Let’s call her Jill. Pretty, classy, voice more angelic than an angel. She’s been mildly flirty with me for the past few weeks. When I got root canals done last week, she made soup and delivered it to my house personally — she emphasized that point herself. Friends around us tell me she likes me. I think so too.
She came to sing Karaoke/drink at my place again, a group of us. After the party disbanded, we checked in on each other to make sure everybody got home safe. Jill was missing for close to an hour. Since I’m the one that lived the closest to her, I asked my friend to drive to her place to see if she had gotten home.
I walk into the middle between two sets of two townhomes. I make my way to the end, no sign of her. Then a light beam over, I turn around. A Mercedes logo flashing. I know it’s her car. It pulls up to me, and Jill comes out of the passenger seat — of her own car. It’s about 2 A.M. at this point. Hmmm.
I expected a warm surprise from her because I cared enough to come to her house to make sure she’s okay. Nope. A neutral, in fact, a guilty reaction like she’s been caught.
“Why did you come to my house?”
We awkwardly blurred a few sentences since we were drunk. I leave. My friend and I park on the street in front of my house. Both confused, suspicious. She claimed she went to her friend’s house after departing my place. But it doesn’t appear to be a female friend because Jill likes driving and is good at it. It seems clear to us what’s going on right now.
I couldn’t take the suspense anymore. I called her. Didn’t pick up. She calls back a few minutes later. I ask her if she’s home. Apparently, it isn’t a good time to talk because her “friend” is next to her.
Me: “Is it a guy friend?
Me: “What kind of relationship do you have with him?”
Jill: “A somewhat ambiguous friend.”
I should have stopped right there. It was clear what was going on, but I wouldn’t have been able to sleep that night without hearing the words straight out of her mouth, so I bashed on.
Me: “Oh, what about you and me?”
Jill: “Regular friends. What do you think we are?”
Me: “Uh, a bit ambiguous, definitely not regular friends.”
Jill; “I agree.”
Me: “It’s no big deal. Just let me know what the situation is, so I can move on?”
Jill: “Then you should move on.”
We hang up. The two root canals I did earlier in the week were a mere scratch compared to that instant rush of anxiety and anger I felt at that moment. Wow. I delete her from my Wechat(Chinese social media/chatting app).
Around 10 A.M. the next morning. She added me again. I hesitated before approving her request.
Her: “I really hurt you last night. Sorry. But I did treat you as a friend.”
She calls me. I didn’t see it until later. After consulting my friend who was at the scene last night, I decided to pick up her call eventually.
Me: “When are you picking up your guitar?” (She’s left her guitar at my house for a couple of weeks.)
Her: “You don’t even want to stay regular friends anymore?”
I didn’t think she respected me as a friend. Not only has she never once mentioned her guy friend, as she admitted, she knew I liked her. I can’t blame her for having a fuck buddy or boyfriend or whatever it is. That’s her private business. But usually, women will hint at someone to back off when they aren’t interested. Jill clearly didn’t do so. She not only didn’t dodge my pursuit but came on to me stronger. I felt manipulated. I don’t tolerate anyone treating me as a “spare tire,” although she kept denying that’s what she was doing.
The next day, one of my female friends explained that what Jill did was normal and that I was a child for getting upset and deleting her quickly. So, I decided to apologize to Jill. Yes, she could have been more honest with me, but it was actually me who pressured her to give me an answer she didn’t owe me. On top of that, I refused to even stay platonic friends — not classy what’s so ever. Despite what I did, she was the one who apologized first. As a man, I can’t let myself sink that low over something so minuscule.
I told her we could stay regular friends. Can I really do it? I don’t know. But we’ll see.
I took responsibility for the situation because I was at fault. However, Jill is the stereotypical fuckgirl who either enjoys playing men or is extremely insecure or has been deeply hurt by the opposite sex. She’s become a master at it.
The lesson? Don’t let adrenaline and dopamine blur you. Stay alert. Be cautious of predators.
This post was previously published on Hello, Love.
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