The Boyfriend Designer - Christopher Harlan Page 0,70
the two flights of stairs and see that his door is a little bit open. Shit, this is always that scene in the movie where someone walks into a home invasion! Should I dial the police? Stop it, Shosh, you’re being crazy.
Wait, I hear his voice. What’s going on?
I’m feeling brave, and I need to make sure that my man is okay. If I’m not crazy, and this is some YouTuber kidnapping or home invasion I can always throw my box of napoleons at whoever it is, grab Conor by the wrist, and we can make a run for it.
Now I’m being stupid.
I’m sure he just. . .
Oh. My. God.
Seeing what I’m seeing right now—I’m wishing upon a star that I had walked into a home invasion.
Conor
“FML”
Here’s what the last horrific ten minutes of my life have looked like...
After asking Jessica to leave about three more times, I graduated from being polite to the crazy chick to just outright threats of legal action, which I was more than willing to follow through on. My lawyer is on speed dial at this point.
When that resulted in more fucking howling and promises of how cute our—wait for it—“pups” would be one day, I just took out my phone and dialed 911. Cops and psychologists get paid to deal the mentally ill, I don’t, so I dialed and started talking to the operator when Jessica tried grabbing the phone out of my hand.
We struggled with it and it fell to the ground and cracked. The only good part was that hopefully the sound of yelling and me getting cut off of a 911 call would definitely make them send a patrol car by to make sure nothing bad was happening.
At the time I was just angry that the whole scene was playing out the way it was. I probably shouldn’t have touched her, but I grabbed her by the shoulders out of pure frustration and started yelling in her face.
And what did my mentally ill stalker (I guess that’s kind of redundant) do when I was inches away from her face and holding her body still? Yup, she sees the opposite of what’s actually happening and smashed her lips against mine.
I was so shocked that I just didn’t move for a few seconds.
But you know what did move?
That’s right, my front door, which I apparently left a little bit open—just enough for my girlfriend to walk in, see this whole scene unfolding, and freak the fuck out.
I pushed Jessica away out of instinct, which probably made me look guilty now that I think about it.
“Shosh,” I said. “This isn’t what you think.”
Fuck, could I have sounded any more cliché in that moment? So, there I was, a crazy stalker who just kissed me before I threw her on the floor, and my new girlfriend who I’m falling for walking in and thinking that I’m cheating on her. FUCK MY LIFE!!!
“So, this is why you never wanted to talk about her, huh?”
“No,” I said, digging a deeper and deeper hole for myself. “I swear, this is NOT what it looks like. Trust me.”
“Oh, so you mean I didn’t just see you kissing Jessica?”
“Well, no, you did, but. . .”
“Fuck you, Conor!” That sentiment was followed by the really forceful throwing of a box of pastries that I didn’t even know she had, and then the line that hurt me the worst. “I was right about you the whole time. I feel so stupid.”
That gutted me to hear. Worse than my phone cracking. Worse than the crazy chick in a wolf shirt sitting on my floor, and worse than seeing smushed pastries slowly sliding their way down my wall.
She stormed out. I yelled but she ignored me. I would have followed her and made a fool of myself while shouting “Shoshana, I didn’t miss the She-Wolf, I swear!” on the crowded streets of Manhattan, but I was terrified of leaving Jessica alone in my place.
I didn’t know what to do.
I waited for the cops to take Jessica away.
I cleaned up the mess Shoshana left behind.
And I texted her. Repeatedly. Like, more than anyone should text a person. Then I followed up with calls. Lots of calls. Each unanswered call—which was all of them—got a voicemail.
If she’d have called the cops on me for stalking, I would have pled guilty.