Tell Me Lies, Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

Once I realized I wanted out of my relationship with Javier, the only thing stopping me from getting out was...well, him.

For months -- to be honest, it might have only been weeks -- I did everything I could think of to piss him off, to start fights so I could yell out in righteous indignation, "yeah, well too bad, this is over!" 

...Or something way cooler and stronger than that.

In all seriousness, though, I did everything I could think of. I smoked cigarettes, I went out "whoring" with my best friend (which is to say I went and hung out at her house or maybe went out to dinner, but in his eyes the only possible thing she and I could be doing was whoring around), I wore perfume to work, I demanded to use my car -- all in hopes of getting him mad enough to yell at me.

But it didn't work. I'm convinced he knew what I was up to and refused to take the bait. Wily bastard.

But then things changed -- again -- and I realized the game, such as it was, had changed.

I no longer remember the how or why, but I do remember standing in front of my bathroom mirror (maybe I was getting ready for work or something?) and Javier came in.  There was conversation, and it ended in a kiss -- only this wasn't a normal kiss. He took my bottom lip between his teeth, and held on. I tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let go. I whimpered, begged (as much as I could with my lip caught between his teeth), to no avail.

Finally, I dug my nails into his shoulder and he let go. As I checked my lip for blood, I looked up at him and I swear to God, the dude was smiling. Smiling. 

Taking pleasure from my pain, amusement from my panic. Satisfaction from knowing he still had the power.

It was in that moment that I realized that if I let this go on, he wouldn't stop at a playful nip. Next time, it could be my arm he was twisting...or my face he was bruising because I failed to fall in line with his agenda. Or, worse, simply because it was fun.

That is when I knew I had to end it, by any means necessary.

Turned out that tears were the means, as much as I loathed myself for resorting to them.

It was Memorial Day. My parents were out at a party, and I was alone watching Forget Paris while I folded laundry. Javier came home from wherever he'd been, and asked how I was doing (literally the most attentive thing he'd said or done in weeks). I looked at him, I thought about what I needed, and I let my system take over.

I cried.

Yep. I admit that I resorted to tears.

And you know what? It worked.

I set the laundry down and we went into my bedroom to talk. I told him I wasn't happy and I didn't feel like he cared about me. I told him I thought we should break up.  

There was a long pause, after which he sighed, looked at me and said, "I have to admit I don't feel the same way about you that I used to."

Riiiight. Like that ship hadn't sailed at least a year ago.

I'd like to be able to say that I gave him a week to get himself and his shit out of our house, but I was not that strong. I told him to take his time, and as spineless as that was, I felt good knowing that he understood that he needed to leave and that our relationship was over. I felt like I had climbed the mountain, reached the summit, and planted MY flag.

Oh, you silly, silly girl.

He might have been ready to end the relationship but he wasn't so quick to give up the perks.

First words out of his mouth after the agreement that he'd move out: "I guess this means you want your car back..."

No, asshat, you should keep it. I don't need my independence, and I really enjoy worrying about you getting arrested for driving my car without a license.

And, then, of course, when all was said and done, he figured what better way to seal this amicable end than to initiate sex?

Maybe he figured one last round for old time's sake? Or maybe he figured I'd get so wrapped up in the rapture that I'd forget I'd just told him to move out.

I'm betting on the latter.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the stones to tell him that, to his face, in the moment. Instead, I lied about having an "affliction" and scurried out of the room.

Even still...I did it. I ended it. I was about to be free.

At least that's what I told myself as I strolled out of the room. I couldn't have known it was nowhere near the end.