The Bitter Taste of Strawberries

I thought I’m not going to unblock him this time. I thought I’m stronger than that. I was wrong.

‘Hi, handsome. What’s up?’

‘You’re asking me? Where have you been?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You blocked me for some time, honey! I missed you.’

‘You did?’

‘Sure.’

Every time is the same. Usually, I spend late January or early February evaluating our relationship to the point where I have to unblock him to remind myself of all the things that he’d done to me. I guess Valentine’s Day makes me more sentimental. Although I know it is psychologically impossible to love someone like him, who’d done more damage in our first month than couples could do to each other in a year.

He fills the next days with flowers, chocolates, and fruits that he brings up to my attic. They all would be sweet if there wasn’t a COVID running our lives and my toothache every time I try to bite into chocolates and fruits.

I fear the virus invisibly layering the surfaces. I had to read an article detailing how it affects different surfaces, like plastic, fabric, metal, and wood. Plastic food containers from the shops may spread the virus, and I’m seriously scared to death. I have a weak immune system, and he knows that. COVID changed our lives for some time, yet it will forever change my life. More than anyone else’s.

‘Strawberries in plastic again?’

‘I thought you liked strawberries. They’re like your little one.’

‘Yes, I like strawberries, but not in plastic. Anyway, I can’t eat them in this amount you’re bringing it to me every day, honey!’

‘I love you. What am I supposed to do? You don’t like flowers, so I stopped buying them.’

‘Why can’t you just talk to me?’

‘And what are we doing now?’

‘We have an argument.’

‘Yes, because of your stupid strawberries. I’ll throw them out then.’

‘Wait! I will put them in the fridge.’

Although knowing his habits, tomorrow he’ll bring me an entirely new plastic box containing strawberries. Stubborn as a mule.

During the rest of the day, we are preparing a meal and talking it over. Evening belongs to a movie.

While we are lying in bed and watching it, the urge to reach for strawberries from the fridge is stronger than me. It wins and I end up smashing them into my mouth, like a little child. My teeth hurt. He’s watching me intently, not a single word on his lips. I wonder if he’ll bring me them tomorrow again, seeing me eating them.

Not the whole day had passed and I’m being welcomed with exactly the same plastic box full of strawberries. I think I have to reconsider him as a partner. This guy won’t just take a hint.

Some time ago he accused me of cheating. I was just writing intense notes to myself on my phone, and he must have observed me ever so closely. He said nothing, but I remember I was smiling at some of my notes as I found them interesting. As he had never asked me what I was writing, he must have assumed that it was some other lover.

Next week I'll spend on a rollercoaster ride with my boyfriend chasing me with his accusations.

‘You’re unhappy with me, but you’ll be happy when I’m gone and you can see him!’

‘You have hidden him in your wardrobe!’

‘He’s just gone, I can smell his scent in here!’

I want to read a book to rest my mind, so I don’t look at the messages coming in thousands. All assumptions. The next time I look, I find this.

‘You are with him, that’s why you don’t pick up my calls and don’t answer my messages! How rude!’

When we sit in the restaurant on a weekend, with his emotions finally reaching level zero, he’s scrutinising my face. I can’t even twist my head to look in any direction other than at him. When we come back to my attic, he starts again.

‘I saw you! You were seducing the waiter!’

‘What? I think you’re paranoid. That’s what this is about.’

‘No, I’m not. You were giving him an eye.’

‘What eye? To whom? A waiter?’

‘Yes. I saw how you looked at him. Did he give you his phone number?’

‘No. I had to look at him because he talked to me, remember? And guess what, I found talking to him bloody interesting.’

‘Oh, so I am not interesting to talk to?’

‘As a matter of fact, no. All your accusations made me think that you’re really not.’

And that’s the whole truth about our relation. His behaviour caused me to think differently. I began to notice things I would never have noticed in my entire life if it hadn’t been for him. It’s good for the art, but not for the life, as they say.

In psychology, there is a theory that if someone is constantly accusing you of things you are supposedly doing, and you know that you’re not doing them, that means that the accuser is doing them behind your back. That’s as simple as it could be.

I can’t stand it anymore. All this charade of libellous words causes me to withdraw completely.

The next day, before he even reaches my apartment, I block him again. I can’t live my life in his sick cage, playing a sick bird and waiting for him to see my behaviour as inappropriate for a couple. I have to look at the world, not just at him. And, in all honesty, he’s not even that handsome. His glory days are definitely over, and now he reaps the rotten fruits of his damaged life, tearing apart whoever is stupid enough to get involved with him. Adios, my friend! And good luck with the next ones! You’ll definitely need it. Or should I say, they will definitely need it?

He is my mistake. My guilty conscience. My memento not to go to sleep with someone just because you’re lonely, and not out of love. A mistake I will remember forever.