Every since I met him a bit over a year ago, I’m constantly asking myself the same questions over and over again:
“Am I a bad person?”….”Is he a bad person?”….”Are we both indifferent to our own, and other people’s emotions and feelings?” And the only answer I can come up with is “Yes…we probably are!”.
I grew up in an intact family. I never saw my parents having a fight or any other issues in general. I know that every couple have their certain problems now and then, but they always stuck together and they gave me the feeling, that my family was a save haven…a place where morals were of a certain value, and they still are.
My entire childhood, I considered marriage and being together with the same person for the rest of your life an unalterable fact. Everyone would find their “person”…I would some day find a man who was good enough for me to marry, to have children and build a house with….to live happily ever after.
But then, everything changed, when I started to have feelings for a guy who should have been totally out of bounds for me. Because I had moralities….yes I did….and I would act accordingly. At least that was, what I kept desperately telling myself.
When I first found out that he was married and had two children, I hated my guts….I hated his guts…I hated everyone’s guts. I hated myself for being stupid enough and trying to believe that he, at the age of 33, would wondrously, still be single or at least….uhm….divorced…widowed….pretty please?. For God’s sake…one look at him and I knew that he wasn’t any of such things.
I hated his guts because he flirted with me, talked to me, brought me tea and coffee, touched me slightly every time he walked by….and looked at me with his fucking bedroom eyes. He was a dirtbag…he was just like all the other guys who thought so little of women and fancied themselves so much, that they thought they could play their stupid games with them, and then just move on to the next…while their wives stayed at home and took care of the children, unaware of their husbands’ extramarital activities.
I tried to hate him. I really did. And I kept avoiding him for half a year, thinking that he’d stop trying to be nice, like “these kind of guys” usually do and would move on to look for another girl. But he didn’t.
Instead, one day, when I was on my way to the women’s restroom, I accidentally ran into him, in a dimly lit hallway. After the door had closed behind me with a loud bang, I realized that I couldn’t avoid him any longer. The hallway was so narrow that he (stupid broad shoulders…and everything….damn) completely blocked my way.
Before I could say or do anything, he kissed me. That was half a year ago…and the beginning of our “relationship”. And now, he’s my person…not the person I will marry….but the person I’d call if I had to find someone help me drag a corpse across the living room floor. He’s my person.