We sat in the basement of his parent’s house watching TV while eating Chinese food. Everything about him bothered me, even the way he ate his pork fried rice. Him and his stupid face. How could he think we’re okay when we’re clearly not?
And he was such a controlling boyfriend. If I didn’t text him him back within five minutes, he’d blow up my phone with texts, phone calls, and Facebook and Instagram messages. After every blow up, he would act like everything was normal. And it wasn’t! I tried breaking up with him multiple times before, and every time he would cry, begging me not to leave — what a baby.
He would also use his depression against me and say I was the only thing worth living for, which was just overdramatic. He even threatened to kill himself. And so I stayed in a relationship with Mike for far too long. But that day in the basement, while watching him shovel an egg roll into his stupid mouth, I knew I had to end things immediately. No one who eats like that has the right to dictate what I do with my life!
“You know, I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately,” I began. “And I’m just not happy anymore.”
“What?” Mike responded, as if he were surprised. What’s so surprising? I tried breaking up with him every week!
“Are you trying to break up with me right now?!” he shouted as he shot up from his chair. Half an egg roll rolled onto the floor.
“I just don’t think we work anymore. We’re not right for each other, I think we need to be apart,” I replied boldly while also standing up.
He stared at me in silence and just looked at me, examining every inch of my face. Suddenly, he erupted into tears and threw himself onto the floor and at my feet.
“No, you can’t leave me! Please don’t leave me, you can’t leave me, I won’t let you!” he sobbed as he held my leg. Mike drooled all over it just like a dog.
“You’re not letting me? I’m sorry, but you can’t do that,” I said firmly while trying to shake him off my leg. I broke loose, said I was leaving, and walked away. He immediately ran toward the door and blocked it.
“You’re not leaving,” Mike affirmed, drool and snot all over his face. He looked like a rabid dog.
I backed up. Enraged, I demanded that he back away from the door and reiterated that we were over. This threw him over the edge.
He cried harder now, almost like a growl, and walked toward the portable toilet that his grandma once used when she lived in their basement.
Mike grabbed the toilet by the handles, picked it up over his head, and hurled it in my direction. The toilet came flying at me. I never thought I’d experience something so crazy. But, alas, there was a filthy toilet coming at me. I jumped out of the way. It was a shit show (literally).
The toilet went crashing into the wall behind me, and I screamed. I looked at him in horror as he just stood there, panting loudly. I took this opportunity to grab my bag, and run out the door onto a busy New York City street. Mike didn’t follow me and I never looked back. Because the crazy piece of shit threw a toilet at me.