“We talked about this, together,” I said, my voice rising in a high-pitched tone. “We talked about each of our relationships and feelings about marriage and what we wanted from our future together. We agreed, together, that marriage and a wedding was our next step. Or did you suddenly forget about those conversations? We agreed together that this was the life we were building.” Tears had finally come and were pouring down my cheeks from anger, betrayal, and hurt. My heart throbbed, and I felt like I had a sudden case of the stomach flu.

  “I just feel like I’m not happy right now. I need to work on myself. I haven’t felt happy for a long time,” he said, whispering into his takeout container.

  “How long?” I said, biting out each word. He didn’t address any of what I said earlier, and I was fuming. I wanted answers. I wanted a reason that felt justified. I needed a better “why” than this rambly-ass explanation. I attempted to steady my breathing, but I couldn’t. My whole body was on fucking fire, and my stomach was doing acrobatics.

  “Like, a year or so . . . .” He looked at me with tears in his eyes.

  I swear to god he has no fucking right to cry right now.

  “You didn’t tell me for a year that you weren’t happy? Who the fuck are you?! Were you just saying what I wanted to hear all these months and now, at the fucking finish line, you realize you can’t do this anymore?” I screamed as I shook violently.

  Remember how I said we were always honest and transparent with one another . . . ? Welp, I was royally, painfully, and stupidly wrong.

  I let that realization wash over me, that the small white lies he’d told in order to fit in or make others more comfortable extended to our relationship too. I thought I knew the little fibs he told were just his way of coping in social situations, but obviously it was more. Suddenly, I understood that because he didn’t know what he wanted or who he was, he had become a chameleon in every situation . . . including our relationship.

  “I just don’t know what to do,” he said again, his lips trembling.

  “So let me get this straight. All of the conversations we had prior to this, you’ve conveniently forgotten. You’ve been unhappy for a long time, but I had no way to help you because you didn’t tell me . . . and you want to stay together but call off the wedding because you suddenly don’t believe in the sanctity of marriage? Even though my parents have already invested thousands of dollars into a wedding, and we’ve told our friends and family? And let me guess, you want me to deal with that bullshit because I always deal with our bullshit . . . ?” I stood, flinging my hands around as I paced the room.

  My fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug in and blood prickled out. I always pick up the mess. I’m the one that always caved and said I was sorry first because I didn’t want to fight. How had I not seen that before?

  “Lincoln, I still love you. I just can’t do all of this right now. Let’s just stop the wedding and work through this together,” he said, his eyes pleading.

  I was completely and utterly rocked by the words coming out of his mouth. Like he was some alien from space.

  “We could try couples therapy,” I said, letting my hopes soar high for a few fleeting moments, as if I could wrangle in the hurt and chaos of the last ten minutes. Then I could return to my normal chaotic life where the biggest issue I was dealing with was my own personal identity crisis, and not slapping on the baggage of a broken relationship and wedding on top of that.

  “I don’t want to do that,” Isaac screwed up his face like the idea repulsed him. Like I hadn’t used therapy myself to cope with my own anxiety and depression. Like he was too goddamned good for it.

  “How the hell are we going to move past this, then? You want to keep doing what we’re doing to fix this supposed unhappy, disconnected feeling you’re having? That apparently you’ve been lying about for over a year without changing anything? Are you delusional?” I slammed my hands on the coffee table and snarled at him, my chest heaving. “You need to figure this out on your own, without me. Because I will not sit here and let you play pretend with me, or my life any longer. We have known each other too fucking long and been together for too many years for you to treat me this way. You said you wanted this. You proposed to me. Don’t act like I forced you into this, you asshole. Get out!” I pushed away from the coffee table and walked to the front door.

  “Lincoln please, I don’t want to be without you. I love you. I just can’t deliver on marriage,” he said, standing up and moving toward me.

  “Then you shouldn’t have said you could. You shouldn’t have lied to my face. You should’ve figured that shit out before you set the expectation. So get out. I’ll cancel all the wedding stuff and, honestly, don’t fucking call me. Lose my number. Lose everything that I ever gave you in this relationship because I am out. We have done this too many times, broken up and gotten back together, over the years for you to do this to me. I deserve someone who wants to be with me forever.” Tears ran down my cheeks and I swiped at them. “I want marriage. I’ve always wanted it, and you knew that, yet you played along anyway. Fuck you! Get the fuck out of my house and don’t fucking come back!” I ripped the ring off my hand and shoved it in his face.

  “Please don’t do this. We can still be together.” He looked down at the ring helplessly.

  My mind was scattered in a million places as I started to realize my picture-perfect relationship had cracks and holes that I had tried to ignore. I’d compromised and made myself less for this. How did I not know better? How did I let this happen?

  I don’t know who I was more angry at. Isaac or myself? Either way, I couldn’t do this with him right now. I needed him to leave and to let me fix what had broken inside of me. How could I have let this happen in the first place? I really needed him to exit and never come back.

  “You did this. And no . . . we can’t. This is no longer good enough for me. Love isn’t enough for me anymore. You are no longer enough. Leave. Now.” I grabbed his hand and closed it hard over the ring in his palm. I wanted to vomit from the touch. I could barely stand to look at him, let alone maintain any sort of physical contact. I practically kicked him out the door.

  “I’m sorry, Lincoln, please . . .” was all I heard as I slammed the door behind him and sunk down into the floor, feeling the weight of the entire world crash into me. I wrapped my arms around my knees, and the tears poured out in waves. My body trembled as my whole future, and world, was flipped upside down.

  I mourned the life I had been planning for years.

  The relationship I thought I had.

  Isaac.

  And the girl who allowed herself to be fooled and blinded by dumb, stupid love.

 

 

  Madison Nicole, Not Queer Enough

 

 

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