Provocation

For the first time in two months, I slept.  I mean, I really slept.  Bobby left for Tennessee yesterday, and last night, I didn’t wake up once.  No nightmares, no obnoxious video games at 3am — just darkness and silence.  It was wonderful.

My weekend was an odd one.  Bobby wanted to go to dinner Friday night then out on the town afterwards.  He said he wanted to spend some quality time with me his last weekend here, and I agreed.  After a quick shower that evening, we headed downtown to a nice steakhouse, The Famous.  You can’t get a table at any restaurant in the Springs without a reservation, so we ended up taking the last two stools at the bar.  A comical regular sat on the opposite side of Bobby, and a conversation ensued.  It was not by chance that we sat next to this guy.

Colorado Springs has banned smoking in all public places, so while Bobby was outside puffing away, the gentleman scooted over into the seat next to me.  He asked if we had just recently split up, and I, of course, said yes.  He said, "It’s because he drinks to much, isn’t it?"  I wrinkled my forehead in confusion and again replied with yes.  He asked me to hold out my hands, and it was like he was psychically drawing information from me.  He began to tell me exact things that I have said and written to Bobby.  I was astounded.  It was as if he had copy and pasted exact lines from my letters and thoughts into his own brain.  The guy talked to Bobby, too, when I was outside having a smoke.  By then end of the dinner, we were both so weirded out that we decided to forego the clubs and head home.  The rest of the night was pretty somber.  We didn’t talk much.  I fell asleep on the couch, and he slept in the spare bedroom. 

I spent most of the day Saturday shopping and running errands.  He was out all day, as well.  That evening, he sent me a text asking if I’d like to go out again since we didn’t have a very good time the night before.  I wasn’t really in the mood to deal with crowds and listen to ridiculously loud music, and I told him that.  He suddenly got angry and started bombarding me with nasty text messages.  "I don’t know why I’m even trying to spend time with you when it’s obvious you never wanted me to begin with."  I asked him why he was being such an asshole, and I ignored any more incoming messages.  The night just went downhill from that point on.

My brother called, and I talked to him for awhile.  I spilled the beans on the entire situation, and as we were getting off the phone, he said, "Things might be okay right now, but you never know how it will get right at the very end."  I promised to be careful and hung up.  Just about that time, Bobby showed up.  I was watching a DVD, and he sat across the room.  We chit-chatted back and forth, and the conversation was pleasant, civil.  Every half our or so, he would go outside for fifteen to twenty minutes.  I’m not sure what he was doing, and I didn’t ask.  After about the fourth time of this, I fell asleep on the couch.  I woke up to him face to face with me yelling my name.  He told me to go to bed, and I responded with, "I’ll go to bed if I want to!"  About ten minutes later, I decided that I really did want to go to bed, so I marched off to the bedroom and tucked myself in.

I wasn’t sleeping very well (as usual), and I woke up suddenly to what I thought was the sound of glass breaking.  It was just my imagination, but I couldn’t get back to sleep.  The bedroom door was open, and I could hear Bobby talking on the phone.  He has a loud, deep, booming voice, and I could understand every single word he was saying.  The more I listened, the more concerned I became.  He was saying things like, "I’m so fucking angry right now!  I want to slash her tires or something.  I just want to… crush her.  Destroy her!  I’m so fucking angry!"  I wasn’t sure who he was talking to, and I just laid there in disbelief.  Then he said the one thing that never should’ve come out of his mouth.  "I want to kill something.  (Pause as other person asks question.)  Well, there’s two little kitties running around."

Give me a second to compose myself.  I get angry every time I even think about him saying that.

That was the final straw.  I threw back the covers and slammed the door open so hard that the doorstop went right the wall.  He was still on the phone when I stormed out and yelled, "Do you know how fucking loud you’re talking?  I can hear every single fucking word you’re saying!"  He just kind of smirked and told whomever he was on the phone with that he’d have to call them back.  The next hour was not a pretty one.  We had it out, and I chewed him up one side and down the other.  He told me that I’m selfish because the only things I’m worried about are my possessions and my pets, that I’m not worried at all about him.  I told him that I don’t care how angry a person gets, it’s not normal to think about killing someone’s cats.  I flew off the handle.

After we both calmed down, we talked for another hour.  He told me that he was glad that I came out and said something to him.  Well, shit!  He provoked me!  He said that I don’t get passionate about anything.  I explained that it’s not that I’m not passionate about relationships.  I’m just not a fighter.  I never have been.  I don’t see the point in throwing hateful words around in a fit of anger.  I’d rather talk about things calmly.  Apparently, in his eyes, the fact that I don’t want to fight with him means that I don’t care. 

Then the conversation took a bizarre twist.  He said that he felt like me coming out of the bedroom and confronting him was me giving him a second chance.  What?!  I asked him why in the hell he thought I would give him a second chance after that.  He said that I opened up about a lot of things and expressed a lot of feelings.  I repeat, he provoked me!  I asked him what in the world he was thinking, and he seriously responded with, "Well, I was actually thinking that I might stay now."  Uh, no sir!  I don’t know what reality you’re living in, but in this one, you saying that you want to kill my cats does not make me want to give you a second chance.  In fact, it just solidifies my decision to kick you out!  Fucking moron.

Bobby was gone all day Sunday.  I didn’t know where he went, and I didn’t really care.  In fact, I was glad he wasn’t at home.  He came in late that night, and I might’ve said two words to him.  I went to bed without saying goodnight, and I left for work the next morning without saying goodbye.  Monday evening, he packed all of his things in his car.  He was waiting on a delayed package to arrive, but when it didn’t show up yesterday morning, he decided

to leave immediately.  I came home around 11am to see him off.  He held me for a good ten minutes, crying the entire time.  I never shed a tear.  As he walked out the door for the last time, he stopped and said, "I’ll always love you, Rachel."

I celebrated last night with a heaping plate of spaghetti, a bottle of merlot, brownies, and American Idol.

Cheers,
Felina