"I don't like him."
His friend stared at him, silently pained. "But I love him. He is such an amazing guy. Besides, you've never met him; you don't even know him. All my other friends like him."
"I don't have to meet him to know that I don't like him. He's insecure, possessive, and dangerous. Be careful."
Today he received a phone call from his friend. Listening to her, his heart skipped a couple of beats, as she told him she was moving halfway across the country to escape her lover. He had just beaten her up the night before, and was, presently, in jail. You could hear the pangs of sorrow and regret in her voice. She had tried to defend him to the police - begging them not to arrest him, swearing that he hadn't really hurt her, but they were unpersuaded as they stared at the black and blue marks formed on her body.
You could hear that hope in her voice. You could feel that desire welling up within her to be close to him again. To be back with this man and hold him close again - the emotion fighting to break free from the grasp of her reason and logic.
"I need to move. I'm leaving tomorrow."
"I know. It's ok. You're going to be alright."
As he spoke to her, he felt a sense of pain, anger, and sadness wash over him. Somewhere there was that little person in his head - that person that had predicted all of this so many months ago. He had seen it all unfold before it had begun and had tried desperately to warn his friend before the incident occurred. This miniature man had no desire to condemn with reproaches or any statements of I told you so. He simply wanted to give up and sulk, as he whispered quietly to himself, "I'm so tired of being right."
His friend stared at him, silently pained. "But I love him. He is such an amazing guy. Besides, you've never met him; you don't even know him. All my other friends like him."
"I don't have to meet him to know that I don't like him. He's insecure, possessive, and dangerous. Be careful."
Today he received a phone call from his friend. Listening to her, his heart skipped a couple of beats, as she told him she was moving halfway across the country to escape her lover. He had just beaten her up the night before, and was, presently, in jail. You could hear the pangs of sorrow and regret in her voice. She had tried to defend him to the police - begging them not to arrest him, swearing that he hadn't really hurt her, but they were unpersuaded as they stared at the black and blue marks formed on her body.
You could hear that hope in her voice. You could feel that desire welling up within her to be close to him again. To be back with this man and hold him close again - the emotion fighting to break free from the grasp of her reason and logic.
"I need to move. I'm leaving tomorrow."
"I know. It's ok. You're going to be alright."
As he spoke to her, he felt a sense of pain, anger, and sadness wash over him. Somewhere there was that little person in his head - that person that had predicted all of this so many months ago. He had seen it all unfold before it had begun and had tried desperately to warn his friend before the incident occurred. This miniature man had no desire to condemn with reproaches or any statements of I told you so. He simply wanted to give up and sulk, as he whispered quietly to himself, "I'm so tired of being right."
God I can't stand hearing stories of men that do that.
ReplyDeleteI wish we could round them all together and cut off their wee wees