I managed to survive my time at work, even when Austin was around. He wasn’t dating anyone else, and neither was I. In June, he told me he wanted to take me to the Marc Broussard concert that I’d bought him tickets for when we were still together. I liked Marc Broussard, but I wasn’t sure how good of an idea this was going to be.
The concert was an hour away, so Austin wanted to stay the night—he said since I bought the tickets, he would pay for the hotel room. I told him to make sure he got a room with two beds.
He showed up at my apartment the afternoon of the concert. I came out of my bedroom, wearing a pale yellow sun dress and wedge sandals. He was standing there in jeans, some type of affliction crap t-shirt, and flip-flops.
“You didn’t have to dress up,” he said.
“Just tell me I look nice or shut the hell up,” I said.
This is when my hostility for Austin started setting in. Austin thought it was funny, but I was being serious. I drove us to Lafayette, where the concert was. We stopped at a nice restaurant for dinner.
Before we went inside, Austin threw a fit that the clock in my car wasn’t set to the right time. I told him I didn’t know how to set it, so he needed to get over it. He figured out how to set it, but he needed an extra set of hands. So I helped.
“See what happens when we work together?” he said.
I went into the restaurant. Throughout the dinner, he kept asking me why I hated him so much. I told him he was an asshole. When the check arrived, the waitress put it in front of Austin.
“See? Why do the waiters assume the guy is paying?” he asked.
“Because you are paying.”
We walked to the concert venue, and waited in line for the doors to open. Austin was wearing a straw fedora that made him look like a colossal douche.
Inside, we proceeded to get sloppy drunk. I thought I’d reached my limit when Austin came back from the bar holding a double drink for me, with a huge grin spread across his face.
We made it back to the hotel. There was only one bed. I made do, put on actual pajamas, and made a wall of pillows between us.
My 21st birthday was in July. Around work, I heard rumors that Austin was trying to set up a surprise party for me. So, when he invited me to dinner one night, I was fairly certain it was going to be a party.
I got ready and drove to his place. Where there was no party. He really was taking me to dinner. We went out for seafood. It was a nice dinner, and he gave me a gift—an iTunes card.
A few days later, Sheena came to visit and take me to the bars at midnight on my birthday. That weekend, she met Austin when he came over to play a round of beer checkers.
Things with Austin were okay, but I was confused on where we stood. We hung out constantly, were sleeping together, but were not calling it exclusive. Red flags all around.
In late July, he finally came clean and told me he had no emotional attachment to our relationship; it was purely physical. He reminded me that we were not dating, and he didn’t understand why I wanted a boyfriend in the first place.
We were laying in his bed, late one night, after just having sex. I was getting comfortable on my side of the bed, when he said it:
“Wow, I regret that.”
I got up and starting getting dressed, yelling louder and louder with each article of clothing. What kind of asshole says they regret the sex they just had, to the person they just had sex with? I left in the middle of the night, I didn’t care how psycho it looked to his roommate.
I felt so insecure.
All along I felt like Austin was the one who still liked me and that I was in control. But in reality, I had been falling for him harder than I did the first time. I still wasn’t sure if given the chance if I would get back with him, but my feelings for him were strong.
Austin told me the only way to get rid of my feelings for him would be to stop talking to him altogether. I knew he was right, but didn’t want to write him off like I had so many others.
For whatever reason, I was still so happy to have him as a part of my life, even though he’d hurt me multiple times.
On the other hand, I was starting to realize just how selfish Austin was. Even throughout the course of our “friendship,” he was very controlling, questioning my whereabouts when I wouldn’t answer his calls or messages. But I was about to see just how controlling he could be.
Posted on November 15, 2010, in The Ingredients and tagged Austin, college life, dating, drinking, fighting, heartbreak, Holly A. Phillips, How to Make Lemonade, humor, life, love, relationships, sex, The Bitter Lemon, twenty-something, writing, young love. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.