Fifty Four: Integrity
I’m pretty sure we had every intention of doing it right this time- going on normal dates like normal people do, being casual, drama free, letting the relationship develop naturally.
The only problem was that natural for us was not normal. We had too much history and at the risk of sounding like we’re characters in The fucking Notebook, there was too much left over passion involved.
I guess neither of us should have been surprised the next night when the drama exploded, as usual.
“Let me come back with you,” I said, trying to convince her to let me come over to her place for awhile to “hang out”. I can’t tell you whether or not my intentions were pure. I don’t know myself well enough to be sure of when I’m just bullshitting others or bullshitting myself. I think I meant it innocently, but I never know about my subconscious.
She laughed and shook her head. We were sitting on an outdoor patio at one of our favorite Italian restaurants, Marco Polo, sipping wine and watching people walk by despite the fact that it was the beginning of November and cold. Thankfully Marco Polo had those little portable heaters so it didn’t feel so bad and the red wine was making my cheeks feel warm. “No.”
“Let me come back with you,” I repeated. I’d probably said it about four times now, but I was kind of tipsy and it was making me happy to hear her laugh and say no over again. It felt kind of toddlerish really- it felt how it did when you would throw Ezra up into the air or spin him around by his hands, and then he’d laugh for you to do it all over again.
She smiled and shook her head slowly, sipping her wine.
“Gabrielle!” I said in a frustrated tone, letting out a breathy laugh though. I suddenly reached out and grabbed the bottle of wine we had bought and poured it into my glass quickly. This place wasn’t fancy enough that they came over and poured it for you when they saw you were getting close to finishing the contents in your glass. I actually preferred that. I hate really upscale restaurant because I feel hounded by cheesy waiters looking for unrealistic tips. “Fine, I’m getting drunk and I won’t be able to drive home on my own. Friends don’t let friends drive drunk, Gab.”
She laughed at that and sat back in her chair, resting the glass on her lap. “I’m not above letting you die in fiery car wreck. Your choice.”
I gave her a mock-offended look. “Gabrielle, that’s really callous and it really hurts my feelings. I demand you take it back.” I was three glasses in and at that good stage- that perfectly tipsy point. At six feet tall and 163 pounds, I was admittedly a light weight.
“Hopefully it won’t kill you,” she continued. “Actually it might be a good thing for you. Maybe it will smash your face in or something and you’ll have to actually work for people to like you when you don’t have your pretty face to fall back.”
Okay she really was being kind of crude! “You’re twisted,” I just muttered, sipping the wine a little frantically and setting it down on the table. “Whatever, I hope I get my face smashed in too. Then you’d probably take pity on me and let me move in with you and nurse me back to health.”
“I love your priorities,” she smirked.
“I love your bracelet.”
I’m pretty sure that was my most brilliant statement of my life- don’t you think? I love your bracelet. Ahhh…. It didn’t get much more philosophical or romantic for that matter, did it?
I was pretty sure the wine was definitely spiked. What the fuck? Three glasses of wine and I was a babbling idiot making myself seem like a fashion savy fag? Maybe I was four glasses in. Who the fuck kept track anyway.
Gabrielle smiled and removed the glass of wine from my hands, insisting I’d be fine- we’d wait as long as we had to for me to sober up- she couldn’t afford company that night
So that’s what I did. I sobered up. Not willingly really- I wanted to stay tipsy and unable to drive myself home so she’d have to take me back to her place and let me wander into her bedroom in the dark of the night. It wasn’t that I was craving the sex- its that I was craving being with her. I could have fucked thousands of girls- millions to be more precise, but I wanted Gabrielle and now that it seemed we were “dating”- sex seemed like the next part of the equation.
She made me sit there for another 2 hours talking about mindless things with her- MarioKart and McGriddles- while I let the dinner in my stomach soak up the alcohol until she thought I was good enough to start heading home. I insisted I was still drunk, I insisted that I was on a medication that made the alcohol more intense, I insisted she’d have to take me back- but she walked me over to my car promising I’d be fine. I said goodbye with a kiss and waved as I pulled out of the parking lot.
I feel the need to take a moment to remind you that I am not really considered to be certifiably sane. My parents are well aware I’m not, my therapist thinks I need to be locked up (at least I’m pretty sure), and Gabrielle knows that I fell off my rocker years ago…. Way before she even knew me actually. I’m a fucking lunatic, so please take anything I do with a grain of salt, I really can’t fucking help it- I’m pretty sure I was dropped a few two many times as a infant. Some of my neurons definitely have to be fucked for me to do the things I do.
