The man with the suit and tie.

RVH. I never said no.


I was madly in love with that idiot.

How? Why? I don’t know. I was obsessed.

I met him after my divorce. Ok so I met him before my divorce.

You could almost say he made me WANT to get a divorce. Without a doubt.

He made me feel alive. And he made me wish I were dead. It would take three years before I really knew who he was. It would take three years to know he was putting on a facade.

Regardless, I loved that man. Obsessed over him for three years. He NEVER gave into me at the right time. Never wanted to be with me when I wanted to be with him. We kept “missing each other.” He never found me option-less. And I just didn’t trust him. I was madly in-love, but I didn’t trust him.

But I guess I broke all the rules, according to my friends.

and the worse part about him is how he made me feel I wasn’t good enough. I use to think it was my fault. I use to think there was something wrong with me. When the facade finally came tumbling down, it was one of our greatest and saddest moments. I finally came to know my success was important to him because he was filled with fear. And my lack of success brought about painful memories he was unwilling to discuss. We were doing so well during that time. But he completely stopped talking to me. He didn’t want me to know who he was, who he is (as you never escape who you were, it is always with you).

Nothing and no one could keep me from seeing him. I would always , always make time for him. I would always risk seeing him. He was my exception to every rule. I loved loving him. And I didn’t know what was more painful, not receiving his love back when I wanted it, or choosing to not love him anymore. I often choose the pain of being in love and without him. I didn’t want to move on.

“The heart wants what the heart wants.”

To this day I still feel like I need to make something of myself to make him proud. Though I don’t thankfully don’t think of him as often as I use to. I use to not go days without thinking of him. Then weeks. Then months. But never has a full year passed by without me thinking of him, even reaching out to him.

But god, I was crazy. I couldn’t even speak when I was around him.

I was shy. so shy. I literally couldn’t speak. Other than to tell him that , I could say nothing more. And instead of being flattered, he would be annoyed, and then I would be annoyed. And I don’t know if we would ever really fight (only happened once, and that was dramatic and awful), most nights spent together would be spent watching Seinfeld, and end in us making love. Well, it would end with me caressing him, playing with his hair until he fell asleep. No matter how tired I was, I was always willing to caress him to sleep.

In the morning, he would wake up, snuggle, then get showered and dressed for work, kiss me, and take off.

I once didn’t kiss him back. In fact I stared at him and said nothing. I was in too much shock.

It had been some time since we had seen each other, I think I was trying to resist him. Or maybe I was seeing someone else. Or maybe both. Regardless, we went out for drinks, came back to his place, and he started to profess his love for me. I attempted to stop him in his tracks. I said “see, you really don’t have to say that to me. We can just be together, and we don’t have to use those words.”

His “I love you’s” hurt me. And overtime we ever met back up, after a long stretch of not seeing one another, he would say, “you know you’re my girl right?” Never really waiting for a reply.

God. The last time I saw him, he wanted me to swear I would meet up with him the next day. I wouldn’t. He had a gf (an official, live-in gf), and I had a bf, official, who lived across the street from me. He again, told me how much he loved me. That we were it. And I couldn’t give in. I loved him so so so much. But I hated him too. Because of him I went on to date many other men. Say I love you to many more men. Rare, had I ever claimed to be “In-love.” Quite rare.

He never did answer his phone the following day. Or any day after.

Going back to the time when I tried to tell him to stop using the phrase “I love you,” when he politely refused, I also asked if he had been seeing anyone else.

He said no. I slept with him. Might have said I love you back; I imagine I did.

Then the next morning, clearly something in my stomach didn’t feel right. I wanted to prevent myself from getting hurt by him again. In three years, I had never looked at his phone once. It is so true, that he stopped putting a passcode on his phone, because he knew I would never look through it.

But that next morning, I did. I opened it to find multiple text messages from women he was talking to. I tried to quickly look down the list, to memorize their names (I don’t know with what intention), but he had so many names in his phone, messages from so many women, I couldn’t even count. 5? no. at least 10. All I know is it was too many to memorize or truly count. I opened one of the messages. He was saying sweet nothings to one woman who exclaimed she had left her briefcase behind.

I was dead heartbroken. In shock. and dead heartbroken. So much so, I didnt even have the heart to yell at him when he got out of the shower. I thought that would be the last time I ever talked to him.

Oddly enough, when he left that morning, kissing me without me kissing him in return, I cleaned his whole place. Even rearranged it. I think I was thinking I was going to say something smart to him like “now your place looks decent enough for all your women.” But I never did. He casually said “thanks for cleaning my place!” in a text. I might have said you’re welcome. We went on with our lives not talking for months.


I had either ran into him or decided to randomly invite him out one evening (the latter most likely) when I was out with girlfriends. He said yes.

My best friend, and my best friends best friend, and him, all hung out in the sports bar as he entertained all three of us (he was always so talented at that. so talented.). He came up with the idea of karaoke. My best friend invited her bf, and the other girl decided to call it a night.

Karaoke was a blast. First, he surprised me by signing us up for a duet. Then he surprised me by killing it in his rap performance. At that point, I hardly believed he listened to rap at all. Then, most interestingly, he signed himself, and my girlfriends bf up, for them to have a rap duet. He happened to do much better than my girlfriend’s bf.

At some point I was drunk. At some point he followed me into the bathroom. At some point we had sex. At some point we had to remain perfectly still as someone used the facility right next to us. (yes it was a first).

Then we sat at the bar together alone, as we watched my best friend and her bf get into one of their regular drinking fights. No shame in their game.

As him and I sat at the bar, overlooking the commotion, he started mouthing off about my girlfriends bf. Saying he was probably angry because he couldn’t rap as good. Then mouthed off something about him not truly knowing what it means to live a hard life. “I bet he never had a gun held up to his head.” Shaking his head, he started to sob.

What he proceeded to say, I don’t think I’ve ever shared with anyone, so I won’t even here. But it was a moment coming from a place of truth, and I was grateful he shared it with me.

I never heard from him for the longest time after that. I think a year or so. I moved before I ever saw him again. Then when I came back, we met up again, and he told me he loved me, when he had a gf, and I didn’t say no, but I didn’t say yes.

I never said no.


P.s. I hope this post was confusing, I wanted it to read like how I felt at the time: up down, up down, what time is it? Where am I? Those three years were a blur.


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