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Apologizing to Matteo would only be beneficial. It would at least put me into the position of being the bigger person, at the very least. I’ve never gotten that satisfaction before, and it would be much easier to explain to my friends and family that I’m single. I could tell them that Ididtry to work it out, Ididtry to apologize for not being transparent, but he refused to listen.
Knowing that I still have his number in my phone makes it so tempting to call him without thinking about it. I know that without a proper, practiced statement, I would just freeze and stumble over my words until he thought I was a complete idiot. I can’t think of anything more embarrassing.
Why do I care so much? Why can’t I be one of those women who just lets her ex go, starts working out, and opens her own online soap store? I’ve seen plenty of those stories. What’s their secret?
Maybe their ex’s are super rich and can fund their habits. Oh, wait! So is mine.
I stop for a moment and try to imagine what a child support statement from Matteo would look like. I’m willing to bet a lot of his income is off the books, so it would be a nightmare to get anything from him.
I pace around my apartment a little, trying to get this nervous energy out of me. It’s not just going to disappear, I have to channel it into something, but no amount of deep breathing, yoga, and bubble baths is going to take this stress off my shoulders.
I need a resolution to this issue, whether Matteo wants to see me or not.
After pulling up his number in my contacts, I throw the phone back onto the couch and scream before I decide to press “call”. I’m still not ready!
But will I ever be?
This conversation is going to be hard no matter what. There’s no easy way to handle something like this. Unless he forgives me immediately and welcomes me back with open arms, this is going to get awkward really fast.
I repeat my opening to myself in my head a hundred times before I retrieve my phone from the couch. “Fuck it!” I shout to myself, wondering if my amorous neighbors heard me the way I always hear them.
I pick up the phone, bring up his contact, and call him.
The ringing is the worst part. If he doesn’t pick up, he’ll still see that I tried to call him, and the knowledge that I could get a call from him at any moment makes my stomach hurt. He’s probably going to be angry with me, or at least irritable, and he’s such a dick when he’s in a bad mood.
Three rings later, he picks up.
“Um, hello?” he says in the most annoyed tone possible. “Why are you calling me?”
God, the way he’s talking to me would make you think I was a crazy girl in high school who stalked him and killed his pet hamster.
“We need to talk about something important,” I begin. So far, so good, even if he’s being an ass.
“No, we don’t. we talked about everything, now it’s time for you to leave me alone,” he replies, talking down to me like I’m a child who won’t stop whining about going to bed.
I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “I promise, Matteo, this is really important. Trust me, I don’t want to talk to you about it either, but I’m trying to do the right thing.”
I figure that if I come at it from a less desperate angle, he might be more willing to hear me out.
“What kind of ‘right thing’ are we talking about here? Are you the one who fucking called the feds on me?!” he asks, the volume of his voice growing incrementally as he gets more irritated.
“No! God, no. It’s something else. It has nothing to do with jail or your work at all. I promise. Please, if anything, I could really use some closure,” I reply, trying to keep my voice neutral and unaffected while it begins to waver.
“Why do you think you deserve closure? You’re the one who ran away from me the first time. That’s on you. You decided not to get closure when you chose not to work things out with me.”
He’s right. My little performance might have cost me my family.
“Anyway, lose my number and don’t fucking call me again. I mean it, Iris. We’re through, not like we were ever actually together or anything. Remember that,” he spits, hanging up immediately.
I’m shocked that he would rather stop talking than continue to berate me, if I’m being honest. It seemed like he was on a roll trying to break me down piece by piece. If he had chosen to do so, I might not be so compelled to do what I’m about to do.
Matteo came to my apartment, unannounced, after finding my address on the internet. I know where his house is because he welcomed me into it. I can just as easily go to his house and play the crazy ex role if he wants to play dirty like that.
I won’t let him reduce me to just an object. He’s going to regret fucking with my life and choosing to abandon his own child. Now, he’ll have the added guilt of knowing that he’s leaving behind a baby that he could have raised in a real family.
I decide that I’m going to go now, before I get scared and turn around. I’m not going to be a little bitch about this. I can’t be. I’m in too deep with Matteo, whether he wants to admit it or not. Maybe if he had just turned me loose before he had sex with me, things would be different. But I’m going to make sure he feels the full impact of his decisions.
My whole body is vibrating as I walk out to my car, and I’m not sure if it’s something I want to lean into or eliminate. Is adrenaline bad for unborn babies? Will it help me make my point better? I’ve never had such a heated interaction with an ex before. I have no idea how it’ll affect me.
