Then, it wasn't. I was on the up and up, then I wasn't. I had an apartment, then I didn't. I had money, then it disappeared. I had a new car, now it was in danger of being repossessed. Money problems plagued me almost instantly in all aspects.
My things went into storage, a bill i could barely afford and was constantly being locked up from missed payments, school loans, private and federal overdue. 60k in all. My car payment was $260 and 3 months behind. Car insurance was constantly stopped from lack of payment, my phone was always getting shut off, my credit card was useless from being maxed, my main checking account went into collections from thousands in overdraft fees unpaid. My second, backup account from another bank was constantly in overdraft to keep me afloat with absorbent $35 overdraft fees each transaction. Unpaid tickets, much neglected car maintenance, you name it, I had it. All at once.
I owed my sister rent money, she moved on to a townhouse with her long time boyfriend, they were doing alright. But I owed her thousands of unpaid rent. I could imagine there's a bit of resentment there. But she's still cool for it. I borrowed from my mother and father. I owe them all. the IRS too.
All this while trying to follow my path. Even the failure to invest in mini-vacations or general small-time luxuries to keep me sane, my days became a blurry spin of repetitious chaos. I couldn't focus on killing one debt over the other if I tried. What was $200 if it couldn't even kill ONE overdue bill? Let alone 10. I spent it on creature comforts and the few expenses I could manage. Food, phone, and gasoline. Shit, even my Cumberland Farms card was shut off.
You could imagine the toll it took on my personal life. I was a miserable shit. I shut off. I would zone out. I didn't want to go out or do anything. I was spiraling. I didn't know how bad it truly was, or how much worse it'd get. I was lying to myself it was alright and to Pauline. Sweet Pauline. I got short and would snap when she would bug me to open up or get my shit together. I got sick of it and would argue about nothing when I knew if I just took a breath and shut my mouth, and apologized, it would be okay. She was trying to understand. But with her coming from a different culture, she saw me as pathetic.
To her, all my problems were fixable. I simply had to get out and do it. Fix it. Make it better. Being impoverished was no good. Being broke was not in the cards for her. She would not accept it. And as soon as she had started coming over my place, sneaking up on me to rub my shoulders with those perfectly painted nails of hers kissing my neck, she stopped. I lost the apartment, I moved back to my folk's house. We had nowhere to be alone now.
She became disillusioned with me and began fights about it all. I wasn't kind back, but it was all in context. I never took shots at her below the belt. She went straight for the jugular. She was having fears of being let go at her job as it was now, and with us on the rocks, she began questioning her choice to stay in the states. I was heartbroken when she said it. She blamed everything in the past year on me. She could've been on holiday in the French Alps with a guaranteed career and living the good life back home. She screwed it all up for some washed up American. I couldn't ask her for anything. She was right.
To bookend it, realizing she was only going through the motions, she began finding ways to break it off with me. She began accusing me of cheating, finding arguments in the littlest details when all i wanted was to have a quiet evening together. She'd get up and request to go home. Every time I begged her to talk and stay, but she refused. Every time but one. After quite a few of those, I gave up. She was astounded and taken aback by my willingness to take her home.
We were always at her apartment or at a motel I could scrounge for after I moved out. On rare occasions at her place, the apartment-mates would all go out and we'd have the place to ourselves. Which was when she liked to begin these causeless fights. When it was conveniently quiet and we were alone. Even though she'd always be the one storming out ahead of me, she always had to grab her belongings and go through the process of putting her shoes back on. Usually some slip on type, but it was still a few minutes. I normally spent this time pleading her while she gave me the cold shoulder and I chased her to the car. Most times we'd work it out on the ride back to her place from mine.
This time was different.
The same issue started it. The room I had contained a small kitchenette and I was boiling water for some mac & cheese I happily agreed to make. I was in the throws of it when she came in to greet me. I had a sweater on. She hugged me and we kissed, as she pulled back she looked down and stopped. She reached and pulled a dark hair embedded in the sweater. "Oh my god." She rolled her eyes and walked away. This was once every week or so now. She found glitter on my face, and hairs. This was the 4th time now. "Really? Really?" I asked as she walked back to sulk on the couch. "You know what Patrick, I didn't say anything, and I'm dropping it. I walked over to attempt. I just seemed guilty by even trying, which I realized. What's the use?
She told me it was nothing, but she wouldn't talk. It was the last straw. Okay. I might be going through a rough time, not all there emotionally for her. But fuck if someone questions my loyalty and moral integrity. I don't mess around. "Jesus Christ." I said. I cut the stove and took the pot off. "Let's go."
My turn.
I walked. I didn't expect anything, other than to get in my car and go. I gave it all up. I was tired. No begging. " I'll meet you in the car." I was out the door and down the stairs in the old hallway with the beige wallpaper peeling. It smelled like stale curry. The Motel 6 sign lit up the parking lot. She somehow got her things together fast and I heard her race after me. "Wait! You're just going to leave?" I didn't say anything. I got in the car, and she followed. "Where are you going?" She asked. "To take you back." I said coldly. I'd never done this before. But with everything else going on, I was at wits end. I know I wasn't being the greatest boyfriend in the world to her, but she refused to be there for me when i needed her. Through my troubles I was always trying to focus on her and her's. It helped me contain and keep my own issues at bay, or rather put them off for a brief time and relax.
All I needed sometimes was someone to forget with and for her to simply be there and tell me everything was okay, or that it would be. She didn't. Only furthering tensions. My one release was no longer there. This sweet personal getaway, a dream come true turned into a nightmare. Another stressful issue added to the ever-growing pile.
"Talk to me." She pleaded on our silent ride back. "Please? Talk to me please." "I'm tired." I said. She began asking why, and then raging on in French. It almost got to me. But I didn't break. "I'm tired of doing this all the time with you. It's an endless cycle and it never changes. I'm not going to be accused of that shit. I may be a lot of things, but I won't stand for being thought of a cheater. I despise those people. They're the scum of this earth and I pride myself on being above them in a big way because that's one of the worst things you can do to a person. If you want to play that game, so be it. But if that's the case, you don't know me at all."
She began crying. I drove. We pulled up to the small side street where she lived. "Will you wait for a second? I have things to give to you." She said through her dried tears. I couldn't look at her. She was still beautiful. "No." I said. "Please?" I shook my head and bit my lip. She got out.
As I pulled off into the night, through the closed windows of the car and the faint sound of "Dirty Work" by Steely Dan, I heard a "au revoir, mon ami." as she stood there sadly.
The French Princess was gone.
