of passion or romantic feeling -- Quite frankly we weren't much more compatible in bed than I'd soon find we were, out -- But more of a fulfilling of mutual needs in a couple of different realms. Emotionally, he needed to feel worthy and wanted, and I needed a friend. And if we can just be real, he needed a car and I needed a parking space in the city (I'd never heard of spending for a spot in a lot what some people pay in rent. I'm a country girl, I guess).
I know it sounds jaded, but his apartment was also like two blocks from the PATH train which dropped me off right in midtown, two blocks away from my job. My current commute was a grueling two-hour, two-zone commute. C’mon.
And so we entered into an agreement of convenience. Of course with the whole sharing a futon Monday through Friday thing, well the other stuff kinda just came with it. [bowing my head in shame].
Really though, it kinda worked out for a minute. He'd take my whip to work thru the week and I'd take off for the train up the street. Back at the apartment in the evenings, we'd have dinner (sometimes together, sometimes apart) and our weekends were our own. On Friday after work, I'd head home. And Sunday night, we’d do it all again. Simple, right?
That was before it got complicated. BD has a bit of a Monk complex. Everything, and I do mean everything, had to be just so. But in his defense -- though he wasn’t entirely transparent with me about the twisted way his mind works from the beginning -- the signs were absolutely there, had I only been willing to see them.
It should have been a red flag for me when, cooking dinner for us one night, (a vegetarian dinner no less, tho I am a ravenous carnivore), I accidentally burned his black oven mit. Sorry. Who knew that wouldn’t be enough. He completely flipped out, yelling and cursing and throwing things. It was like something out of a really bad drama. Kinda scary, even. But okay, he grew up poor, he really values and takes care of his things … I get it. I guess. I replaced the oven mit. Sorry.
Y’know those little scented glass candles at the Dollar Store? He had one in his bathroom. I guess I closed the toilet lid too hard, the candle slid off the tank where it had rested and the glass broke. Sorry. I cleaned it up, but again, not good enough. He screamed at me and accused me of “not respecting other people’s shyt.” Wow. That serious.
The scoldings occurred more and more often and became something of a routine. Thinking back on some of those incidences, it’s almost like I was having an out of body experience. It’s kind of surreal, I feel like it wasn’t even me going through all that. I just can’t imagine …
When I did snap of it though, is when the real drama began. I wouldn’t realize it until I wanted out of the contract, but I'd inked a deal with the devil.
-- Melyssa Ganache
Check out Confessions of a Single Mom on InBetweenDissapointments tomorrow as Melyssa gives up more of the dirt on her soiled relationship.
Also, check out more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on Myspace.com/MelyssaGanache.
*All names have been changed
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