I drove in circles for a few minutes until I decided I couldn’t take no as an answer. It was 11 o’clock for christs sake, this was my first real date with her in years. I refused to go home, watch TV, change into pajamas, turn off my lights. How fucking lame. So being the stubborn son of a bitch that I am, I eventually ended up at her apartment, sitting outside in my car dialing her number.
“You lasted 7 minutes before you dialed me?” she smiled into the phone when she picked up.
“I got in a fucking accident.” I crossed my fingers.
She paused. “You what??”
“I smashed my car. I’m on the side of the road. The car is totaled.” I attempted to sound torn up, pathetic, scared- all the things that would make her feel a jolt of passion for me. I wanted my “near death experience” to remind her how much she loved me and all the things she would never be able to say if I had died.
“Oh my god… are you okay? Where are you??”
I pulled myself out of my car and began walking over towards the front steps of her apartment. “I don’t know… the side of the road… off of route 75… the car flipped.”
As the words came out of my mouth, I was well aware I was psychotic, but I’ve never been reasonable about Gabrielle (as I’m sure I don’t need to remind you) so I forged on.
“I was driving slow but I told you I was feeling drunk and I just lost control… The car flipped but I managed climb out through the window… I don’t know what to fucking do…. I don’t know exactly where I am.”
I should have been an actor- not a musician. I was shameless.
I could hear her start panicking. It kind of got me off. I stood there waiting outside her door, leaning against the brick wall.
“I’m coming. You’re on route 75? Call the police. Do you want me to? I’m getting my shoes on… just sit down and stay somewhere safe. Sit down. I’m so sorry… I really thought you were sober.”
“I told you I wasn’t…. it’s my medication…”
For the record, there was no medication.
“I’m coming to get you. Sit down and don’t freak out.” I could hear her rushing around, breathing heavy- the jingle of her keys as she grasped them… the swinging open of her door.
She stood there looking at me, wide eyed and flushed, trying to make sense of me standing there on her steps.
I smirked and pulled my hand out from behind my back, showing her my crossed fingers, raising an eyebrow at her. “Well I knew that would get you out of the house…”
She didn’t say anything. She never didn’t say anything. She just stared in a way that was starting to make me nervous. Suddenly my hypothetical erection wasn’t so hard anymore. Suddenly I got that familiar “oh fuck… that was a stupid idea wasn’t it….” feeling.
I smiled a little more and walked towards her. “The measures a man will go through for a woman…” I laughed. It was a forced laugh. I was scared shitless now.
She continued to just stand there staring before throwing her phone down onto the steps and turning, walking back into her apartment and slamming the door in my face. I lunged and grasped the doorknob just before she was able to lock it.
“Gabrielle, it was a joke! I’m sorry! I was a dumb joke… it was a prank!” When it doubt, use the word prank. There’s a reason Ashton Kutcher could bet people’s cars in with wooden bats and get away with it.
“Gab!” I was shrieking like a first grade girl. “Gab!!!” She was gripping the door knob on the other end.
“Taylor go the fuck home! You’re fucking insane! You’re so fucking insane, get the fuck in your car and go home. Leave me the fuck alone- you’re a goddamn sociopath. You need help!”
Often times I can translate Gabrielle’s bitter statements into secret loving sentiments… this time I struggled to find the affection.
“I’m not crazy! I’m just crazy about you! It makes me do stupid things- Let me in I’m sorry!”
It was not one of the moments in my life I’m proud of, but it had to happen. I had to grovel. I had few options at that point.
I managed to shove the door open and barge in, standing there cluelessly when I finally stepped into her kitchen. She walked towards me and shoved at my chest.
“Get out! You’re intruding! I’ll call the police!”
That is a popular threat from Gabrielle. I always tease her that that’s a popular side effect from growing up in a white trash neighborhood. I’m pretty sure that moment wasn’t a good time to bring it up though.
“I just want to talk to you!” I pleaded as she pounded on my chest.
“You’ve said enough don’t you think!?”
No, I didn’t think. There were always new things to be said. I could find something to say every second of the day if I wanted to.
“I just want to apologize! I was trying to be funny! I’m not funny, I’m so stupid, I’m such an idiot, what was I thinking!”
Tip #43 for getting a woman to forgive you- insult yourself. As much as possible. Tear yourself down before them. It warms their hearts.
“You deserve better than me! I don’t deserve you! Just hear me out and then I’ll go! Just give me a chance, Gab!”
She paused then and stepped away, just staring at me. She put her hands over her face a second later and turned and walked away, shaking her head in desperation and walking towards the living room. She almost started to laugh- or so it sounded.
