So, I'm still trying to be "good." Still trying to be the girl who deserves the manifestos and the dad-funded designer candles. But then, the 11:00 PM buzz happens again, and things go from "polite dirty" to trying-too-hard dominant.
I don't know what James was reading, maybe a thread online on how to be a "dominant man", but he decided he was done being the worshipper. He wanted to be the boss.
James: You're mine, Elara. You know that, right? I want you to tell me you belong to me.
I stared at the screen. I actually felt my soul try to leave my body through my forehead. It was so forced, so performative. It felt like he was wearing a suit that was three sizes too big.
Me: Haha, okay Jamie. You're being intense tonight.
James: Don't 'Haha' me. I'm serious. I'm tired of being the nice guy. I want to show you who's in charge. Do you like it when I talk to you like this?
I felt that familiar shiver of disgust. It's a specific kind of "women's struggle" we don't talk about enough, the pressure to find "dominance" hot even when it's coming from a guy who apologizes to his toaster when he burns the bread.
If a guy hasn't earned the right to be dominant, if there's no actual tension or power dynamic between you, it just feels like... bad community theater.
I typed out a "Yes," because that's what a "Good" girlfriend does. I was following the script. I was a cardboard box with "Mined" written on the side in sharpie.
And then, the notification came. A voice note. Eleven seconds long.
I should have known. I should have put the phone down and gone to sleep. But like I said, I'm a masochist. I pressed play.
It was dark. I could hear the rustle of his sheets. And then, there was this... breathy, shaky sound. James, sounding like he was running a marathon while suffering from a mild asthma attack.
"E-elara..." he gasped. It was heavy. It was wet. "You're... you're such a good girl. My…my good girl... Say you want me. Say it."
I dropped the phone on my chest. I didn't just cringe; I think my internal organs actually shriveled up into raisins.
It was the "good girl" that did it. Coming from him, it felt less like a command and more like a pat on the head from a toddler. And the breathing? It sounded like he was struggling to breathe.
I sat there in the dark, and I realized I wasn't just bored. I was repulsed. Not because he was doing something "wrong", I mean, he's my boyfriend, this is what people do.
But because the gap between who he actually is and who he was pretending to be was so wide I could fall into it and never be found.
He thinks he's being a "man." He thinks he's giving me the "soul-crushing" love I want. But all he's giving me is a reason to never want to be touched again.
I looked at Maya's profile one more time before I closed my eyes. I wondered if he sent her those voice notes. I wondered if she'd laugh, or if she'd find it hot. Probably the latter.
James: Babe? You there? I just finished... I feel so close to you right now. I love you more than anything.
I didn't reply. I couldn't. I just lay there, listening to the sound of my own heart. Heavy, slow, and completely, utterly alone.
The great pretend was getting harder. My "goodness" was running out. And I was starting to realize that no amount of praying was going to make that voice note sound like anything other than a warning to run.