Dear Lata:
So much has been happening with The Brat that I don’t even know where to begin. I can’t remember up to what point I told you about. Oh well! Last week, on Tuesday, Maggie calls me at work to tell me that she went over to The Brat’s place, and that both he and his roommate want to go to the pub for Happy Hour, and would I be able to get out of work early enough to meet them there? I knew I shouldn’t. After the last bout of flirting and retreating on his part, I knew I oughtn’t. So I went.
I am such a masochist.
It started off well enough. I walked in to find the three at a bar table, quite happily buzzed. Amid the usual bursts of hellos, we hugged quickly and I sat down on the other side of the table. As we chatted, The Brat started playing around with the camera and would focus it on me from time to time. He ended up moving closer to me, and somehow there were periods where his arm rested casually on my shoulder, or he felt the need to somehow examine how closely my nail polish matched my eye shadow. Yes, I know. How utterly motrtifyingly cheesy! And yet, I make no apologies for it. I flirted back, both verbally and physically. The more we drank, the more bold we got with each other. The sexual tension between us is so palpable that you would not even need a knife – you would be able to cut it with a thick brick.Like that time when we were driving back from the winery, and I put my head on his shoulder – and he rubbed my back. The entire drive back, I just knew that had there been no one else in the car, we would have taken things to the next level that night.
There was still no mention of the girlfriend on this particular night. It’s almost as though she does not exist. Of course, in my world she doesn’t. The Brat had not mentioned her to me in the 5 months we’ve known each other. But then again, I know she exists because Maggie did meet her this one time and apparently the couple were nauseatingly cozy and romantic together.
We decided to then go to this French restaurant for dinner, and for some odd reason, sanity returned, and I decided to sit next to The Brat’s roommate at the round dinner table. This is when he decides to start acting like a jerk. He had originally sat on the other side of the table, and after I sat down, he got up, walked around and pulled me up. I was too stunned to react, and suddenly found myself sitting on the next chair, as he took my seat next to the roommate. What made it worse was the bratty expression on his face. It was a look I had seen plenty of times before, when he knew he was doing something that was not acceptable, when he knew he was crossing the line, but he was going to do it anyway because it was something he wanted to do. And that’s all that counted. Whatever his reason – whether he acted this way because he was jealous I chose to sit down next to the roommate, or because he liked the view from that seat better, or because he wanted to be the one sitting next to the roommate – he had to get his way.
I was really annoyed, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. Meanwhile, the waiter came by to take our drinks order and I ordered ice water. I didn’t have a taste for alcohol any more that night. The Brat turned to me incredulously.
“You’re not getting a drink?”
I shook my head. “No”
“That is such a turn off for me!”
Say WHAT? I know it sounds stupid, and silly, but I was suddenly very angry.
“What the fuck do I care if you’re turned on or not? “
After a few seconds of stunned silence, Maggie and the roommate started making small talk as The Brat tried to school the fury on his face and I willed the tear drops to not streak mine. We resumed talking, a little sullenly at first, getting better over the course of the dinner. In fact, we started reverting back to our flirtation. We went dancing after dinner, and while I initially danced with the roommate as The Brat stood at the bar watching us, it wasn’t long before he cut in, and we ended up dancing all night. And I forgot about everyone and everything. AGAIN.
Told you, I was a masochist.
But later that night, when I got home, I kept replaying the entire episode in my head. To me, the night symbolizes our entire “relationship”. Everything is always on his terms. When we hang out, what we do, how much we flirt and now, even where we sit at a dinner table! We dance when he wants to, we go so far as he wants to, we act out the evening the way he wants to. He doesn’t mention the girlfriend, even though I know he will never leave her. He gives me hope when there is none, and believe me, Lata, it is a cruel, cruel thing to do. He’ll say these things, and do such things, that I can’t stop myself from hoping, wanting, wishing.
I am just as much to blame. Maggie TOLD me how beautiful and perfect his girlfriend is, and how romantic and flirty he is with her. I KNOW she is not some figment of my imagination but a smart, sassy and probably good person who does not deserve her boyfriend, and certainly does not deserve another woman coveting her boyfriend. I despise being the Other Woman. I know he flirts with me because I probably fulfill this fantasy of his. Our relationship is witty banter, temptation, sexuality – fast, furious and passionate filled with sarcasm, anger, laughter, excitement. It’s raw and unpolished. Fun.
And yet, I won’t be able to get him. What is it about her that keeps him with her? Why is it that he’s her boyfriend and not mine? Why is it that I can’t inspire someone to love me? I’m good enough to flirt with, but not to have a relationship with?
I hate him for making me think I’m not good enough. I hate him for making me act like this person who would covet someone else’s boyfriend, who acts wantonly, and unlike her conservative, “fairy-tale” prudish self. I hate him for making me want him.
Oh dear god, Lata. I think I love him.
Call me.
~ Maya.
