Hello, I Dislike You Intensely. Have a Nice Day.

He wasn’t at school today. Called, no answer. Went to his house, knocked on the door til an old lady opened up, when I asked about Alex she said, “Oh, they’ve gone. I’m taking care of the house until they’re back.”

I was stunned. “Gone? Where? How come I never knew about this? When are they going to be back?”

“It’s a private family matter. And for the last one, they really don’t know. I can take a message if you’d like.”

I stood there blinking stupidly, mind reeling and stuttering like a broken machine with wires sparking, lights flashing spastically, mechanical voice sputtering random repetitive phrases, and smoke gushing out of every busted part.

She seemed to take pity on me, asked again, softer, “Is there something you want to say to Alex that I can pass on?”

I nodded numbly, then realized if I wanted to pass on a full-out tirade, I’d be giving away quite a bit of our history to this lady, which I didn’t want to do. “Just…tell him I’ll miss him and hope he’s back soon. And that everything works out,” I said resignedly.

Okay, what the fuck. Seriously. What the fuck, Alex.

I get that bad, drastic, emergency-ey things happen. What I don’t get is why he didn’t mention a fucking peep of this to me before. Sure, it could have been really sudden and last-minute, but there was no way he couldn’t have sent a text or something. I mean, if you’re going to be out of town for so long that you need someone to look after your house – that’s important. You’d think you’d tell your own goddamn girlfriend at least.

Again.
What.
The.
Fuck.

I can’t believe he would do this to me. After all we’ve fucking been through, all the secrecy issues and the “getting all our problems over with in one argument” and whatever the fuck else there was that would contribute to this argument. After all of that and now this.

I sound so cliché it kills me. Well, I'll let it.

He told me we were different, better than other couples. I don’t want to believe it anymore. This is too much.

Well, I guess we are different in the respect that most normal couples don’t disappear on the other without the least warning.

I just have to say it again.
What.
The.
Fuck.

--

Okay, so maybe he isn’t an outright terrible person. Given the circumstances, I’ll even say he’s a good person. Just flawed in bad ways. In that ways that hurt me.

And then, I don’t even know if he wants to change.

But I know hurting me hurts him.

I know it’s probably eating him alive that he just left me like this. I hope it is. Yet it’s still not bad enough for him to have ever even hinted at something like this. And trust me, I’ve been obsessively replaying our conversations over in my head, trying to catch any hints that he might've dropped.

This must be something huge and inexplicable, possibly even a catch-22, possibly even something that would endanger me in some way if I knew. Otherwise there’s no reason he wouldn’t have said something to me.

Maybe he’s a spy. (Hey, it’s happened.)
Maybe someone in his family is.
Or maybe one of them is in the Mafia.
Or the Mafia is after them.
Or the IRS.
Or it was aliens.
Or maybe that old lady killed them all.
Or he witnessed a murder, like Marina, and he’s somewhere out there with a fake name.

Why do all my friends vanish on me? It’s like some twisted joke the universe likes to play on me. Fuck you, universe. I hope you get ass-raped with an electric eggbeater.

First Roger, then Marina, now Alex.

Maybe I’m some kind of secret psychosociological government experiment.
Or maybe I imagined all of them.

But Marina came back. What does that mean?

I have to make sure she’s still here. Hold on a sec, I’ll call her.

Okay, yep, she’s still here.

God, I don’t know.

Alex. If you can hear me. If you know I’m writing these words. (Okay, I feel ridiculous, but I will go ahead and pretend you can telepathically listen to me.) Come back. I’ll forgive you if you just come back to me. We can start this thing over again, do it better, do it right, be different just like you said. But you need to return before any of that happens. Try to be next to me when I wake up; it’s the prime position for being forgiven. Maybe, just maybe, we’re “meant to be” and all those cheesy chick-flick paradigms that take on a new meaning when you fall in love for real. You are the first person I loved seriously – and I still do – don’t you realize what that means to me? Don’t just throw me away. Come home.