february 15, 2017. brooklyn.
“Do you still love me?” I asked Phillip. A week ago he had sent me a million texts claiming this was the case, begging for me back. I was apparently an idiot for falling for it.
“No,” he said, without missing a beat.
I stood up immediately and went to put my clothes on.
“Do you love your family?” I asked him.
“No,” he answered even more quickly.
“Do you love anyone?” I already knew what the answer would be at this point.
I didn’t know how to feel. After years of dating emotionally damaged men, I still struggled tremendously with my stance on this. Do people deserve to be punished for the dysfunction in their lives that they didn't ask for? Was I obligated to try and fight that much harder to show him affection, just because he didn't seem to receive it anywhere else? My natural inclination was always yes, but I didn't know how much longer I could put myself through this.
And walking away always made me feel like a bad person. As if I had failed.
* This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.