The Hot Richard hangover continues when on my 30th Birthday, he messages me to tell me that he’s been at the sex clinic and he thinks I ought to get checked out for STIs.
Are you joking?
He isn’t. Thanks man. I get checked, and I’m completely fine. I ring him, we chat, it seems normal and easy. I explain to him the results of my check, but he doesn’t feel obliged to give me the same information. This is yet another example of the inequality that exists between us, the way in which he attempts to undermine my self-esteem. I wonder occasionally if this is because he is envious of my career, my occupation. It’s possible. But I think it is also equally possible that he is simply unable to exhibit any kind of empathy.
On Monday of this week, we spoke on the phone and he suggests that he’d like to see me at the weekend. I invite him to my flat, and he says he’ll see me there. He also tells me he hasn’t been drinking for a week, as he was worried that he was an alcoholic. I’m feel pretty sure that this is exactly what alcoholics do, but I don’t say so.
By Friday, I’ve heard very little from him. The messages I send go unanswered, so I give up.
Saturday morning, I simply ask:
“Am I seeing you later?”
His answer is swift, “No. I’m out of town”
I know where this is going, so I just want to cut to the chase. I type,
“I’m getting the impression that you don’t want to see me again, in which case, you can just say it.”
After a couple of hours, while I’m sitting having brunch with friends, his response is brief and to the point,
“No. I don’t want to.”
Well then that’s enough. I don’t need to block his number, I don’t need to remove him from my phone. The problem of Hot Richard is solved. This is closure. I don’t want him either, and I don’t even feel a need to ask why. This is some bad news I don’t need in my life any more.
And anyway, I get enough hangovers from drinking, I don’t need any other type. Only when I cease contact with Hot Richard for good, do I realise that he’s been stealing my mojo. After a brief, transitory feeling of sickness, I feel immediately lighter, easier. That man is broken.
Later, I change my Spotify password. If he’s not going to see me, he’s not having my music.