He blinked in slow motion, as if he were doing it for the very first time ever. "Effie, why are you doing this to me? Things were so good before."
Ugh, he reminded me of the fact that things hadn't been good before. Leading up to the breakup, I could barely even think of him as a boyfriend. We lived together and slept in the same bed. We occasionally had sex—it was adequate; I wouldn't lie about that even if I was pissed—and shared meals. These were the motions of our lives, carried out day after day ad infinitum.
Certainly not happily ever after sort of material.
No, we hadn't had fun together in ages. Part of it was probably due to school, but it was clear to me that we couldn't survive. You know, plus the whole job in New York City thing for me. The fact that I actually wanted to work was a problem for Timothy as well.
"It was just fun for you. Tim, I came here to be polite, not give into all of your demands. This isn't a negotiation. My mind is made up already." I unconsciously shifted in my chair after completing the sentence.
His brow furrowed as he suddenly grew quieter, sullen. I saw a spark inside of him, one that was as far from positive as possible. "Are you seeing someone else?"
"It's none of your business, Timothy." I realized that saying those words in particular would set him off, but I had no other way to properly describe the situation and how I was feeling. I felt a tiny pang of guilt as I watched the horror creeping across his face as if he'd just witnessed a murder. It had only been about two months since we had officially separated—and he didn't like this.
I wasn't about to let him hand-deliver me a toxic guilt-trip. It hadn't felt like anything for almost a year! I couldn't get down on myself for wanting to move on. I knew he hated vague answers, but I wasn't about to tell him about how infatuated I was with Jack—and how he had fucked my brains out like Timothy never could have. Oh yeah, that would go over really well.
"You've already slept with him." Timothy stared into the empty bottom of his cup like it was a black hole. His simplicity showed no limits.
"I didn't say anything, Timothy, except that I wasn't comfortable discussing the subject with you."
I half expected him to pause at that moment, but he didn't. He charged straight into battle, guns drawn and ready to kill.
"You're a fucking slut, Effie. That's all you are. I come all the way here for you, and you repay me by fucking some guy you just met off the street." I seemed to have made him unable to make eye contact, at least during that awkwardly tense moment when it would have made his words that much more effective.
His acid tongue burned, that was for sure, but I fought to ensure he didn't hurt me with his irrationality. I had never so much as even considered cheating on him while we were together, making this all the more idiotic. I took a deep breath and sighed, trying not to escalate the situation any further, but also trying to speak with finality. I couldn't leave him with any shimmering one in a million chances that he could cling to.
He was dangling from a cliff—and I had no interest in saving him.
"Timothy, you're obviously upset, and frankly, you're being really offensive. I don't want to see you ever again. You blew your chance." It was so raw, but dammit, it was the truth.
"You don't get to make that decision, you slut." Timothy had never been the religious, purity-seeking type. Had he suddenly converted to something? Church of Hate was my only guess, if one even existed. "You're a whore."
Why the hell did he care so much about my sex life? It was really freaking me out.
I couldn't restrain myself any longer. "We broke up, Tim. It's over. It's been over. You're too stuck living in your own deluded mind to figure it out. You can't just hit play again and expect me to go along. And enough with the fucking slut talk."
By this point, he looked a cobra, ready to strike and deliver a fatal blow. "Fuck you, Effie!"
I stood up."I'm not taking any more of this from you. You're acting like a child, plain and simple. Coming here to talk to you was a big mistake."
"Sit the fuck down," he snarled. "You're going to hear me out—or else." His eyes remained fixed on me with animalistic rage, like something infected with rabies.
Oh, shit.
I paused, realizing he might indeed be threatening me. "Or else what?" I had to feel this out, had to see what options were available and satisfy my own morbid curiosity. As it turned out, I had none.
"Sit the fuck down!" He screamed this time and lunged at me from across the table, his full weight knocking me down into the chair. It tipped backward and I fell onto the floor, my head striking the ground with a hard thud. Tears immediately started spilling from my eyes as the world began spinning.
Fuck you, Timothy. It was the first thought to arrive on the scene.
There was one of those moments, the moments that you see in movies where time seems to stop. The main character (me) was reflecting on her life, thinking about the choices she had made. There was her past—bold flashes of memories involving adolescence; warm, inviting memories only—and then images of her time with her romantic interest (Jack). I suddenly longed for him, wishing more than anything that I had never left the safety of his arms this morning. My mind had that one, singular focus—Jack.
This had been such a stupid mistake.
When I returned to reality, I half expected Tim to jump on me and
