Para la chica que marcó su territorio, él es todo tuyo
En primer lugar. Puedes quedártelo. Sinceramente. Pensé que podría manejarlo. Sólo pasar el rato casualmente. ‘Friends with benefits’como quieras llamarlo. Estaba seguro de que esta vez podría manejarlo. When I picked up the phone and called his number, I knew who I was calling and what he would offer. I knew that he would give me the ‘boyfriend experience’ without anything pesky like an attachment or a commitment to go with it. Sabía que me llevaría a su mundo y me haría sentir que pertenecía a él, pero mi lugar sería precario en el mejor de los casos.
Me sentía sola y la verdad era que me gustaba. I liked hanging out with him, spending time with him. We got along well and we laughed together. I liked him so much in fact that during both our first and second go ‘round I thought it was actually going to turn into something. When I met his daughter I thought, for sure, it was going somewhere, I was excited that she seemed to like me right away, and that he was bringing me into his world.
It didn’t take long after that meeting before he dropped it on me that he just wanted to be friends. He didn’t want to settle down. Verás, eso era lo suyo. La honestidad. Después de haber sido engañado y mentido durante años, era refrescante. De alguna manera pensé que saber de antemano que había alguien más era mejor que ser engañado. I was a fucking moron settling for table scraps. And it would never take long for the reality that I didn’t want to settle for table scraps to bring me back from my delusion.
This last time I wasn’t going to be taken in. I wasn’t going to confuse what was what. I was going to go along, enjoy the ride and not catch any real feelings. And that’s what I did, for a minute. Until we started spending more time together, going out on cute little dates, hanging out with his friends. I stopped asking questions I didn’t want to know the answers to, and I tried to ignore the sick feeling inside my stomach that knew this was just pretending.
No tardé en darme cuenta de en qué me había metido. Un día entré mientras hablaba por el altavoz con uno de sus chicos. El chico me oyó y preguntó, “Is that Sarah?” Nope. Not Sarah. Y ese fue el principio del fin, por última vez. Of course I asked, “Who’s Sarah?” and for once his honesty faltered. I knew he must really care about me if he was going so far as to lie. That’s fucked up, right? In any case, he wasn’t committed to me so what could I do?
The next time I walked in and saw your pink slippers, I was like, ‘Whose fucking slippers are these? And why would he leave them for me to see?’ The answer was so obvious, because he didn’t care if I saw them, and he didn’t care how seeing them would make me feel. You would have thought I would have left immediately. I didn’t. I stayed, we chilled.
Me fui a casa y soñé con zapatillas rosas. Volví otro día y sus zapatillas se habían movido. De alguna manera dudé de que las hubiera movido. Tus pies debieron de estar en ellos mientras paseabas, sintiéndote como en casa, y luego los volviste a poner en otro sitio. Tu territorio estaba claramente marcado. Tus zapatillas, en la puerta, como si pertenecieran allí. Como si tú pertenecieras allí. ¿Y dónde me dejaba eso a mí? ¿Iba a dejar alguna señal, o marcador, para hacerte saber que yo también estaba allí? ¿Iba a empezar una guerra con tus zapatillas? ¿Veo tus zapatillas rosas y te subo mi albornoz morado? No, not me. I’m going to leave this place and never come back. Tus zapatillas, y ese tipo, están a salvo de mí.
by Tia Grace
