I walked in to my condo and found my ex-girlfriend naked on my couch with another guy.
He was sitting with his shirt over his eyes, and she was riding him. She and I had been broken up less than nine days; I’d moved out about 26 hours before.
I said, “Hello! You must be Sam?”
Sam was the natural assumption, because he was a guy who she had been FB-sexting the last week or so.
He said, “No, Ethan,” as they slowly peeled themselves apart and he began to get dressed.
He was not that hard now, and I can understand that. There was no condom, and if there were, it would not have been a magnum.
I said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m sorry this is so awkward for you.”
Imagine me, apologizing to a guy who was just banging my ex-girlfriend, in the condo I was still helping to pay for? It happened.
I’m not the picture of zen, but I was trying my best to stay out of the moment. I could barely feel the anger and hatred; shock had set in instantly.
I spoke with this guy for a few minutes, finally told him to go, but she kept saying he should stay.
That’s when I said, “I’m not an aggressive guy, but you should go. I’m not mad at you. I just want to speak with her.”
She argued that I had moved out and I was out-of-line. He left after several long moments of him standing at the door, saying I had no need to apologize to him, and that it was still my place.
I thought about the others who might be hurt by this, and I asked “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Yes,” he said.
“You should tell her, or I will. I already told Sam’s girlfriend,” I said.
“I will,” Ethan said.
“I mean it, tell her, or I will figure out who she is and tell her myself.”
He left, slowly closing the door and sneaking a last look back at my ex.
And there we stood, the door closing, just my ex-girlfriend and I. She hadn’t answered my texts the entire day, because she was angry with me for “ruining her day” when I moved out the night before.
All I had wanted was a meeting and to pick up a Bell bill, yet, there she was – naked and sitting on the couch, wet from some guy I had never met.
We argued, fiercely.
I’m not the yelling kind, and in over two years together, I have never yelled at her. I found myself raising my voice, and she was too.
She said, “I never want to f*cking speak to you again! This just confirms everything about you!”
“Okay, you will never hear from me again,” I lied.
It was a lie, because we still have a condo lease to back out of; I still possess keys that she needs and there is no such thing as a definite end with these things.
And there was love.
I knew I still loved her in some profound way, but she obviously did not feel love for me anymore.
I had been betrayed in the strongest way. Hatred had consumed love, torn it apart like a pack of hyenas on a zebra, and left the guts laying all over the carpeted floor.
“Just take everything,” she said, “I don’t care.”
“At least you have the treadmill,” I said.
“You know what? F*ck you!”
I grabbed the laundry rack and walked out the door.
Walking out of my home, the home I have lived in since I moved to Newfoundland and shared with her the entire year-plus, I saw him waiting at the door with his foot holding it open.
I still had the key to get in, not him.
“Now you can go back in,” I said. “She needs someone.”
“This is f*cked up,” he said.
“I know, for all of us.”
I offered my hand to him to shake, despite an earlier comment that I did not know “where his had been.”
He just stared at me.
I could have murdered him then, and not a planned, clean murder. The kind of rage murder that people often walk away from in court.
He stood blankly, not moving. My ride was waiting at the curb.
“Besides, she is still naked,” I said.
Anger flushed his face, but I had about 6 inches on him and he stood down. I walked to my friend’s car.
I enter the Chrysler 300, and say “That guy was just f*cking my ex.”
“I would have killed him, and the police would have arrested me,” he said to me.
He motioned to get out of the car, and I stopped him.
He understood violence in a way not meant for domestic disputes.
We drove towards the couch I currently live on, and he said “this is why good guys become like us.”
“And good girls,” I said.
“I can’t believe you walked away,” he said.
“Me neither, but that guy has a lot to explain to his girlfriend.”
I stumbled into my new home, the composure falling away like a curtain.
“Guys, I’m sorry, but I need to talk,” I said to my brother and his loving girlfriend, as they stirred awake.
Thanks apreche for the photo.
A Man is a pseudonym for a 20-something male contributor to Dating & Hookup.
datingandhookup.com is a website that explores modern romance in the Millennial era – which, let’s be honest, looks nothing like we were taught to expect. We feature essays, advice and social commentary with humor, compassion and brains, and we vow never, ever to publish a piece called “The 10 Best Ways to Satisfy Your Man in Bed”. Do click to submit your work to us. We love you.
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