It makes him even more attractive, to be honest. And now I know it wasn’t me – or even the real him I was dating – maybe there’s… No, I shouldn’t think it. But… what if… I feel a crack of light piercing through that brick wall of hatred I’d built up. There’s something like hope shining through.
What if all of this bullshit was leading me here? What if the last few horrible months were the path I had to follow to find this New Non-Rich the Bastard? What if I had to go through all of those other guys to re-find ex number seven, the final ex, the one I held out the least hope for? What if this was what was supposed to happen the whole time? What if I can help him now, when I couldn’t a year ago?
I stare into Rich’s big, luscious eyes and feel myself falling.
He reaches across the table and this time he does take my hands in his – and I melt into a puddle on the floor. Just like always.
EX 7: RICH LOWEAka The BastardPART THREE
Home
Crying over an iPad
1.12am
All men are the same. Cruel, mean, vicious, none of them care about any fucking thing. They feel nothing, they’re just a bunch of cold, hard shells with penises. I hate men so much. I don’t care if that’s unfair and wahwah hashtag notallmen because YES ALL MEN. I fucking hate every single last one of them. None of them care how they treat people. They’re all the same.
I sob and scroll. Another sob, another scroll.
‘Shushhhh, honey, it’ll be OK.’ Lou rubs my back and Bibi presses me closer into the space between her head and shoulder.
‘You’re doing the right thing,’ Bibi adds in a soft voice.
I’m deleting pictures of Rich and me, and every single dumb, blurry selfie from a drunken night out makes me cry harder. Every bit of me wants to pick up my phone and message him. I want tobeghim to come over and see me. I need him to plead with me not to do this. He has to tell me that we have a love worth keeping. I want him to tell me not everyone understands our relationship – they don’t understandus– but it’s worth saving.
The only reason I’m not doing that is Bibi and Lou. They’re literally and metaphorically holding me up right now and I can’t let them down again. Not again. We’ve been through this so many times. Me saying I’m done with him – for good this time (every time) – and then letting him wheedle his way back in. But not anymore. He’s treated me badly one too many times.
This is the right thing, it’s the only thing. He’s destroying me and I can’t take it anymore. And yet. And yet. And yet.
It makes no sense; he’s the one making me cry like this, and I still feel like he’s the only one I want to come and comfort me. Why is love so nonsensical?! Surely evolution should’ve weeded out this flaw in love. This stupid bloodyhopelove forces us to cling onto.
I take a deep breath and keep scrolling through photos. Somewhere inside, I’m finding the strength because I know I can’t keep doing this anymore. I can’t take the lying and the cruelty. I can’t handle the unkindness and the thoughtlessness and the broken dates and the ignored messages. Most of all Ican’t take the monster it turnsmeinto! I am at the end of my patience. I am beyond the end of my patience. I’m through patience, out the other side into pure hatred. And it’s the only thing keeping me together as I scroll, sob, delete.
‘Should you block him on social media, too?’ Louise asks hesitantly. She’s being careful, knowing I’ve done this before. I’ve tricked her into slagging Rich off, only to go back to him. Bibi doesn’t care for subtlety, though.
‘Of course we’re blocking him!’ she says furiously. ‘It’s the only way to get him out of your life.’ She pauses. ‘And out of your head, Esther.’
‘Right.’ I sniff loudly, and one of them hands me a tissue. I wipe my snot first, then my cheeks. I use my sleeves for my eyes.
‘Black tears are so disturbing, aren’t they?’ Lou observes, studying my face. ‘It’s like you’re leaking tar or something. Makes me think ofThe X-Files.’
‘Cheers,’ I mutter and she grabs my hand.
‘Sorry, no, not you. You look unbelievably great with mascara everywhere. It actuallysuitsyou.’
I pull up Rich’s Facebook profile. We’re not even ‘friends’. He wouldn’t accept my request, even after dating for nearly a year. But it didn’t stop me stalking his profile obsessively, day after day. Most of his pictures are viewable, and I would spend hours at my desk clicking through them, wondering who that woman was and when that party happened. When you’re in a toxic relationship, social media is a troll in itself, goading you into self-torture.
‘Well done.’ Bibi nods her head firmly as I click the block button.
We fall silent and I stare at the happy smiling face of Rich on the computer screen. You would never, ever guess that he was an irredeemable bastard. An unfeeling monster with no compassion, no guilt and definitely no kindness. And he will never be capable of any of it.
UGHHHHH. All men are the same. And I’m never dating bastards – which is ALL MEN – again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Holding my hands in his, I feel such a surge of affection for this fragile, broken man.
He’s been through so much. If he’d talked to me a year ago, I would’ve understood. I would’ve done anything for him, to help him survive. None of us are immune to shitty mental health, and I would’ve understood.
