Chapter 2
Dasher
Isit in my car outside of my house, dreading going in.
My girlfriend is in there and I don’t want to be around her.
She hasn’t done anything wrong per se, but I just can’t.
Lately I feel like I’m just arm candy to her.
She posts on social media about how she’s dating a pro athlete, and how our lives are perfect. But are they?
Every time I called her when I was at football camp she gushed about her boss. While I’m happy she’s happy about a job, one she didn’t even want to get, I just hate having to hear about him all the time.
If the calls weren’t about him, they’re about her and where she wants to go on vacation to or what new purse she bought with my credit card.
Hello? I’m a person with feelings as well.
Just because I’m making more money than I did working at the local diner growing up, doesn’t mean that I’m just a bank.
Last time I came home on a weekend visit, she opened her hand expecting money. I gave in, handed it over, and didn’t see her for the whole weekend. I’m feeling underappreciated, but if I bring it up, she blows me off.
Camp is over, the season is starting on Monday. I have a weekend to just chill out. But knowing Poppy it won’t be calm or peaceful for me.
With a long sigh, I climb out of my truck, the same one I’ve had since high school and head inside. What I walk into is chaos.
There are dresses everywhere, some strange lady standing in my living room.
“Oh, good you’re home,” Poppy says as I set my bag by the closet, I’ll take care of it later.
“Yep, just got here. What’s all this?” I ask, gesturing to the dresses. She gives me a look that I don’t understand and after being together since we were fifteen, you’d think I should know. I don’t. I don’t think I’ll ever understand her.
“My boss is having a party tonight. Your suit is upstairs.”
Party? “Party? What party?”
She stops trying to take the dress off and stares at me, “he’s having a party, important people will be there. I need you to go to make me look important.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
She nods, “I just did. Suit upstairs. We leave in an hour.” Well, there goes my weekend. I don’t want to go, but I will because if I don’t, she will scream at me for the whole weekend. Fuck my life.
Again, I’m glad she likes what she does, but I don’t want to be around people right now. I don’t want to be used as a trophy or whatever she is thinking of doing with me.
I stomp up the stairs as I hear her tell the strange lady, “I’ll do the navy one.”
Fuck this relationship.