**Since this snippet is from a couple chapters into my manuscript, here’s the context:

My dad committed suicide in mid-August of 2009.  I had just moved to Gainesville to start grad school about a week later.  I’d planned to go to school in DC, where Blake lived.  I’d been offered a full-ride to a prestigious program up there, but at the last minute, Blake changed his mind about living together (three years into the relationship). So I stayed in Florida**  

I tried to stomp Blake out of my life after my dad died, which was hard, desperate as I was for any semblance of human connection. He didn’t come down for the funeral. He didn’t even send a card.  After the funeral, I blocked him from all modes of communication.  I mean, it’s not like we had much of a relationship after that summer anyways, and his disinterest in being any sort of emotional handle for me when he knew I was struggling was the proverbial nail in the coffin.  The same nail I’d hammered into that goddamn coffin and then pried out over and over again.  That nail.

Blake couldn’t get through to me via phone or email, so his only option had been to write letters.  Every day, I’d go to the mailbox and retrieve one, sometimes two, letters from him.  I knew I should have thrown them away the moment I received them. But instead, I kept them all in a box, unopened, until one particularly lonely night when I caved and read them all, bingeing shamelessly on the beautiful words I wanted so badly to believe.  Throughout these handwritten letters, he talked of marriage, of forever.  Of the ring he had.  He said he wanted to be my rock, to be the man I could depend on.  He said he would never desert me, he would always be there for me.  And he apologized profusely for changing his mind about living together in D.C.  Conveniently, he said he wished he could take that back, that he should have never done that to me.  Of course, it was safe to say that, at that point, because he knew I was locked into school in Gainesville for two years.

I didn’t really want to get married, but my abandonment issues wanted me to.  I just desperately wanted to feel like I had someone in my corner for the long haul.  Or maybe I knew I didn’t want to marry but was just so Fucking lonely I was willing to commit my life to someone who couldn’t be bothered to come see me after my dad died.  I wanted a white knight, someone to gallop into my life on a beautiful horse and rescue me from my unbearable sadness and loneliness.  Someone to protect me and tend to my broken heart.  Someone to collapse into, who would wrap me up in his arms and tell me that he loved me and that everything was going to be okay.  I knew Blake wasn’t the white knight type, but he was the closest thing I had.

So, the next day, I woke up hungover from delusion and called Blake.  He came to visit the following week for my birthday, and to propose to me, or so he claimed.

So there we were, one month and one day after my dad’s death. It was my birthday. Blake came down to Florida and stayed with me for a week.  I certainly shouldn’t have been surprised that by his last night with me, no ring had appeared. No talk of an engagement was ever mentioned. The marriage bullshit was just another one of his manipulative ploys. Manipulation – from a man who supposedly loved me, during the lowest point in my life.

So I decided to call him out on it that last night.

I took a seat in a chair across from the sofa where Blake was stretched out.  He had no idea I was about to pounce. “So, I gotta ask, Blake, you sure seem convinced about getting engaged when you came down.  And now you’ve been here a week, and not a word has been mentioned about it.” I paused, giving him a moment to soak in the wrath that was coming.  It wasn’t even about the ring or the engagement anymore.  It was about the manipulation.  I knew he was callous, but this…this was cruel.

Blake sat there staring at me, with the blank, unemotional gaze he had spent his life perfecting.  That fucking stare I hated.  The stare that said, “I think your feelings are ridiculous; therefore, I choose to ignore them.”  The stare which, that night, catapulted me into a rage I’d never experienced before.

“I do have a ring,” he muttered. “But it’s not the right size.”

And with that, the fury was unleashed. My blood hit an instant boil as I turned into a woman unrecognizable to myself.  In that moment, Blake became the blame for every ounce of pain I felt.  Every callous thing he’d every said to me, every button he’d pushed, every time he’d belittled me, crushed me, made me feel insignificant, every time he’d not been there for me when I needed him – it all came bubbling up.  I hit my wall.  I had stomached a lot over the previous month.  I’d taken some blows, but I pushed them all down, bottled up all my pain so I could carry on with my life.  But that night, I snapped.  I’d finally had more than I could take.

With every ounce of restraint, I calmly looked at him and asked, “How fucking stupid do you think I am?”

Then…I erupted.

“Wait! Don’t answer that.  You have every right to think I’m a goddamn idiot. I am a fucking fool!  I let you come down here. I let you come visit me even though every fiber in my being told me not to.”  My anger in that moment was probably more self-directed than anything.  I was mad at Blake, yes, but I was more angry with myself for letting him weasel his way back into my life. He was a narcissistic, sociopathic, asshole.  I knew this… I knew he hadn’t miraculously changed.  I knew he was probably toying with me, manipulating me, and I let happen because I had been so weak.  I hated myself for that weakness – it was despicable to me.  I hated myself for wanting someone to hold me, support me, help me through the pain that had enveloped me.

I paced back and forth in front of him, like some sort of enraged animal. He offered no response and continued to sit quietly, with that stupid, dumbfounded looked on his face. God, I hated that look.  It made me want to smack the shit out of him. So I continued. “I may be an idiot, but Jesus Christ, you’re not,” I panted.  “The wrong size? Really? You could come up with something better than that!” He held his infamous blank stare, unfazed by my total meltdown.

“I do have a ring,” he repeated. “That’s the truth.” He looked down at the ground, avoiding my gaze just like he did during the car ride to the airport in Salt Lake City. Just like that fucking car ride when I knew Blake was about to hit me below the belt.  I knew it, another blow was on its way.  Here it comes.

“I just am not ready, Jess. It just doesn’t feel right.  I want us to get engaged when you’ll be surprised and I’ll feel good about it.”

I looked at him and nodded.  “I hate you,” I whispered as tears welled up in my eyes.  “I fucking hate you.”  I went upstairs to my bedroom and got the box of letters. I raced back down the stairs, grabbed them all in my hand, and threw them at him.  There are only a couple times in my life when I can recall being truly angry –like, spitting venom mad – and this was one of them.

Suddenly I wanted to cry. “Why would you do this, Blake?” I asked. I could feel the tears welling up, no matter how hard to tried to stop them.  “Why would you toy with my heart like this?” I continued, my voice cracking. No, damn it! Stop it Jessica! Get mad. Get mad. I talked myself back into a rage. Still, Blake said nothing.  “Do you realize how fucked up this is?” I snapped. “Do you realize how fucked up you are?” I cry-screamed.

I let him have it, and he took it.  What choice did he have, really?

So when I was done emptying out all the pent up hurt and rage, some unfairly directed at him, I told him to leave and that I never wanted to see him again. He packed up his bags and left, without saying a word. Not a single word.  That should have been the last time I ever saw Blake – I wish I could say it was. I wish that last final explosion had been enough to clear him out of my system for good. But it would still take a little more.

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