A few nights ago, Trey and I were coming home from our usual bar/lounge type of night. He played pool. I perched on a bar stool nearby, grooving and "cheering" him on. We were in a good mood, home early for us, around midnight and decided to do a movie night. After deciding we were hungry too, and created a small feast, he popped in Robin Hood (with Russel Crowe, not Kevin Costner), and we snuggled into bed to nosh and watch the Prince of Thieves do his thing. Unsurprisingly, Trey loved the prequel describing the hood's life, I'd never seen it and loved the movie too, but I was more intrigued by Cate Blanchett's devouted hood princess. Ha! Anyway, I hopped up to use the restroom, opting for the guest bathroom instead of his for whatever reason I don't know, but it turned out to be both good and bad a choice.
I walked in the bathroom, did a little perusal of my teeth (we had just devoured a spinach dip so I had to check), and turned around to lift the toilet seat so I could do my business and get back to a waiting Trey (and a paused movie, "Babe, come on!"). But when I turned around, the seat was already up and floating in the toilet, goodness how I wished it could have been an unflushed bowl movement or something, but it wasn't.
It was a bloody tampon.
Funny, considering the fact that my period wasn't on. I hadn't been there the night before, we didn't usually do back to backs, but I had spoken to him several times before falling asleep around midnight. From the contents in the toilet, it looked like Trey had himself a good time after midnight...with someone on their period no less. Gross.
It's good to stop here and make everyone aware of my temper. My father has is, his father had it, my siblings have it. It's a cure. It just flares and unless you take proper care to curtail it, it spins a crazy web, killing every bit of sensical awareness in it's wake. I felt the warm anger immediately and without even taking a breath to calm my ass down, I swung the door open and all but stomped the hallway back to his bedroom. He looked up and noticed my demeanor had changed drastically.
Trey: What's up?
B: There's something gross in the toilet. I'd play a little game of "guess what's in the toilet," but I don't have the patience. So why don't we skip to the part where you explain to me why there's a bloody tampon floating in the toilet and don't say it's mine because my period isn't on, which you are well aware of, but maybe it wouldn't matter anyway, since you like running red lights obviously.
Trey: *looks at me like I'm crazy because he's never seen this side of sweet B. He barely flinches before saying* I don't owe you any explanations.
B: *steam flies out ears* No, you are absolutely right, you don't owe me any explanations cause I'm not your girlfriend (and I'm dumping your ass on the 20th). But what you could do is remove any and all evidence of all the chicks running through your house, how about that? Do you hear my phone ringing all night? Do I let you know of every other guy I deal with? No! I do everything to make it seem like it's just you and me, because in all honesty, there's no one else involved in you and me besides YOU and ME!
Trey: Are you gonna get back in bed and watch this movie or you gonna do this all night?
I huffed and puffed. Went back in the bathroom, slammed the door, put down the toilet seat and sat there for a good few minutes before going back into the bedroom and sitting on the floor to watch the rest of Robin Hood. What a dirtbag! I was furious and it showed as I snatched food, sighed audibly and made it completely known how pissed I was. It is one thing to inadvertently assume there are others, but to have them confirmed and slapped in your face? And on a movie night? Ugh, not cool.
Somewhere in the middle of the movie, Trey, leaned over the side of the bed and said, "I'm always honest with you. My friend was over here today. Just my friend. You know I'd tell you if it were something more."
He was right. He was and is overly honest. To the extent that sometimes I have to let him know I'm in a sensitive mood and to tread carefully. He's told me about chicks, not in depth, but has mentioned them. I never really cared one way or the other because we weren't serious and in all honesty, we aren't supposed to be now.
I sort of shrugged in response. Then remembering I'm supposed to be using my words and communicating better, I said, "I know we both see other people, but I also know you like me and I like you and I don't want to hear or see a reminder of others, ok?" I felt very mature about my statement and judging by Trey's nod of agreement, he did too.
The reality is that while we do enjoy each other's company and care about the other's feelings, it's imperative that I get a grip and stop liking this dude. It isn't going anywhere, the 20th is looming, and it'll only be worse if we keep on the path we're on.
To quote John Mayer, we're slow dancing in a burning room.
That bitch stole my line,