Enough of the Troubled Boyfriend Chapter 1

After another cold war with my childhood sweetheart, I didn't go running to him.

My friends all tried to talk me down.

"He's just complicated, Willow. He says the opposite of what he means."

"Difficult people need a patient lover."

But I was just so tired. I didn't want to be the one to back down anymore. All those years of cold wars, of arguments and avoidance... they had worn me down so much that I couldn't even tell the difference anymore.

Was he really just complicated, or did he just not love me?

So, when he threatened me with a breakup again, I just said, "Fine. Let's break up."

* * *

Hearing me say that, Jerry visibly froze.

But I just kept my head down, my voice steady.

"I'll get my things packed and out of here as soon as I can. You can keep everything we bought together. As for the clothes you left at my place, please come get them when you can. Or I can have them couriered to you..."

The only sound in the silent apartment was my own voice. Jerry's expression shifted from stormy to a cold, blank mask.

He cut me off abruptly.

"What about Pudding? How do we split him?"

Pudding was the stray cat I'd found by the gate of our complex. I'd adopted him, paid for all his expenses. But he never warmed up to me. Eight times out of ten, he wouldn't let me hold him. He'd even scratched my wrist a few times.

Jerry, on the other hand, was always indifferent to him, never paid him any mind. And yet, Pudding would actively rub against his legs, meowing and begging for attention.

"You can have him, too," I said, letting out a long breath.

No matter how much you love something, that kind of blatant favoritism will eventually break your heart.

"Willow Morgan," Jerry said, his voice tight with suppressed anger, "you're the one who missed Valentine's Day. Why are you the one throwing a tantrum?"

But wasn't he the one who said "break up" first?

Maybe he'd forgotten. He threw those words around so often, after all. It was an effective threat, and he used it like a well-worn tool.

"I told you, my flight was delayed. That's why I was late getting back."

Jerry just sneered. "Excuses. Why couldn't you have just caught an earlier flight?"

On this business trip, I had worked for over ten hours straight, compressing my schedule just to make it onto a flight that would get me home the same day. But Jerry wouldn't listen to that. He would find a hundred other reasons to blame me.

So I fell silent, a profound sense of powerlessness washing over me.

Jerry walked a few steps toward the door, then turned back, his tone icy. "I'm not coming back until you admit you were wrong."

"We've already broken up," I said.

But it was as if he hadn't heard me. He tilted his head, continuing his monologue. "I'll give you one more chance. It's not just about you being late."

That was a first. Usually, he'd just slam the door and leave, even if his tone was still as hard as steel.

"Think it over, and then come apologize to me."