I hate the lot of them

Why does every man in my life have to be such a horrible shit? Every single one of them is a cheating lying sack of scum.

Because Goatee can’t stand to be alone even for a second, he had yet another night planned for us. His wife is supposed to be back on Saturday, so I knew that having my companion in crime was about to come to an end. Rightfully, as soon as she returned, he’d spend all his evening with her. So, I agreed to hangout with him again tonight.

We went out to eat. Goatee had been wanting to try a new upmarket currie house that opened a few months back, but he hadn’t had a chance to do so. I had a lamb balti sag, and to be honest I don’t understand why the place was up market – other than the fact it looked like hypster haven with chalkboards for me use, things were served on a slab, and the pipes were exposed. Oh, and the prices were really expensive. The food was good, but no better than anywhere else.

Anyway, after that we went to a bar that had a live jazz quartet, and Goatee, once again, tried to teach me about whiskey. If in four years I haven’t learned to like whiskey, one more night of the stuff isn’t going to change that.

After two beers at the restaurant and a couple of whiskies choked back at the bar – plus a belly full of curry – I was getting sleepy, so we headed back to the flat. I was hoping he’d drop me off and leave me to hit the sack, but instead he just came right on into the place as if he owned it, and dug out a bottle of red he had stashed in the cupboard. We finished that bottle and he opened another, and we continued to chat about Thanksgiving in the States and other bits of random stuff.

I decided that I was far too tired to continue yammering while sitting up straight, so I excused myself and went into the bathroom to change into my PJs, which weren’t PJs. I told Goatee he could stick around but I needed to lie down. If I fell asleep, he could let himself out.

I changed into a gi-normous man’s shift I love sleeping in. It’s thick and warm and engulfs me. I’m so short the thing comes down to my knees. It fits like one of those old fashioned nightshirts. I’ve had it for ages, and I wear it all the time. However, I completely forgot where I got it from. Well, I got it from Goatee…four years ago when we lived together. And, he immediately recognised it.

He laughed about it, and I flumped myself onto the bed with a glass of wine in hand. He came over and sat next to me.

‘You know I was heartbroken when you left,’ he said.

I was taken back. It was out of no where. Plus, being with HP for so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like for a man to actually talk about an emotion.

‘It’s worked out for the best,’ I said, brushing it off. ‘You’ve got your wife. And she’s amazing. Plus, we weren’t good for each other.’

He scooted farther onto the bed, and rested his head against the wall. ‘I disagree. I think we’re very good for each other. I think we were just blind to what we had in front of us. You were enamoured with HP and look how that turned out.’

He had a point. Did I mess things up with Goatee, a stable man, for a boy who plays with action figures and can’t speak to me about anything other than science fiction characters? Then I remembered why I left Goatee. He cheated on me. I reminded him of his lack of faithfulness.

‘I did. And it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. But I did it because I thought you were fooling around with HP. I was jealous, and that was stupid,’ he said.

I got to thinking about HP and Goatee. Goatee had cheated on me out of pure jealousy, out of an incorrect sense of revenge. Yes, I was in love with HP by that point, but I hadn’t acted on it. And now, HP has cheated on me. But his actions were just wrong. He kissed Candy, and probably more. I’ve been with no one but HP since we officially started seeing each other over two years ago, but now he simply wanted to be with someone else and he acted on it. My heart hurt so badly. Everything I hadn’t been dealing with since returning to Glasgow suddenly rose up.

I started to cry, but in a way that was kind of unlike me. I wasn’t sobbing, my eyes just filled with water and silently ran down my cheeks. The lamp by the sofa was the only light on in the bedsit, and with the bed behind a screen it was somewhat dark. I hoped Goatee couldn’t see me cry.

Goatee put his hand on my leg and said, ‘I’m sorry. I should have never let you go.’

