Most of us have loved, a good chunk of us have experienced loss; some of us have experienced both… those are the real fortunate. Nonetheless, we’ve all had “that one.”
“That one” the entire group text tries to ward you away from. “That one” you tell stories pertaining to but would never even consider introducing to your family.
I prefer to call mine… Mr. Dangerous: fair complexion, eye adorned with the bluest of blues, & carrying a melody of every Justin Timberlake song I once loved. But clothed with so much childhood hurt, anxiety & insecurity.
He was my security blanket and I was his bib. Under his blanket (metaphorically & physically) I was so comfy, accepting every blatant tale as the truth, greatest escape if you will. Whether that warmth maintained or not, my “bib” duties carried on regardless.
His web, his angst, deepest insecurities, they were cleaned up by me like that of a spit-up rag. As he’s mended, that “blanket” grew worn until its purpose no longer being served.
Together our connection was unsurpassed but together, also a downward spiral. Except his spiral was that of a beautifully built staircase & mine feeling like a McDonald’s slide: stuffy, & usually a bad idea.
With every split, came a reunion. I hate-loved it. I’ve dealt with my share of feelings so immense before that those breakups drew me away from those arms ever again. But these arms I could have never rid. Although every time was so predictable, so full of “should’ve-known” surprises as well. It was a disgusting intrigue with a hint of undying persistency from him.
I shared our story with many of strangers hoping for some justification to my pitiful returns to the blanket, and all to give the similar reply “He’s bad news.” 34 years old… merely 22, what could go wrong? Although so self-serving, so giving & helpful at times. He always wanted good for me, but never better than him.
He was the epitome of a paradox that I could not stand, could not resist the attention from, but i craved being his candle at the end of the tunnel that he ALWAYS blew out.
That’s why he was MY Mr. Dangerous.
-t.
