When he is sober, I am the furniture. I am the reliable chair or snuggly blanket. Always there. Essential to keeping him comfortable, but nothing more.
Last night, Mr. TakeMe actually called me. He usually texts, but this time he called. He was super drunk. More drunk than he was last time. Unintelligible other than the words food, and needing me.
I debate meeting him. I’m tired. I’ve only had a few hours of sleep. I need my rest, but he sounds bad.
And I miss him. I miss him like I miss sunshine, or blue skies, or laughter.
So I tell him I’ll meet him at his place.
He doesn’t show.
I get worried.
I decide to see if he’s at the bar. He is. He’s in his car, passed out, doors unlocked. The bar owner and staff are wondering what to do about him, and they’re relieved that I show up.
They drag his limp body into my car. I grab his keys. Lock his car. And drive him to get food, pay for it because he’s passed out again, and then to his place.
He’s barely with it enough to get out of the car and drag himself to his apt. So I unlock his place, and go back and lock my car.
I make him sit in his desk chair so I can hound him into eating something before he passes out again.
Then he starts talking. He tells me about how he’s ruined everything over his ex and going back to her. He tells me about how he had someone who really really liked him and he ruined it for his ex… and suddenly I realize he’s not talking about me. He’s talking about someone else.
He tells me about all sorts of things.. tells me how amazing I am and how much he likes me and how he doesn’t deserve me.
He tells me about his sex bruises from his ex and some new ones from someone else… and I break.
Since we were last together, he’s been with his ex AND someone else. Someone that wasn’t me. Yet, he only calls me because he’s too drunk.
And I realize that somewhere along the way, I became the doormat. I start crying. I’m really trying not to, but I do.
He holds me and suddenly a light goes off in him, and he realizes that I fucking care about him. He says he doesn’t know what to do that he’s never been in this situation before, but he holds me tenderly like he usually does.
I wait for him to pass out, and I leave. I can’t stay and pretend that everything is alright.
But I have to return to take him to his car in the morning. Sure, I could have left him stranded. It would have served him right, but I’m not that kind of person.
So I go back. He’s still sleeping. I lay down beside him. He’s refusing to wake up, and finally I say…
“If you want a ride to your car, you’d better get your ass up.”
He wakes in confusion asking where’s his car. He rushes. I start driving him to his car.
I can instantly tell that he’s forgotten everything about last night. He starts telling me about his ex, and I’m numb. I want to push him out of the car. I don’t.
I tell him about his state last night, and what I did for him. He says “Thanks” and “Sorry” as if it was just expected. As if, that’s my job. I am the furniture.
He gets out of my car. Says something about making it up to me, but we both know it’s a lie.