“You’re crazy… you’re absolutely crazy. You think you’re living in a Lifetime movie or something. You’re so dramtic… you are an anti-social personality… this is seriously diagnosable…”
Statements like this were one of the drawbacks to being in love with a professional social worker. As usual though, I saw her points. I really was fucking crazy. What the fuck was wrong with me? She fucked me up. I only felt this way around her- I only was that fucked up around her.
I walked after her. I walked quickly after her and ran in front of her, dropping to my knees in front of her. I reached my arms out and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her close to me- resting my chin against her stomach and looking up at her. “I’m so sorry. Want me to grovel? I’ll grovel. It was one of my stupid pranks that I take too far… I wasn’t thinking… I just wanted you to feel guilty for not letting me come back with you…. I’m an psychotic and selfish lunatic… I know…”
She just stared down at me, sighing, her guard let down surprisingly enough. I think that was probably a bad sign. I’d fucked with her so much- she was numb to it. She closed her eyes for a moment, probably trying to calm herself, and then said quietly, “There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge. Pour us some?”
I’m not fucking kidding. That is how it happened. She really fucking said that after I’d pathologically lied and faked an accident and made a fool of myself on our first real date in years. Pour us some wine. I’m not even lying- she said that.
Of course I obliged, partly because I’m a man who was trained to abide by a woman’s requests without protesting, and partly because who the fuck would turn that down?? I rose from my knees, feeling kind of stupid for being on them in the first place, and headed to the kitchen. I located the Riesling and poured us two glasses, carrying them out into the living room where she was sitting now. I flopped down feeling completely ridiculous- which is how I usually felt with her lately. What happened to the days where I felt cood and suave? They were clearly long gone. You make up enough fake car wrecks and eventually you can expect to have very little pride left.
I turned and looked at her, sipping the wine and squinting. She smiled and rolled her eyes, sighing and sipping her own drink.
“Sorry….” I said kind of sheepishly, sliding down on the couch so I was slumped.
She batted her eyes in an eye roll as she sipped her wine. “Mhm…” she said. A moment later I felt her hand on my thigh as she sighed. “One day you’re going to be too crazy for even me…. Not yet… but one day.”
I nodded a little, leaning my head down against her shoulder and sighing. “I know… it’s not easy dating a sociopath… I understand.”
“Oh, we’re dating?”
Let me stop here for a moment and say that she might seem ball-less and whipped- letting me get away with murder like that- but Gabrielle never let me get away with anything. Ever. This was the first time in years, and I guess she just supposed for once she’d throw me a bone. Not that I deserved one, but I guess she was feeling merciful.
I looked over at her and shrugged. “Two dates… our first fight…. I’d say that’s dating, don’t you think?”
She laughed. “If by first fight you mean out five hundred and seventieth, then alright… otherwise try again buddy.”
“First since dating this time around…” I clarified.
She sighed and slumped down a little too, resting her glass of wine on my thigh. “Let’s not label it. Labeling is so complicated.”
“Labeling has nothing over us… we’re more complicated than fucking rocket science…” I muttered.
Because I was crazy, and because she was worn out, we spent the night just drinking. We drank, and laughed, and talked about how I needed to be committed and she might as well start planning her funeral now- I’d drive her to an early grave.
It must have been 2 by the time we’d finally finished off the bottle of Riesling and were heading towards her room to lay down. She was inviting me. Things were kind of a blur at that point but I could still make out the details. I remember the details in sets of two because if I try to remember them more quickly, I get overwhelmed and confused and they blur too much.
Gabrielle taking off her clothes, my pants sliding down my hips. The closing of the bedroom door, the opening of the blinds so there was a bit of light from the street lights. The pulling back of her covers, the toss of a throw pillow.
I ended up on top of her, our bodies pressed together, trailing my lips down her neck, along her collarbone- my hands sliding up under her bra, eventually unclasping it and pushing it down her arms.
What I remember most is when the bra hit the ground and I paused, laying there, looking down at her. I laid there looking at her and realizing how I manipulated my way in, lied myself back to her place, had her under me not because she had invited me, but because I had smuggled myself into her bed that night with her exhaustion and a bottle of white wine. I laid over here, squinting at her- half of her face a shadow- half lit up from the streetlight out the eastern window.
“What?” she asked quietly, looking up at me.
I continued to lay there squinting, probably looking pretty fucking stupid but would you expect anything else from me at this point?
“Tay… what?”
I rolled off of her a moment later and slid down next to her on my side, wrapping my arms around her waist. This wasn’t how I wanted it- not for either of us. It didn’t feel right. It wasn’t fair. So it was another unsuccessful night when it came to getting my dick wet… and yet at that moment it didn’t matter. It never mattered as much as we mattered… our relationship was more important and my integrity… well my integrity was in shambles but even so, I refused to throw it out. After 4 years, I’d do it all right this time. If not for me than for her.