i gave him a surprise party the week before i was to move back. i did everything i could think of: little burning flags instead of candles, kahlua milkshakes... it was great. at the end of the party a woman (beli) who'd been hitting on him at one time staggered up, clasped her arms around my neck, and boozily said, "don't worry. i'm not gonna fuck him." i let her live. first mistake.
next weekend was moving day. and saturday night another party, per usual. everyone we knew was there -- the standard scene. i got bored around 3 and got a ride home from friends. this was my first night back in the apartment. i was anticipating a loving reunion, sure he'd left hours before i did.
he hadn't. i sat on the futon and played minesweeper and waited. finally, he got home. i looked up at him and said, "where the hell have *you* been? fucking beli?" he blushed. i knew.
after he calmly explained to me that he had indeed been fucking belinda, in a closet, at the party and had been walked in on a couple times, i lost it.
the next few hours are a blur. i remember slapping his face, ripping at his arms until he managed to restrain me. i called him names i didn't even know i knew. i wanted to kill him (he still has a scar from one place i scratched him); the next day bruises encircled my wrists where he tried to keep me from hurting him. he was holding me from behind; i was trying desperately to kick him in the balls, even though in the back of my mind i realized it wasn't anatomically possible.
finally i calmed down enough to call my shrink, who came and got me at 6 am on a sunday, took me to her office and soothed me.
--
sine | deb
and we didn't even officially break up for three more months.