I was looking for a gun. Honestly, I was praying for one.
I wanted to find a text where James called Maya "babe," or a late-night "miss you," or even a slightly-too-long compliment about her hair. I wanted a reason to set the whole house on fire and walk away without looking back.
It started with a comment he made about a song she'd sent him.
Me: Oh, so you're sharing music with her now? The stuff you said was 'too complicated' for me?
James: It's just techno, Elara. Why are you being like this? I'm just being friendly.
Me: Friendly? You hide her for five months and call it 'friendly'? Show me. Show me the texts, James. If it's so innocent, let me see how you talk to her.
There was a long pause. The little bubbles appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. I felt that sick, excited hum in my chest. This is it, I thought. He's panicked. He's deleting things.
Then, my phone buzzed with a dozen screenshots.
I scrolled through them like a forensic investigator. I was looking for the dirt. But the more I read, the more I felt like I was eating a bowl of plain white rice.
It was... fine. It was worse than fine. It was exactly like how he talked to me.
James to Maya: "Haha, that's so funny! You're literally so talented, it's insane."
James to Maya: "Good morning! Hope you have the best day today, you deserve it."
James to Maya: "I'm so lucky to have people like you in my life to keep me inspired."
I felt the air go out of me. He wasn't cheating. He wasn't even flirting, really. He was just being James. He was using the same recycled compliments, the same enthusiastic emojis, the same "school-smart but logic-poor" tone he used with me, with his mom, probably with his mailman.
He treats everyone like they're the main character of a Pixar movie.
Me: You tell her she's talented. You tell me I'm talented. Do you actually mean it, or is it just a script you run?
James: I do mean it! You're both amazing in different ways. Why is it a bad thing to be nice to people, Elara? I don't understand why you're trying to make me a villain.
I threw my phone onto the bed. I couldn't even be mad. Technically, he'd done everything right. He was transparent. He was "safe." He was a "green flag" so big it was practically a tarp.
But that's the trap, isn't it? If he treats everyone like they're special, then nobody is.
I wasn't his "soul-crushing" love. I was just the girl currently occupying the "Girlfriend" slot in his highly-efficient Kindness Machine.
He's not a player. He's just a puppy. And you can't get mad at a puppy for being friendly to a stranger in the park. But it makes you realize that the way he looks at you, that devotion, isn't because of who you are. It's because of who he is.
I looked at a text he'd sent me right after the screenshots: "I hope you're not mad anymore. I just want us to be happy. You're my world."
I felt a wave of actual, bone-deep exhaustion. I wanted to tell him that "the world" shouldn't be this easy to manage. I wanted to tell him that if I'm his world, he should know that my world is currently ending because I can't afford to fix a car, while he's out here being a "democracy of kindness" to girls on the internet.
But I didn't. I just typed: "I'm not mad. Sorry for being a sensitive bitch."
James: "You're not a bitch! Don't ever call yourself that.You're just passionate. I love that about you. <3"
I didn't reply. I just sat there in the silence of my room, realizing that the only thing worse than being cheated on is realizing you're completely replaceable by anyone with a "vibe" and an internet connection.