I Thought We Were Lovers

"Do whatever you want," he muttered, barely audible.

I reminded him the decision involved both of us, not just me, but he snorted disgustedly and waved his hand, dismissing me.

My insides went numb, and all feelings began to drain from my emotional reserve.The man who just uttered those indifferent comments couldn't be the same man I texted every night last summer, the same man who agreed communication was the basis of a good relationship.

I felt anger rising in my chest because he refused to talk to me and because this was becoming a regular thing. He had wanted me to move in with him as his girlfriend, but it had turned into something very different, making me wonder if he was altogether okay.

My instincts told me to leave the room, so I took the dog for a walk and thought about how it all went wrong. We went from being two people who wanted to be together physically and mentally to becoming two people who didn't talk to each other much and stayed in separate rooms all day.

In my opinion, he was a first-class narcissist. He talked about himself constantly, was always the smartest, won all the fights, was the best at everything he did, and nobody else could compare to him. I began to tune it out when it was always the same story.I would try to intercede and mention a similar experience in school or with a friend, but he would talk over me and not listen. He often interrupted me, talking over me to make his point.

He never once asked me about my childhood, my upbringing, who my friends were, or how I felt about life. I know everything about his past, family, and friends. I don't bother anymore. He goes into his music room, shuts the door, and plays a football game. I entertain myself by watching television, drawing, or sewing, but this is not what I came here to do; it is not how I envisioned the relationship.

Sweat ran down my face and trickled down my neck. My hair was wet in the back from the heat, and I decided to go back and ignore things, for now, like I had been doing, mostly because I was afraid to say anything. He had a violent temper and one night had told me to get the Hell out of the bedroom and leave him the Hell alone just because I asked if he'd seen my phone, so I didn't want to go there.

The stairs made squeaking sounds as though announcing my return. The bitch is back from her walk, Richard; make sure and say something nice so she'll stay. If she leaves, she'll take her dog, and that's who you love, not her. Besides, the house needs cleaning. Ashamed, I told my mind to shut up and stop making me more nervous.

I entered slowly and was silent, something I'd learned was better than saying something inappropriate. Richard hugged me, told me how awesome I was, and asked if I was okay. His love was brimming over, and he started talking about the car, the thing I had wanted to talk about earlier.

He agreed that the car should be paid for and fixed now, that I had too many doctor appointments to have it sit for a month. Richard could be so loving when he wanted to be; he could make you feel love and want him so much. Instantly I went into people-pleasing mode and offered to make his breakfast, which he accepted. I served his plate to him with a reluctant smile and then went to the back bedroom with my coffee. I would stay there until I saw my soap opera, and then I would finish cleaning the kitchen and doing the laundry. He would continue to lie on the sofa and scroll through his phone, silently ignoring me, leaving his dishes on the coffee table for me to gather and wash.

Until it happens to you, there is no explanation for how it feels to be used and ignored. You wait like a hungry dog for your owner to toss you a small bone, and you gobble it up immediately, hoping for another. Soon they come at fewer intervals and only one, not two.

Richard continued to show me affection until the middle of the afternoon when he went into his music room and closed the door. I was almost relieved because the hugging was beginning to feel fake. I sewed for a while and then went out on the deck for a cigarette when I remembered I hadn't gotten anything for dinner. His door was closed, so I knocked.

After a long wait, the door flew open, and he stared at me, expressionless. "What?!"

My brow furrowed, and I stepped back. "I wondered what you wanted for dinner?"

He looked disgusted and frowned and then waved me off with the same disapproving glance he'd given me this morning. "Don't bother me when I'm playing music!" slamming the door.

Nobody goes from hot to cold that many times in a day, nor do they expect you to live in another room because they monopolize the television, watching only political news and shows about murder and death. The constant quiet was deafening, and never going anywhere was also getting on my nerves. It felt like he was ashamed of me, how I looked or acted, and he certainly didn't want me with him in public.

Nobody has the right to make you feel less than you are, or try to make you change to please them. Nor do they have the right to expect you to clean up after them, and shame on me for doing it. Always remember who you are, and why you are here, and don't let anyone use you for any reason, even if they are unstable. You cannot help them by letting them use you.