The Horrible Beauty

Back in October, I stumbled upon a boy who I actually thought I liked. It started out as a hook-up, and I was surprised when (as I told you then) I could actually stand the sound of his voice the next morning. However, pretty quickly, I realized it was not a great situation. Dude was even more hopelessly lost than I am, and he seemed to hate fun. I’m all for being lost, but if you hate fun, we are completely incompatible. You’ve got to be able to enjoy your hopelessness.

After one or two decent hang outs, we’d already plateaued and begun the drop off. We went to a show/party on Halloween. Now, I love Halloween, and there’s about a billion things to do, but I wanted to hang out with him (plus I was into the band that was playing), so that invite won out. It was me and a friend, and Andrew (the aforementioned bad-news-bear) and his roommate. (My friend had a boyfriend, so it wasn’t a double date, but just a good old fashioned group hang out). After a round or two of drinks, I suggested shots, and told Andrew I’d buy him one, and he could get me back later on in the night. He invited his roommate in on it, and neither one of them gave me money. I’m all for spreading the drunkeness, but I’m a writer and musician - not exactly sugar momma material.  I let it roll though, figuring they’d get me back later. I knew he was stressed about money, but really, who isn’t?

I watched him hit the bar at least twice over the next hour or so without offering me a drink. Finally, I just said “Okay, it’s about time you got me back for those shots.” We sauntered over to the bar and ordered… and he actually asked me to throw in cash. I would have assumed that he simply had the world’s largest pair of balls, if I didn’t already have irrefutable proof otherwise.

Maybe it’s the fact that I’m a sucker for drainpipe puppies, but I still was giving him the benefit of the doubt. I blamed it on the alcohol, and once again let it go. Towards the end of the night, I insinuated that he should take me home. He shot me down - but mind you he did it while he was basically fondling me in a corner of the club. He had some lame excuse about having to be up the next day or whatever. At that point, I was finally pissed off. I mean, sure, take my money, take me for granted, but at least give me SOMETHING in return.

The next day, I sent him a text basically informing him of his lameness. I told him it was completely uncool of him to take advantage of my generosity. He gave me the typical “I’m just not looking for a relationship” line. At this point, I was already pretty certain I’d be moving come January, so I told him that I wasn’t looking for anything serious either. I just enjoyed his company both in and out of bed, and was hoping to spend time with him before I moved. He replied “Well, I just don’t think I’m your guy for one night stands.”

FIRST off, I’m pretty sure he just called me a slut.

SECOND, who in their right mind would turn down that arrangement? You don’t want a relationship, I’m giving you a get out of jail free card. Pass go, collect 200 dollars worth of orgasms, and sayonara in three months.

But, that was that. I was bummed, and annoyed, but I got over it. I bemoaned the situation over drinks to my girlfriends, cursed his name, but ultimately I knew I was leaving and it would be a moot point in a few weeks. So I put Andrew out of my mind.

Fast forward a few months, and it is literally the week before I’m due to move. I’d quit my job, started selling and packing my belongings. It was really real. I went out with the same friend from Halloween, and after a few stops, we end up at a bar we frequent. And who should be there but Andrew. I was a little surprised, because while it was one of our weekly hangouts, I’d never seen him there before. He was with some mutual friends, so - against my girlfriend’s advice - I said hi. He proceeded to spend the rest of the night apologizing, asking my forgiveness, telling me how much he regretted the way he’d treated me, and BEGGING me to go home with him.

I told him I appreciated the apology but was skeptical of his sincerity. Still, he continued. Even after I’d gone home with my friends, he continued, sending me messages alternating between seemingly sweet and downright dirty. I mean, it takes a lot to make Horribella blush, but these were some of the nastiest refrains I’d ever heard. I told him that if he truly meant it, we could go out one day or night before I left, and take it from there. He agreed, and we made plans.

And he blew me off.

After a few days, I texted him and bluntly told him “For the record, you are the biggest cliche I have ever encountered.” The only explanation he offered for his deception was “I lied to you because it was easy. I don’t care about you or your feelings at all.” I think that might have been the only honest thing he ever said to me.

I was furious. I mean, I snapped and went to The Bad Place. I wanted to make him bleed.

A lot of people couldn’t understand why this one little thing pissed me off so much. I think it boils down to two points.

1) He deliberately sabotaged my last week in Boston, the place I’d called home for 9 years. I wanted every day to be perfect, to be my final memory. It was supposed to be filled with good times and good friends, not complete douchebaggery. It was a rare moment when I was actually openly vulnerable and emotional, and he completely preyed upon that.

2) This is the big one. He violated the number one rule of Horribella’s Commandments. I know, I have a rather loose moral code. I encourage trouble. I think people should get screwed up and screw, often. But the one thing I value above all else is honesty. It doesn’t piss me off that he wanted one last fling before I moved. What angers me is the false apologies, the pleas for forgiveness, the empty promises. I 100% would have preferred him to just say “You look hot. How about some sex before you move?” Then I could have made an informed decision, and his chances would have been a lot higher that I would have said yes.

About a million revenge scenarios continued to build in my head over the next few weeks. Nairtinis, rumor mills, 50 Dominoes Pizzas delivered by 50 underage male prostitutes of various races and ethnicities. My friends tried to tell me to simply rise above, to “just be better,” but I was too far gone to even consider that.

I finally saw him at a show, with some busted chick who was obviously falling for his games. He left abruptly, and early in the night, before I could put any of my plans in action. The whispers were that he knew I was there and was afraid of what I might do.

So all in all, I’d say I won. I was fully prepared to exact revenge, and I didn’t even have to. Though I suppose in a (completely chicken-shit, too afraid of a face to face conversation with a girl) way he could say he won, too. At least he got out of it with all his hair.

ask. | submit. | recommend.