I told him that I recently got out of an abusive relationship, and he looked at me like he could save me. Like he could take me and hold me and stop all the hurt. Which makes me laugh a little bit, because I barely know him and if “sad and vulnerable” is the thing that spurs this false sense of chivalry in him, then he is not ready for the hurricane of crazy that is about to come spinning out of my sad, sorry, totally rejected little heart. But we’ll get to that later.
For now, it’s just him and he is so ready to hear my sob story. As he optimistically buys me more drinks, and I sit there beneath my little rain cloud of sex-imbued sorrow. As he listens to my troubles about some other, distant man, and all the mean things that the ex ever did to me. I can see it, as he hears me, and it’s not my story that he’s listening to, but his own self lauding refrain of, “I can be better than your ex” that he is singing to himself in his head. He already sees it. How he can save me. From the pain that is rocketing around my shattered little heart. I can see him, picking up my shards of heart and carefully putting it back together. I can see that he thinks he can mend me, as I sit soggy in my puddle of tears. But he is wrong.
Because he doesn’t know me, and he doesn’t know what happened. He’ll never really know what happened, because it’s me telling it. And it’s not that I’m a liar, but I am constantly and conveniently editing out the gory details of my own misdeeds. He thinks he can love me. Hah! He is no better than the last man. He isn’t stronger or braver or more handsome. He’s just a man with a wallet full of money that I know how to spend on the medicine for my broken heart. He is a shoulder to cry on, and after I am done crying, I will dispose him like I would dispose of the tissues that I would have cried into if he hadn’t been there. And I will feel exactly the same.
He thinks he can save me, but he is replaceable. He is a distraction that I turn on when I want to stop thinking about my ex, but I never want to stop thinking about my ex. I still love my ex, and that’s why I’m sitting at this bar crying to a man whom I have no intention of fucking, but I seem so weak and so vulnerable, don’t I? Which is why this man is sitting here, listening to me moan, because this is his moment, isn’t it? That’s what they say, right? Me with my broken heart – now is your chance to get laid by a newly single girl who in sadness and desperation will stumble into sex with you right now! That’s why he’s here, isn’t it? I can’t be bothered with the illogic of the kindness of human souls who take pity on people in weak moments. That’s not what it is. Because it could never be that. Because as soon as I’m done crying and as soon as I’m feeling drunk enough, I’ll be careening straight back into my ex’s arms as soon as I can, and this other man? He will be a forgotten blip on the radar whose moment has passed while I gyrate beneath the hips of another bad decision.