…continued from last week
Of course, you can’t generalize sex with the ex as good or bad. It all depends on the ex and the ex’s intentions. But Andrew and I? We had some baggage. Mostly because we never really talked about what actually happened when his whole world thought he died. I had a hard time trusting Andrew, but I had an even harder time staying away from him.
I tried my best not to reach out. I had to remind myself of his fictional demise to thoroughly convince myself not to. I took to cyber-stalking, trying to keep up with Andrew’s Insta-life without him knowing I was checking on him. I used my finsta. I watched him in the studio, enjoying himself making music, posting cryptic messages to somebody on his Instastories, and posting freestyles that made me smile. It took a while before Andrew hit me again. And when he did, we slipped into an argument. I told Andrew to just leave me alone and he said, “Alright bet.”
Andrew didn’t leave me alone though, and I didn’t want him to. A couple weeks later, he responded to my story on Instagram. I sent him a smiley and he called me that night. We cupcaked on the phone like we used to when we were long-distance relationshipping it. I missed everything about that experience with Andrew and we kept that going strong for a couple of weeks before we slipped into yet another argument. That time, I promised myself I wouldn’t allow Andrew to come back into my life. I wasn’t going to fall for whatever method he used to reach out to me. And he tried a couple times, in a couple ways to reach me and I ignored each and every one. Finally, he got it and stopped reaching out. I was finally getting this man out of my system. I was proud of myself. My birthday was coming up and I felt like I had some growth to bring into my personal new year.
I had a crazy drunken night of fun with my friends on my birthday and I figured I would likely hear from Andrew, at least to wish me a happy birthday. I didn’t. I was a little disappointed, but I had to remind myself that I had moved on and was better for it. As I was scrolling through and responding to Instagram comments for my birthday, I saw a fan page with Andrew’s rap name that liked my birthday post.
I laughed. A fan page? I clicked on it. The latest post from that page was Andrew with a girl in a hot tub in a tacky motel room. It was a series of pictures. My first thought was that it was from a video shoot. But the caption proclaimed he was engaged. I swiped through the pictures and saw more of them in the hot tub, videos of them together kissing, hugging, laughing, and one with her peeling a face mask off of him. In that particular video, he calls her “Queen Jelissa.” Remember that name? The married lesbian secretary who got me the Lyft from the airport that time I came back from Paris. The one he swore to me I wouldn’t have to worry about.
This negro liked my post, hoping my nosey ass would click on that fan page and see him and Jelissa happily engaged. There were more photos of them together and they seemed blissfully happy. My heart sank. I wanted to call him, but why? This man had clearly moved on and even gotten engaged to the same person he told me wasn’t even a factor. Any sliver of trust I had left inside of my heart for Andrew evaporated. I thought about that time he purchased a ring for me that was way too small so I wore it on my pinky and called it a pinky promise ring. He would swear to me that he’d get it sized so that it would go on my ring finger. “You’re the one Danielle,” he told me that day I slid the ring on. “You’re my wife.” I believed him. Part of me still does.
I left the situation alone and even stopped myself from cyber-stalking him. I didn’t want to see him or his lesbian wife-to-be, Jelissa, anymore. Andrew would send texts every now and again, but for the most part, he stopped reaching out too. And then, after almost six months of not talking to him at all, a pandemic hits and so does Andrew. Suddenly, he’s calling, facetiming, texting, asking if he could be unblocked, inviting me to virtual events, and offering to take me anywhere I need to go. I wasn’t sure how to take it. He thought it was cute that I was being mean to him.
“Yeah, you’re mad. I get it. But I love you. This is a crazy time. It’s not the time to withdraw from each other.” I imagined Andrew sending me this message looking just like a Future meme.
“Nah. I’m not mad. I’m good. It’s handled. Unless you wanna order me some stuff and just send it to my apartment?” I suggested.
He didn’t want to do it that way. He wanted to physically see me. “Can we at least talk? I would like a face-to-face conversation,” Andrew said to me in a text.
“What is it that you want Andrew?”
“LOL I am being clear Danielle. I want to talk to you face to face.”
He was right. He was being clear. I was mostly asking what did he want from me, assuming he wanted something more than just the talking. He probably did. Some of his little jokes were sexual when he was trying to be my pandemic knight in shining armor. One night, he mentioned missing my scent, and when I responded, he mentioned licking me and pretended to correct himself. He was doing an amazing job encouraging me to distance my heart from him.
I agreed to speak with him, but only via facetime. I’m not sure what part of pandemic he didn’t understand, but face to face wasn’t about to happen. Plus, my flesh is so weak Lord! Lo and behold, this man missed our Facetime chat appointment. I sent him a couple of messages and didn’t hear back. I took that as evidence and confirmation that I didn’t need to involve myself with Andrew. A couple days later he sent a text explaining he’d been in a pretty bad car accident that totaled his car. He apologized and then sent this paragraph:
“I hate that we never talked. I’ve been fighting my depression and winning but damn, I’m exhausted. I’m bedridden and I can’t tell my sister, or my mom because they overreact. I’m trying my best to make moves online though. I love you Dani. I whole-heartedly wanted to talk to you and God laughs at my plans all the time.”
I didn’t address any of what he said and I fought the urge to want to reply, “Ok.” Instead, I asked what happened to him and he told me about the accident and said that he was sore and in bed. I guess that was supposed to be my opening to offer myself as some sort of comfort, but not me, not in the pandemic. Honestly, I didn’t believe a lot of what he was saying because he broke my trust in such a grand way during our relationship.
Andrew still hits me up via text from time to time, checking in and I check in on him right back, but not without him initiating it. My heart isn’t in love with Andrew anymore. The last time I responded to him was about a month ago. He was checking on my mental health and I told him about my struggles. He offered some encouragement and I asked if he was ok.
He didn’t respond and still hasn’t. That’s the Andrew I knew and loved.