Untangled 20: the devil

One day, while he was playing his game, I told him we should talk. He immediately got defensive, but that tactic was old with me. I told him I didn’t want this any longer—I didn’t want a relationship with him; I wanted to be by myself. I even offered to help him find a place and give him the Lexus. He flipped it back on me and said the relationship wasn’t working because I was always on Facebook. He then asked if I was cheating. I said no, and added, “After dealing with you, I don’t think I ever want a relationship.” At this point, I didn’t care what he said. This wasn’t up for discussion.

“It’s over. Please start the process of moving your things.”

I said nothing else, and nothing more was said that night. The next day, he told me he had a procedure at Northwestern and that afterward, he would come back to the apartment and get his things packed. I woke up as light as a feather. It felt like the end was finally in sight. I couldn’t wait to go home to an empty apartment.

While doing a manicure for a client, he FaceTimed me—something unusual—so I excused myself and took the call. He was lying in what looked like a hospital bed, seemingly doped up. Slurring his words, he said he didn’t want to live. He couldn’t live without me. He wanted to take his life and had no reason to keep going.

I stared at the screen in disbelief, hating him for going this low. What he was giving me wasn’t love—hell, it wasn’t even like! I told him we could talk later, but for now, I was at work. I hung up and went back to my client. I got a text from him 20 minutes later, and it read: “I’ve been in an accident. The ambulance is en route.” I could feel the heat crawling up my neck to my ears. Did this man just crash my car?! What ambulance?! He was just in the hospital getting a procedure, and now he was driving?! What happened?! I stepped away and immediately called. He answered and sounded normal, I did hear the sound of an ambulance in the background. He said he left the hospital to drive to my place to hurry up and get his things out before I got home from work. With that one statement, he made the accident my fault. I cut him off and asked, “Where are you?”

He said the ambulance was taking him to Loyola and that I could meet him there. I told my client I couldn’t do her pedicure; I had to go right then—my boyfriend was just in a car accident. I got in the old Lexus and sped to Loyola, not knowing what I would find. I pulled into the emergency entrance and saw him walking through cars in the parking lot. I pulled up beside him and unlocked the door and he got in.

“What are you doing outside? What happened? Where is my car?!”

He said he thought he had a reaction to something the hospital gave him, and while he was driving, he got dizzy, vomited, blacked out and hit a pole. I asked why the hospital would release him after doing a procedure that made him groggy. He said he didn’t know, but he was going to sue them. He said when the ambulance brought him here, he told them he didn’t want treatment and walked out of the ER. He had a scrape on his forearm, and that was it.

The more I questioned the holes in his story, the sicker he got. He told me to pull over on the shoulder of the expressway because he had to throw up. He got out on the shoulder and projectile vomited into the grass. While waiting for him to finish, the state troopers pulled up behind me. They asked if we needed help. I said no, that he just got sick. They ran my license and let us go.

He laid in the backseat until we got home, then went straight to my bed. I told him I was sorry he got hurt today and that he could take the time he needed to get better. We could discuss “us” once he felt better.

I lost again. I sat at the foot of my bed in silence for a while. This man was the devil… but how could I prove it?