Then he pushed his hand up my thigh and it felt nice. I knew it was happening and I didn’t want it to stop. He reached my panties and slipped his hand underneath. I hadn’t been touched like this in so long. He started to unbutton my shirt with his other hand, and slid his fingers across my chest. I could feel his breath on my neck but he didn’t kiss me. Then fingers from his other hand went inside me.

Goatee was some of the best sex I have ever had, and I wanted to see where this would go. I wanted him to make me feel better. I wanted more of him inside me.

‘Let me give you what he never could,’ Goatee whispered in my ear.

My mind raced to HP. To the night I saw him lean into to kiss Candy. Candy who was actually dating someone else, and HP who was with me. HP and Candy may have been together that night, but they also both became cheaters that Halloween. I ran off to Goatee that night in a fit of revenge. But, it didn’t happen because of his wife.

Oh God! Goatee’s wonderful wife!

What the fuck were we doing? What was I letting Goatee do?

I pushed him off of me and told him to stop. He asked why and I said, ‘You’re married.’

‘Yes I know,’ he said as he leaned in to kiss my neck.

I pushed him back and started to button my shirt as I slid my legs under the duvet.

‘No. It’s wrong. You are married,’ I reiterated.

I expected him to tell me a story about how his wife was actually horrible, or how she’d been cheating on him, or how they were secretly divorced. Something to make this situation ‘okay’. But he didn’t.

‘Yes, I am married. But a lot of men take a mistress. There’s nothing wrong with it,’ he said.

‘Nothing wrong with it,’ I shouted as a physically pushed him off the bed.

‘I’m not talking about some sort of antiquated arrangement where I “keep you”. You’ll be free to see other people if you wish. I love my wife. She is an amazing person. But ever since Halloween, when you came on to me, I began to see that monogamy just doesn’t make since for me. I’ve been struggling with relationships my whole life, and why? Because, I’m not allowed to be with more than one woman. I love my wife, and I want you. I regret us not staying together. I genuinely care for you. Why does us being together have to affect my marriage?’

Oh. My. God.

Goatee is a pig. Yep. The disgust that I had for him all those years ago when he cheated, all those feelings that I forgot about…all returned. He says he loves his wife. He says I broke his heart when I left. But he’s willing to break his wife’s heart? That’s not love. He’s a selfish man. How the fuck did I get myself into this situation…again.

‘Get out,’ I screamed. Then it dawned on me that this was his flat. Shit, it was after the last train and I didn’t have anywhere to go. But I couldn’t stay in his flat.

I jumped out of bed and started throwing my stuff in my bag and suitcase, which was quite difficult actually because in less than a week I’ve bought stuff (the dress for Donna’s wedding, the decoration for mum, and a two pairs of trousers because I forgot to bring some with me from Dundee). I was manically trying to force everything into the bag but it wouldn’t zip.

‘You don’t need to leave. Why are you acting like this?’ Goatee said.

I wasn’t going to answer. I stormed into the kitchen area and found a bin bag to stuff the rest of my things in. I went into the bathroom to change into some proper clothes and I texted the only person I knew in Glagsow. I called Roger.

I couldn’t believe it was coming to this. HP’s mate was going to have to rescue me from the lascivious actions of my ex-boyfriend. Roger answered and I told him I was in a bit of a pickle. I needed an emergency place to crash in Glasgow. Could I stay at his? He said that it wasn’t a problem, so I hung up and ordered a taxi.

Without speaking another word to Goatee, I gathered my stuff and got outside to the pavement just as the taxi was arriving. Goatee followed me, claiming to be bewildered. He kept asking what my ‘problem was’ and saying, ‘just come back inside so we can talk’.

I got into the taxi without saying a word to him.

When I arrived at Roger’s with far too much luggage, a bin bag of clothes and a large craft angel, all he said was, ‘How long do you plan on staying?’

I assured him it was just for the night.

My stuff is now shoved in a corner of Roger’s lounge and I’m lying on the world’s most uncomfortable sofa typing this post on my phone.

I truly hate all men right now.

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