Not as clear as it is to me. This breakup is so horrendous, I’m speechless as he continues, “It’s a shame because you really loved my cock. Greedy girl.” He licks his lips and phew, the action is no longer appealing to me. “I need someone who will rule the empire with me and love it. A winner. This was a family test, of sorts. That you failed. So”—dramatic pause—“I can’t see you anymore,” he whispers, as though he’s afraid this news might break me.
Shocked, I do a slow blink. “Wait. If we’d won, you’d want to keep dating? Your parents knew about this?”
“Yes and yes. But we lost, Chloe. And the rules are rules.”
Bless you, rules. “I understand.”
“And I want you to know that I’ve decided not to move in with Austin, out of respect for you.”
This just gets better and better. “Respect?”
“I know how hard it is to get over someone you see a lot, so I’m going to take the tiny house.”
Is he really this narcissistic and egotistical? How could I have missed it? Why does my radar not work? I’m tempted to point out that breaking up with him is not the hardship that he is presenting it as. I’m more upset over losing the tiny house. But it’s easier to just let him think I’m distraught, so I roll with it.
“Yes. I would be very hard-pressed to get over this if you were around all the time.”
He frowns. “Now, I do expect to be around here and there. You don’t get to keep Austin all to yourself in this breakup.”
This is where I draw the line. “But…he’s my friend. Of course, I get to keep him for myself.”
“He reminds you of me. I understand.” He sighs and whispers, “I’m really going to miss your tight pussy.”
I nod in commiseration. “With all that exercise it will only get tighter, but it will be okay.”
He blows a breath. “I use the gym every morning from six to eight, over the lunch hour, and again from five thirty to eight. Beyond those hours, feel free to keep working out at SuperFit.”
I’m having a hard time processing what just happened, so I say, “Thanks.”
“You’re great, Chloe. You really are. Look where you started and where you are now. And your job is so damn hot.” He shakes his head. “You just need to believe in yourself. You might surprise yourself one of these days.”
Well, that would be lovely. Because then I wouldn’t be standing here being the one who got dumped.
In a weird way, I appreciate he believes in me. Someday, maybe someone will believe in my art.
At least I’m comforted by the knowledge that I have plenty of ab pics on my phone for the Netflix and solo-chill nights ahead.
Twelve
I don’t care if it’s for the best, getting dumped sucks. No matter how wrong they are for you, they realized you’re worse. Is a confirmation of all your shortcomings necessary? Even if you acknowledge you have them, it burns hotter than a thousand hells that someone else noticed them too and found you lacking. No one wishes to be lacking. Ask the rock Finn gave me. Not once did I wish for that.
If you think about it, the dumper is basically saying your imperfections are insufferable. In my opinion, a rule should be instituted that breakups can’t occur unless both parties dump at the same time. It’s a heavy blow to my self-esteem that I wasn’t good enough to hold on to someone I didn’t even want to hold on to.
Because I deserve it, our unexpected breakup has me backtracking to all of my past relationship failures to kick myself. For some reason, Finn ending things over a ridiculous bowling game caused a lot more introspection than the previous boyfriends who lasted far longer.
With age comes wisdom, they say, but I don’t seem to get smarter.
What really got under my skin was the “Hope you’re okay” text Finn sent today. As if I shouldn’t be okay. As if I can’t function and crawled under a blanket weeping, praying for his return. Not at all. His message put me in an awkward position I don’t appreciate. If I ignored him, he’d possibly think I’m devastated beyond repair and seek me out to confirm I was indeed okay. But I didn’t want to reply, so I deleted it. Now I’ll seem bitter. It’s a classic catch-22.
To be clear, I’m not angry with Finn. Perhaps envious that in a twisted way he has a precise ideal of what he requires in a woman. Good for him. My wants in a relationship are shifting and changing daily. At twenty, all I wanted was a dude who didn’t wear cargo shorts. Ha. Now I just want a guy who appreciates me. What the outcome will be, I have no idea. And now I’m not okay, because again, being dumped sucks.
Thank God for great friends. I have dragged myself from my mope-fest to help Charlotte pack. Well, to watch her pack. What can I say? In terms of emotional support, hanging out at Austin’s half-barren house, lounging in a beanbag chair, is just what I need.
“You guys can never dump me,” I say. “I won’t allow it.”
Since the sectional is now gone to its new home at Charlotte’s, she stretches out by my feet. “Chloe, as if. You’re stuck with us for life.”
“Thank you. I wonder if he’ll want his rock back? I never should have invited him to the craft fair.”
“Don’t let this keep you from putting yourself back out there,” she says. “Finn was a spring fling.”
I like that term. Sounds sordid and is an accurate description of our
