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One “situationship,” two perspectives.
Him: Masked under the dim ambiance of the nightclub, I prowl the dancefloor searching for my lady of the night. Everyone looks sharp and appetizing, but there is only one for me. I search patiently until I glimpse her smile through a sea of bodies from across the room. For a moment, time stops. Her flow distorts the chromatic purity in the room, creating a vision of an angel dancing with demons.
Her: I haven’t been to a nightclub in years. Hopefully, no one has noticed my outdated moves on the dancefloor. Loud music and a room packed with random, sweaty people is not my idea of a fun night, but I have to be here for my girls. Despite my attempt to detach from the chaotic scene, I feel a consuming presence—an intense gaze—pulling me back in.
I glance over my shoulder to find the source of the vibration, but I don’t have to look too far. The presence is that of a man, and the man is a damn presence.
I slowly run my eyes up his body until our eyes interlock in a seductive embrace. His white shirt, complemented by a pair of dark jeans and oxford shoes, is hugging all the right places, whetting my appetite. My head tells me he looks delicious. My heart tells me he looks dangerous. But he oozes the confidence of a stallion, which is all the information I need to calm the chatter in my mind.
Him: “I just have to buy you a drink.”
Her: “I just have to accept your drink.”
Him: My head tells me she is sexy and sassy on the outside. My heart tells me she is vulnerable and susceptible on the inside. I acknowledge the debate, taking mental notes of my assessment of her, which reflects and benefits my insecurities.
But who wants to know? Who has to know? Presenting myself as a protector and provider is crucial if I want her. Isn’t that how you get today’s woman to be your queen?
Her: I can’t believe it’s only been 10 days since we met at the club. Our connection is electrifying, like nothing I have ever experienced.
But what if this is all a dream? I am afraid I’ll wake up one day, and he’ll no longer be there. The thought of losing him makes me sick.
My girls also think he’s perfect for me. They predict I’ll be walking up the aisle in six months. I haven’t known him for a long time, but it feels like we’ve been together forever because we are always in touch. In fact, I never go a day without his touch.
He grabs me with firmness and authority only a confident man can, melting me into submission with his delicate touch. He is dominant and adventurous, leading me into territories I had never explored, conquering my deepest fears. He is my king, and I, his queen.
Am I crazy to envision a future with the man of my dreams? Is it too good to be true?
There is a subtle ache in my stomach, but the butterflies fluttering around and the intensity of his affection make it impossible to tell if it’s a warning I should heed or an exhilarating emotion I should embrace. Or maybe it’s my hormones acting up since it’s approaching that time of the month. I don’t know what to think, but I like how I feel.
I am meeting my man for lunch. On my way into the restaurant, I bump into an old male friend from high school, who I haven’t seen in ages. We chat briefly and say our goodbyes. As we hug, I feel a familiar gaze on my skin. I know this presence. It’s trying to get my attention, but it feels invasive and threatening.
Inside the bistro, I find my man standing at the bar, fuming. Flushed with rage, he grabs my hand before I utter a word. Everyone is staring at us, and I feel humiliated and confused.
I don’t understand where this is coming from and why he’s acting so crazy. I tell him he’s hurting me, and he eventually lets me go. He apologises and convinces me he’s having a bad day. I feel sorry for him. He works so hard and is probably stressed. So, I apologise for keeping him waiting.
On our way back to his place, he tells me how beautiful I am. Then quickly adds that he doesn’t want me to talk to other men. He says he doesn’t like it when other men look at me—that it makes his blood boil.
It was then I knew I was living a nightmare with the man of my dreams.
Suddenly, I feel that familiar ache in my stomach. This time, there’s no doubt about the message: I fell for an asshole who masks his insecurities and unresolved trauma with a false sense of confidence—my kryptonite.
With a heavy heart, I acknowledge my gut feeling. All this time, I wanted it to be real, to be true…but all I did was ignore the red flags staring me in the face.
Maybe it’s my fault I allowed his confidence to blind-side me. Maybe I wanted his confidence to make up for my insecurities so badly I ignored all the obvious signs.
Either way, it’s impossible to know a person through and through. Even when you think you really know them, they might just be playing a part. Sure, we all like to present a version of ourselves to our partners, but is that necessarily our real self?
The truth is our best self should also be our real self—the first and only part we present to the world. However, the way society interprets the best self and how it should look is skewed. And as a result, it impacts the other side of the coin, which is our real self.
Authenticity is not in vogue. Perhaps that’s why we all suffer in relationships. If you are authentic, you are likely to be abused or taken for a ride. So, we all put on a mask under the dim ambiance of the nightclub, prowling the dance floor in search of our next victim.
It’s hard to say goodbye to the person you thought you knew, but sometimes it just has to be that way.
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