I'm a masochist. There's no other way to put it.
Most people, when they find a potential threat to their relationship, they try to look away.
They try to "work on themselves." Not me. I spent the next forty-eight hours orbiting Maya's online life like a satellite.
She wasn't just "bright." She was cool. The kind of cool that doesn't try. She posted grainy photos of film cameras, snippets of poetry that actually made sense, and videos of her laughing where her teeth weren't perfectly straight, but it just made her look more real. Effortless.
Then I looked at myself in the mirror. Total cardboard. I felt like a placeholder person, the default settings on a video game character before you customize them. I was just... there.
So, naturally, I decided to poke the bear. Or the puppy. Whatever James was that day.
"So, did Maya tell you that joke, or are you just naturally that funny today?" I texted him on Tuesday afternoon.
No context. No "hey." Just a needle.
James: Haha, what? No, I just saw it online. Why are you bringing her up again?
Me: Just curious. You guys seem close. Five months is a long time to keep a 'friend' a secret. Is she more interesting than me? Does she actually have things to talk about?
I felt it then. That little hum in my blood. A thrill. I was being "the sensitive bitch" again, and God, it felt better than being the "perfect girlfriend." I was finally taking up space.
James: Elara, stop. You're being weird. She's just someone to talk to about music. You know I can't talk to you about the synth stuff, you always say it sounds like 'dial-up noises.'
Me: Oh, so I'm the boring one now? I'm the one who doesn't 'get' you? Maybe you should just go talk to her then. Since I'm so difficult.
I watched the little grey bubbles bounce. My heart was actually thumping. I wanted him to say "Maybe I will." I wanted him to get angry, to call me out, to give me the exit ramp I was dying for.
But James? James doesn't do exits. He does reinforced concrete.
James: Babe, please. My heart actually hurts reading this. You know you're the only one for me. Maya is nothing. She's a screen. You're my real life.
James: I'm sorry if I made you feel insecure. I'll block her if you want. I'll do it right now. Just don't be mad. I can't handle it when we're like this.
And just like that, the thrill died. It didn't just die; it turned into lead and sank to the bottom of my stomach.
The guilt, that big old Russia-sized weight, came back with a vengeance. He was begging. He was offering to kill off a friendship just to keep me from scowling at my phone.
How do you break up with a guy who treats your toxicity like a wound he needs to blow over and kiss?
James: I love you so much. You're so beautiful when you're fired up, but I hate it when you're sad. Please tell me we're okay.
I stared at the screen until the light dimmed. I felt disgusted. Not at him, but at the fact that I couldn't even win an argument because he kept surrendering.
Me: It's fine, James. Don't block her. I'm just tired.
I lied. I wasn't tired. I was just back in the box. Cardboard, brown, and completely empty.