“It’s not you,” I said. “It’s me.”
Of course, I was lying. It was her. All her. She was suffocating me. If she even thought I was looking for an instant too long at another woman, it was grounds for a dirty look and a cold shoulder. What did she expect me to do, wear blinders? I’m not a race horse, for crissake. Although someone once told me I was hung like a horse. But that’s a story for another time.
It’s really too bad, though. She’s very pretty and she has a great bod. And those eyes. Oh my God, those eyes. You can get lost in her eyes. She’s smart, too. Sharp as a tack, you know. Never misses a trick, that woman.
I just don’t get why she’s so damn insecure. She’s more of a catch than I am, for crissake. Any guy would be lucky to have her. And yet she chose me.
But I can’t deal with this yoke she’s hung around my neck. She’s watching my every move, just waiting to pounce if I smile at female. And don’t even ask how she reacts if she sees me dare to talk with another woman.
So I have no choice but to end things with her. I can’t go through life walking on egg shells or feeling like I’m out standing on thin ice. I just have to tell her. Tonight. You know, tear off the bandage quickly. It will hurt, but once it’s done, it’s done.
“We need to talk,” I said to her. “I’m breaking up with you. But it’s not you. It’s me.”
“Oh thank God,” she said. “I’m so relieved you said that. Now I don’t have to be the one to break things off. And you’re right, it is you. You’re not ready for a committed relationship. And you’re not the man I thought you were. But don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find someone who will be perfect for you. Bye.”
Written for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt. We’re supposed to write about a breakup. And yes, I know today is Monday. So once again, I’m a day late and a dollar short.