The Guy in between

(Picks up phone)
(dials)
Fidgets, pickup pickup.
Goddamnit pickup!!

I made a terrible mistake. I I cheated on him. It took me long to realize I

was wrong. I I love him.

October 16th, last year: First Date

I remember how I was freaking out. It was our first date. I remember
exactly how I chose the wrong pair of socks because I just couldnt contain
it. I was in love.

An hour early, golden lights above, indifferent socks below, love is in the
restaurant, a table for two, I was sitting and waiting for you, thinking about
our cliche future, would you want a house instead of a condo in the middle
of the city, what it would be like to wake up next to you, thinking would
you be mad if I wanted a dog more than an ingrate of a child. (sigh) I was
drowning with fantasies and the idea of you having a terrible morning
breath didnt disgust me. And then you came, velvet suit paired with shorts.
And I thought Jesus, could this dude get any more interesting. I thought I
wanna kiss you, and make love. And I thought... And I thought... I would
never do anything to hurt you.

And today I did.

He Said:
I do believe that you love me, or that you think you do. And I do believe
that you’re sorry, or that you think you are. But I can’t say that I think that’s
enough. You can say he didn’t mean anything, that it was one time and the
last time. But that doesn’t mean I believe it. I can’t trust you. That’s
basically what it comes down to. I gave you my heart and you chose to
break it. You chose to. You knew what you were doing. You knew it would
hurt me, you knew it would hurt us. Break us. But you did it anyway. That
just goes to show how little you know about love, and what it actually
means to fall into it and to value it. Sometimes people don’t deserve a
second chance, because it’s only risking another disappointment. It’s okay
though. What you did is not okay. We are not okay. But I am. Or at least I
will be. Because, I think a part of me knew you would hurt me. I think every
guy deep down kind of expects it. And I don’t think that’s being a pessimist,
but a realist. Guys will come and go. They will make you fall and then rip
the rug out from under you. But like I said, it’s okay. We will survive, we
will move on. And one day a man will come along and surprise us. We will
wait for our feet to hit cold tiled floor, but that day won’t come, and then
we’ll know. Then we’ll feel it. He’s it. He’s the one. And he won’t make you
cry, but instead pick you up and make all the cries and lessons that came
before all somehow seem worth it. You just have to be patient. He may be
closer than you think. Look around. Say hi…smile.

The Other Man

Are you still complaining about the wine spill? Okay, fine—it wasn’t a spill
exactly, but you-you-you just made me so mad! Here—I’ll lick it off you.
You want me to do that? Let me do that. It’ll be sexy. Come on. Don’t back
away. Come on. Okay, FINE! Then stop complaining about it! You sound
like your 3-year-old right now! You know how unattractive that is?

I bet you’d let one of your other guys lick it off. Yeah, I’m gonna start this
up again! Because up until tonight, I thought I was your only other man,
and to find out you’ve got, what, three more? It’s kind of a lot to
digest. Like, I need a probiotic kind of digesting. And…and…while I’m
digesting this, I’m, I mean, I know I’m crying now—don’t try to comfort
me! I’m crying because I really, I really thought I was special and like, the
only one you’d want to cheat on the love of your life with, because I was
really that amazing. But now—I can stop crying on my own! Don’t coddle
me—Now it’s like I’m not special. I’m just part of a, a, an addiction or
something. Like I’m crack cocaine or heroin. And that’s not good for
someone! I don’t want to be that bad! Don’t make me be that bad!

I do wanna calm down, I do, but I can’t even walk away from you—there’s
no where to go! Do the other women have to stay in closets like this? I
mean, I know it’s New York, but spring for a bigger room. This is a-a-a-pod,
a pod an alien—a cheap alien—would travel to Earth in. I’m not a freakin’
Martian, Patrick. Do I have green hands? I need room. I need a room. A
suite preferably. I won’t—I won’t stay here anymore. I’m not going
to. Goodbye!