Wrong

My head hurts.

Probably because of how I’ve yanked at my brown locks for the past two hours. But it’s not a mere external pain; his words are reverberating within my skull, dissolving my brain to form empty space so that they may echo eternally.

“You’re an idiot.”

Not really, I’m not. Maybe in the way of forgetting to buy champagne on the most alcohol-worthy night of the year. But I’m not stupid. I know about the world, I take pleasure in books, I do the crossword, etc. By the standards of society, I am intelligent. The way he sees me though, I’m nothing more than a common fool.

“You’re vain.”

Does it make me vain to ask if I look nice before a party? Because if so, then yes, I am guilty of this crime. But I do not spend exorbitant amounts of money on hair and clothing. While I am at fault of splurging on special occasions, I do not consider it a habit of mine.

“You’re dull.”

I am considered dull because I do not enjoy discussing the tactics behind football. I am considered dull because I am quiet. I used to think the silence we held between us was comfortable, familiar. I had thought we didn’t always need words to communicate. Little did I know that it was seen as one of my flaws.

“You’re overbearing.”

He’s talking about three weeks ago when he caught me following him to his usual bar. Maybe he’s right about that one. Except for the fact that I was following him because a co-worker had informed me that he had been seen making out with a woman who was definitely not me at that very haunt. Ironic that my attempt to finally confront this rumor had resulted in the tearing apart of my character, not his.

“You are passionless.”

Because this is a common occurrence, these one-sided arguments. He continues to try to break me inside, and I take it. So I hate him, just a little bit. More than that, I hate myself. So how can I put passion into a relationship where I loathe both counterparts?

And if I’m at the point where I hate both counterparts of the relationship, then why do I let myself remain in it? Why am I forever the doormat, allowing him to walk all over me at his pleasure?

“And the only reason you would have ever accused me of cheating is if you were trying to cover for yourself. So you know what? You’re a whore.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

His eyes are flashing, muscles tense. He is dangerous, he is senseless, he is wrong.

“I am not an idiot. I am not vain. I am not dull. I am not overbearing. And I am most certainly not a whore.”

“Now you listen to me-“

“No. I am through listening to you. Because you know what I am? I am a coward. I do not possess bravery. I have sat here and listened to you rip me apart, and the whole time I was merely thinking about how I should just wait it out so you could forgive me. But then I realized. What do I need you to forgive? So while these other things you say are false, here’s an insult. I am a coward through and through.”

“Well I’m sure we can find room for that on this very lengthy list-“

“Please, stop. And please leave.”

“What? You can’t just kick me out. We’re not done talking about this.”

“Actually, we are. And yes I can. In ten minute it will be a brand new year. And I want to go into that as myself. Not this kicked puppy I’ve found myself acting like when you’re in the room. For this year, I’m just going to be me, good and bad. And unfortunately, I don’t think there’s any room for you in that resolution.”