If Your Nose Hurts, It's Because I Broke It

I received a text from my dear friend Kit the other night informing me that she was watching Mike make out with a girl we know, and all I could think to respond with was, "Oooookay."
Good for him, I thought, because she's cute. I kind of feel bad for her, though. She probably spent her weekend feeling hopeful, which is the worst state of mind to be in when it comes to Mike. He inspires a lot of hope with no follow-through. He says really nice things and then realizes what effect they are having and changes them into really mean things. I surprised myself because at another point in my life, I might have thought, "What a slut. Hope he likes herpes," but my first thought was more along the lines of, "Oh, poor her. Hope she likes getting jerked around."
Still, part of me kind of hoped that maybe she was going to be the one to jerk him around. Each girl I hear about him fucking around with as he Big Daddy Roths it through the female populace, I hold a little burning hope that maybe he'll be the one to get his sternum caved in this time. This is the reason why I know that whatever I felt for Mike, it wasn't even close to love. When I love someone, really love them, the way I, for example, loved Gino, I want them to be happy even if it means getting the hell away from me. I don't want Mike to be happy. I want him to be miserable. I want him to be stomach full of stinging nettles miserable. I want him to suffer. I have a lot of mean thoughts.
I don't think I even liked him that much. That's why I'm still thinking about it, still trying to figure out what the hell happened there. I went from really liking him to really hating him so quickly, my timeline is fucked up. I think what I really liked was being able to have sex that didn't make me sad, and that's it. My problem is, I still do not know how to separate sex and those pesky emotions that cooler people can ignore. Sex was how Gino and I said a lot of things. It was how we said, "I love you" and also, "I hate you." It gets especially confusing when the hate-sex feels just as good as love-sex. Love can hurt, and hate can feel good- like the adrenaline rush from a punch to the jaw.
I was so busy riding that high I got from the validation, the way he made the first move, that I never even stopped to think about it. It was the flattery of it that fucked with my head, made me think I had emotional attachments growing when really, all I had was a physical itch being scratched. I don't know how to tell the difference, it turns out, between, "I really like you," and ,"I really like the way your tongue feels in my pussy".
Mike happened because I let him, and also because he was there. I am getting closer to being honest with myself and admitting that I just wanted to have sex, and I might have ended up having sex with just about anyone at that point. I kept pushing it with him for longer than I should have because it was easier than finding someone new to think about. It's similar to why I kept insisting my marriage was stable even long after it was clear to everyone that it was crumbling. It was easier to just deny what was obvious and keep going.
Gino said something interesting the other night about this, though, when I referred to my laziness with men. "I don't think you're lazy," he said, "You're just impatient."
Holy shit, I thought, Gino really does know me better than just about anyone, even if he spent that whole nugget of wisdom eye-fucking another woman's cleavage. I wanted to think I could keep it casual, just enjoy myself with Mike and have fun, but I was always several steps ahead. I knew what we were doing, but I was so determined to make it into something else. I was full of hope, even if I didn't like him all that much. I just wanted to be loved again after being run over so harshly by Gino telling me he didn't love me anymore. I was willing to settle for someone, anyone, who would pay attention to me, and I refused to believe that someone could say something and not mean it. It says something about me, I guess, that I made a slight fool of myself just because for once, I met a guy who put so much effort into getting me to come. I really liked the orgasms, not the person, and I didn't figure it out until it was over. At least I did figure it out. Maybe a little late, but eventually.