He stood there staring at me, clueless as to why I was so pissed off.
“Seriously? Nothing, huh?”
He shrugged. “It’s a stupid holiday. Well, they all are.”
Why the fuck did I not see this red flag?
Oh yeah. I was 28 years old, didn’t like myself much, and really stupid.
“Not even a Hershey chocolate bar,” I said, sighing and rolling my eyes, two things that I would become great at in the coming years.
He finally became mad instead of his usual steely indifference.
“What? You want me to go to the fucking gas station and get you a candy bar? Will that make you happy?”
Damn. I was so hurt but I wasn’t going to let him know, so I set my face as hard as stone.
“No, fuck off. I don’t want you to get me a stupid candy bar.”
And he didn’t.
Early red flags. Learn them.
I was smug back then, thinking I knew what an abusive man was like. If I had known better that night, I wonder if I would’ve dumped him.
A man does not need to hit, smack, kick, spit, call you names or throw away most of your stuff out of spite to achieve that label.
For the duration of our relationship, I kept sweeping his toxic bullshit under the rug.
Future Valentine’s Day gifts from him only came about due to my consistent nagging and whining. I did not change him or make him see the error of his ways. It was only his way of keeping me quiet. He just went along with the whole thing eventually, so I’d believe that he finally gave a true fuck.
Thus concludes this installment of Narcissistic Bedtime Stories.