Chapter 3 Chapter 3
“Damn it. He reacted again. What the hell is he planning this time?” I blurted out as soon as I saw the notification from him on my Facebook. That bastard. I didn’t think all my kindness earlier at the Medical Mission would go to waste if I just ended up cursing non-stop because of my damn ex-boyfriend every time I remember him.
I was currently sitting in my car in the parking lot, having just finished the medical mission where I regularly volunteered. I always did this because helping people gave me joy. It wasn’t paid work, but at least I got to use my medical degree in service.
“Doc Mori, are you going home?” asked one of my colleagues, Doc Apolonaris, a dentist.
“Yeah, tell them I’ll see them next time,” I replied after rolling down my window.
“Aren’t you going to eat with us? Doc Martino was looking for you,” she added, referring to the ophthalmologist who worked with us earlier.
“Ah, no. I’m good. I promise, next time, I’ll join you guys. I just have somewhere to go.”
“Okay, Doc Mori. Take care!”
“Thanks! You too. Text me the next venue, okay? I’ll join again!” I called after her, raising my window before speeding off. I didn’t expect to end up heading to a bar again. It was only five in the afternoon, but I felt like wreaking havoc. Why did that guy have to reach out again? Doesn’t he have anything better to do? Did he and his new girlfriend break up again? Psycho.
I took off my scrub suit and changed into a dress. I didn’t want to look like a fool inside the bar, even if I just wanted to drink. My mind couldn’t calm down, even though it’s been three years since we broke up.
I slammed my car door shut and walked into the bar. It was the same bar I went to after we broke up. This was where I cried, threw tantrums, got drunk—this place had somehow become my dumping ground for heartache. A place where no one cared even if you screamed your heart out.
And so I did what I always did. After sitting at the counter, I immediately ordered a margarita. Before I realized it, I’d had several glasses, enough for me to start ranting, with the bartender laughing at me.
“Hey! Don’t laugh at me! Do you even know me? Are we even close?” I snapped at him.
“I do know you, Ma’am. I remember you clearly. You were the one crying back then because someone didn’t choose you. And now, you’re here again, because he reached out.”
I glared at him. “Yeah, you’re right! That psycho! He’s testing me again! He’s baiting me, I can tell! He’s waiting for my reaction! Because that’s what I used to do! One small move, and I’d message him like some fool! When he unfriended me, I was dumb enough to ask him why he did it! When he blocked me, I even made a dummy account just to message him! I even called him repeatedly, like I couldn’t live without him!”
I grabbed my hair in frustration, pulling it. Every time I remembered what I did, I wanted to disappear out of shame. What was the point of my degree if I acted like an idiot over a guy who didn’t even finish school?
And what’s the point of being pretty if I let myself be a fool to a guy who wasn’t even handsome, wasn’t even tall?
“He just had a big dick! That’s all he had going for him! Nothing else! No decent job, no house of his own! Why did I let myself fall for someone like that? And what’s worse? He was my first boyfriend! And yet he had the nerve not to choose me?”
“So why did you even like him?” the bartender teased, earning a glare from me.
“Idiot!”
I downed the margarita in front of me and asked for another.
“It’s really hard when you’ve dated a narcissist, Ma’am. It’s not obvious, but I know a lot about that. I once had a narcissist boyfriend myself,” the bartender confessed, making me almost choke.
“B-boyfriend?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m gay. But anyway, it feels like your ex conditioned your mind. That’s why you’re still affected. It’s the fear... the trauma.”
I stared at him. In fairness, he had a point. After my breakup, I kept blaming myself, thinking I was the reason things didn’t work out. I thought I was the problem, the bad one. I even listened to breakup podcasts and read articles, which is how I learned the word narcissist.
“It’s normal, Ma’am. Trauma doesn’t disappear easily. Especially when the damage was severe. If you’re still questioning your own reality, it’s hard to convince yourself otherwise. You’re probably scared he’ll fool you again and make you look stupid.”
I couldn’t respond. Almost everything he said hit home. Was he really a bartender? Or a psychologist? I didn’t expect to have this kind of conversation with a total stranger. While drunk, no less.
“My only advice, Ma’am? I hope you never cross paths with the person who hurt you again. Because if you do, it’s dangerous. You might only remember the good things he did and let him back in. You deserve to be happy and to be loved the right way, Ma’am. Do everything you can to never go through that hell again.”
His words stirred my fears even more. He was right. I often remembered my ex’s good deeds more than the times he hurt me. I didn’t know if I was just too kind, too forgiving, too quick to forget. And I was scared I’d fall into the same trap. I didn’t want that. What was the point of fixing myself if I was just going to break all over again? Why should I go back to the person who ruined me in the first place? I didn’t want to see myself doubting whether I deserved to be happy.
I’ve come to love myself so much to let anyone treat me like that again.
I closed my eyes, unable to stop the tears from falling whenever I remembered everything.
“I don’t know what to do now. I’m just afraid he’ll come back,” I said, my shoulders slumped.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend now, Ma’am?”