It felt wrong, how we were that evening. How he acted like we were together together. How he just pretended.

AAP had a free ticket to a concert randomly, and I was free enough that evening, so I invited him to stay the night after the show.

After work I had just enough time to run home and change before we shared an Uber to the show.

I looked good. Really good, actually. I wore my new jumpsuit and my healed boots. I sprayed on a smell good and wore some jewelry. It felt like the fun part of adulting. I guess it was, actually: the fun parts of being with him, not the real life shit he ignores and he says we won’t ever be.

We grabbed food right before; he paid. We had box seats. The performance (though almost exclusively in another language) was great. I had a really good time.

Afterwards, I bought a poster for my wall and we made our way home. While waiting for our Uber back, I took note of his less than subtle advances. The graze of my back. The caress of my ass. He wanted to fuck. But did I want to fuck him? I knew if I had to ask the question the answer was no.

And as we waited for our car, it dawned on me how angry the situation made me. He wanted the fun- the concert and the dinner and the fucking- without the real. He was perfectly fine playacting as my boyfriend while denying me the very real relationship I asked for.

You don’t just get the easy parts of me. 

We didn’t fuck that night. I don’t know when or if I’ll ever fuck him again. The situation has left a bad taste in my mouth that has not gone away.

Love and affection, concerts and cafe cuisine are easy. But you have to earn the easy by mucking through the hard parts. The emotions. The fights. The disagreements. The compromises. Telling the truth and figuring out how to deal with it. Shit, we couldn’t even get through the Uber ride without you shitting on my latest musical appreciation and gaslighting me about it. Why are you yucking my yum you prick? I don’t shit on the things you love but I loathe. (And there are a few for which I have bitten my tongue for years.)

Are we done? Truly, are we done? Or will time get me to forget how pissed and annoyed I am right now at how you treat me? How you take me for granted. How you assume and amuse yourself with little regard for how it impacts me.

I deserve better than you. But when will I get it?

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