“You are the girl I want in my life; without you, I feel like the sun wouldn’t rise in the day and the moon at night.”
“Babe, we have been together for over a year—almost a year—and in that time I have fallen in love with you. ”
“Will you marry me?”
I am currently asking myself, “How the heck did I get here?” Standing in front of me is my boyfriend, Raymond Jackson Junior, whom I affectionately call RJJ. It was a stupid name, but I thought it was cute.
I look at him standing in front of me with his cute face all serious. I should be ecstatic about this moment in the cafe, surrounded by people with cameras, but I am not. His big brown eyes blinked in expectation as he licked his thick lips.
As much as he is a nice guy, well, an okay guy, I just don’t love him. Many will call me selfish for stringing him along, but yeah, the man got rizz, hence why I am here. I guessed it wasn’t enough to have me drooling in love.
There is something about him that makes me feel cautious enough not to trust him completely or give myself fully over to him.
Sighing I step forward as the frenzied and excited crowd shouts “say yes,” and in the background, I lower myself to my knees and hug him, whispering in his ears.
“I think we should talk; let’s not embarrass each other further; let’s go.” We got up, waving at the crowd through the door as they congratulated us. As soon as I stepped outside, my smile evaporated.
“What were you thinking?” Don’t get me wrong; I’m probably exaggerating, but he understands why I don’t want to marry.
“You know that I don’t believe in love or marriage. Why would you do something like this?”
“I know that; you told me at the beginning of our relationship, but I thought I would change you, make you love me, get married, and have kids.” I hate myself; why wasn’t I more honest with the guy?
“I do care for you, but not in the way that you do.”
“I should have been honest from the beginning, but I just love your company. You make me smile, and we have good conversations, but everything is not about sex, and because of this, it’s a bit of a turn-off.”
Sex is good and great, but he takes it to a whole new level. We would be in the taxi, in a restaurant, outside, basically anywhere, because I am a woman of pride and standards I refused.
We almost had sex once, but it was awkward because I wasn’t feeling it and his friends came over, ruining the moment. But his personality makes me comfortable enough to be myself, not the pretentious good girl that I am during the day.
Even though we are in this so-called relationship, we hardly have time to meet. Work is giving me a headache in and of itself. I hardly know anything about him; otherwise, his name, age, how many siblings he has, and where he lives now speak volumes. I liked him enough to make time for him, but it wasn’t an official relationship, more like an online friend.
I should have ended this story a long time ago, but what can a lonely girl like myself do? I have no family or close friends living in this city.
“RJJ... I mean, Raymond, this relationship is not going to work.”
“I genuinely care about you, but more as a friend.”
“I am not the perfect girl for you; I will never make you happy, but we can always be friends, and I am always here for you.”
I have made the biggest mistake of my life, and right now I am scared by the expression on his face, so I stepped back. I probably should have done this over the phone.
“After being together for over a year, you are going to end it like that? Are you crazy? I love you; why don’t you see that?”
“I would do anything for you; I would even kill for you.” Say what now? As this tall, skinny boy walks over to me, my brain screams “run!” but I am doing the horror movie white girl move by talking to him.
“We weren’t in an official relationship; we hardly see each other; this is our fifth physical meeting this year. I wouldn’t call that a relationship per se, would you?”
“It’s a relationship because you say so.”
“Me?” When the hell did I do such a thing?
“At the beginning, you said, and I quote, “Yeah, I would be your girl, not your wifey.” Oh Lord, have mercy!
“I was flirting, and those were your lines. I only agree to have a conversation. Actually, it was a discussion we had the day before, and you asked me to respond.” What the hell?
“Do you think after all this time you will just walk away like that? I am giving you 48 freaking hours to think about my decision.”
“My love for you would never fade; if you made up your mind to be with me, then we should get married soon; if not, I will kill myself.” What are you talking about? Ah, hell no! This boy is not going to have my name in the news.
“Come on now, we both know that we are not right for each other.”
“48 hours... I want your answer in 48 hours.”
Oh ship, did I cause that man to have a mental breakdown? I am not going to stay here for a minute. He walks away, repeating, “48 hours.”
I wave down a taxi as the dashes inside, looking around like an idiot. After the way things ended, I have every right to be scared as hell.
“Take me to the police station.”
“Is someone chasing you or something? Hey, I am not in the mood to be an eyewitness.” I laugh at him.
“Don’t be concerned, it’s just a psycho boyfriend.”
“That’s even worse,” I say as I walk into the station, paying the fare. I could have called, but my physical presence would solve the issues more effectively, wouldn’t it? They need to understand the gravity of what could happen. An officer is nodding away with a cup of coffee at his desk.
“Good night, sir, I would like to make a report.” Looking up, he looks at me from head to toe, from belly to top, and then up again.
“How may I help you?”
“My boyfriend said if I don’t respond to his proposal in 48 hours, he is going to kill himself. This is after I rejected it and broke up with him. I am scared that he will do something to me."
“I am here to make a complaint and to file for a restraining order.”
“Well, shi-- That’s not something we hear very often, I mean.”
“Alright, tell me his details, and we will have an office check up on you.” I filled out the form, showed a photo, gave all our details, and set out. Now it’s time for phase two. Call home; dialling the number I’ve memorised and hearing her sweet voice makes me happy.
“Hey, honey, I’m so glad you called. Are you coming home for Christmas this year?”
“You hadn’t been home for Christmas in three years.”
“I came to see you at Easter, Mum.”
“It’s not the same.”
“That’s why I called; I am free to visit for the holiday; I am flying in tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you excited?”
“Of course I am. Mama is going to have all her babies back in the nest again.
“Yes, all. Your dad is going to be so happy. Hold on, let me tell him, 'Hey, hun...guess what?' Azalia is coming for Christmas." Her voice gets distant, no doubt, and she puts down the phone to talk to dad.
“Mum, I have to go talk to you later.” I hail a taxi and return to my humble abode, my small apartment. Stepping sideways, I look around to see if I’m being watched, my keys tucked between my fingers. Closing the door, I head straight into my room for my suitcase, literally throwing and shoving clothes inside.
Meanwhile, I check my phone for flights, hoping to find one within the next eight hours. There is no way I am staying here this year; I am not going to let some creep guilt me into a toxic relationship. It would be best to be on the other side of the country before that happened.
With that thought, I fall asleep, crying until my eyes are swollen. What am I going to do? I closed my eyes, suppressing the guilt.