Endings

One of the first things I did after finding Jeff and his (coughcoughyeahIcallbullshitcough) friend together in his bed was call up one of my close friends to go out for coffee. I hadn't seen her all school year, a fact she was kind enough not to mention when I called.

When I told her what had happened and what was going on, she said the words that would change my life. "That sound like an abusive relationship to me."

"Abusive"

It echoed around in my brain and I knew she was right.

How had I not seen it earlier? When had this happened? How had I not noticed?

And, more to the point, how lucky was I to have a girlfriend who was able to gently show me what I'd been unable unwilling to see?

It took me a while to leave, as twisted up as I was in Jeff and whatever tatters of the relationship I thought remained. And ironically, I wasn't able to tell him I wanted out until he told me he wanted us to move in with his friends, all of whom smoked.

I've never liked smokers. I can't be around cigarette smoke. I won't date someone who smokes. That Jeff would move us to a house full of smokers was the last straw. The voice in my head wasn't quiet any more. It was loud.

Shouting.

Get.

Out.

Now.

So I did.






To be continued . . .