No Faux Ho

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
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One of my talents would be the mind-numbing ability to analyze things to death. I think about situations from every angle, lying awake into the late hours of the night, trying to figure out what every word, touch and action meant.
**WARNING** I’m about to analyze another Devil situation.
There are those moments that catch you off guard. It feels similar to when you’ve gone up an extra step and your foot plummets through the air in search of what isn’t there. On an island as small as Manhattan, it is inevitable that you’ll run into people you know. I ran into the ex for the first time since our split. When it happened I was in an allergy daze. I’ve been taking an antihistamine that leaves me in a calm and distance place. The Devil tapped me on the arm as we passed in opposite directions. The conversation was awkward and somewhat forced but civil.
My brain didn’t immediately process what had just happened. The encounter didn’t sink in until later that night as the effects of my pills wore off. Temporarily in a normal state of mind, I was unsure of where The Devil found the courage to approach me. Had he not tugged at my coat sleeve, I wouldn’t have noticed him. Even if I had noticed him, in a normal state, I don’t think I would have acknowledged him. Then again, I may have scratched his eyes out, or shoved him in front of a bus, I’m just random like that.
I forgot the encounter until two days later when two messages from The Devil appeared in my mailbox. The subject lines read: “What happens to bad pandas,” and “The way this guy spoke reminded me of you.” *Insert irritated stare here* Yes, I opened them. I watched the panda one, because I love them, ignoring the other message. There was a quick exchange of messages back and forth as I was leaving the office. Here’s the part I’m forced by nature to analyze. The Devil was compelled to tell me that Monday was his one-month anniversary and he didn’t want to be in D.C., are you freakin’ kidding me?
There must be at least five separate occasions where I wrote about The Devil not wanting to be in New York and how he just loved D.C. I took this as a personal attack. So the reality is that he just didn’t like being in New York with me. The new guy must give phenomenal head to get The Devil to change like that, kudos to the poor sap. We exchanged a few more emails and then I took my allergy pills, moving back into a foggy state of mind.
I was unable to understand why The Devil felt the need to email me? It’s been happening almost weekly, even though on New Years’ Eve I made my feelings towards him quiet clear. Note, even when I’m drunk, I mean what I say. So I asked,
“I’m curious to know your angle. I mean, what’s with the emails? Is there a point you’re trying to make?”
“No, actually just being friendly. I do like you. You know that I spent a bit of time with you, so I don’t want us on bad terms.”
Through the fog I wrote,
“And in that bit of time you, if nothing else, learned how bitter and vengeful I am. I reiterated that several times. I’m not saying we’re on bad terms but they’re not good. Your interests are in a faux friendship and mine are in the blissful ignorance of forgetfulness. We were together, now we’re not. Done deal. There’s no reason to communicate now, when we couldn’t do it before.”
I am curious as to what time he’s referring to when he says we spent a bit of it together. Is it the time where I sat on his bed writing, while he was emailing hook-ups? Maybe it was the time we went to the diner and he sent texts while I was eating. No, it must be the time that he slept while I tried to not fall off the edge of the bed he couldn’t manage to make room for me in.
In the past month there has been no initiation of contact on my part. I’ve done my best to get over it and on with my life, yet he is insistent upon making his presence known. I don’t understand a person being that selfish. The Devil dumped me, am I not owed the courtesy of being left alone? The emails ended with him telling me to have it my way. I hope I do get it my way. Nothing would please me more than to never share another word, glance, or room with The Devil.