A Valentine’s Day Horror Story

It’s that time of year again. Valentine’s Day is upon us and it is a day where singles and not-so-singles brace it with apprehension, boycott against it, or are in the position to brag about how many dozens of flowers they got.

And for those who don’t get any flowers, commemorative diamonds, or hot rear end rubs, absolute hate towards the people who do is on the agenda. It’s a love deal for those who have it, and it’s a hate deal for those who don’t.

I stopped wholeheartedly celebrating Valentine’s Day years ago because I spent too many of them in the shitter. At least it felt like one too many because one REALLY REALLY BAD Valentine’s Day is enough to last a lifetime.Yup, it takes only one to ruin them all.

I HATE Valentine’s Day. It just plain sucks. It’s like a day of celebration for the “haves” to throw in the faces of the “have nots”. It’s a day to commemorate being somebody’s “somebody”, while everyone else gets to eat crow because it’s their fault for having nobody.

I was a BIG nobody one year, even though somebody was there making sure he was getting in my way. Somebody I thought was there, yet wasn’t. HE WAS SINGULARLY THE BIGGEST ASSHOLE I’VE EVER BEEN WITH IN MY ENTIRE LIFE.

This my friends, will stand to be one of the most horrific Valentine stories you’ve ever heard. You’ll be kissing the ground you’re walking on a million times, thankful you were never me.

I met this 35-year old guy at the effing bar of all places (bad from the start) when I was 21. Exactly 11 years ago today, my life was turned upside down. Seems the age of 21 was a prolific age for me for getting crapped on.

I had the runs the day I met him, which should’ve been my first indicator that I shouldn’t have agreed to go to the bar to meet with friends after work in the first place. I’m certain I would’ve dodged the biggest bullet of my life. Of course, I went anyway.

We all sat at the same table, and I took a stool that was situated right between the 35-year old guy and another girl from work, of whom he was putting the moves on before I’d arrived. Here I am, Miss Big and Bold taking a seat right between two people who should’ve been getting their swerve on, while I shouldn’t even have been there at all. I didn’t know what was going on between them until a week later, after the damage had already been done.

When I sat down, he immediately began flirting with me while and I played along because I thought he was cute. He asked for my phone number before I left and I gave it to him. I didn’t know it but he also asked for the other girl’s too and she gave it to him before he asked for mine.

He called me the following Friday the 11th, and wanted to hang out. He came over to my apartment and we sat and talked for a short time before he began trying to have sex with me. He was being VERY PERSISTENT and I was unfortunately, in need of the treatment. I asked him to leave and he refused, knowing if he could just keep pressing against me long enough, he’d eventually take me where I was dying to go.

There I was making out on the couch with this guy at 10:30 at night and pretty soon, all my clothes were off in a pile on the floor. We never even went on one single date. Yet, there he was, in my apartment at midnight having me for a late supper.

He left sometime around 4am and I was happy, loving the exhilaration of the experience because I hadn’t been with anyone for a while. Plus, I thought I really liked him and being the young naïve little shit that I was, I was under the presumption he liked me too. Sex is usually never that good when it’s just a “I kind of dig you” type situation.

I played it cool and waited for him to call me first, which he did on Sunday. He came by eagerly, picked me up and drove me out to his home. He showed me where he worked, where his parents lived nearby, and XYZ about his personal life. He seemed passionate about me, wanting to get to know me, whilst introducing me to parts of him that seemed relatively important. We held hands and laughed and he took me out for a sandwich and a coke before our time was up.

On the way back to my apartment after our little trip, he divulged to me that he was trying to get with that other girl from the bar last weekend- the one I worked with. He mentioned she wasn’t “available” Friday night when we f*cked, so he called me instead.

Not one single person told me there was something in the works going on between them, and apparently when I got to the bar that night and she saw he began flirting with me, she wanted nothing more to do with him and shut him down. She knew a douchebag when she saw one. Wish I knew it too.

I was completely taken aback and said to him, “I wish I would’ve known that because I sure as hell wouldn’t have slept with you.”

He saw that I was mad, yet he didn’t apologize. In fact, he didn’t say much of anything at all. All he said was he had to go and that he’d call me the next day, which happened to be Valentine’s Day.

Here I am, the next day, on Valentine’s Day rationalizing the whole situation thinking, “Oh, he knows I’m mad and after all the things we did yesterday, he’s going to send me flowers today at work to make it up to me. Oh, I just know he’s going to come by tonight and surprise me after work and he’s going to have something romantic planned for us. I just know this is all going to work out.” He’d been so effing insistent the day before and I was certain by his actions, he liked me.

The entire day rolled on and I heard absolutely nothing from him. No calls, no card, no flowers, no nothing.

By the end of the day, I was so fire-spitting angry, at about 9:30 I finally picked up the phone to call him to set things straight. He tried to make small talk at first and acted “surprised” to hear from me. He wanted to skate on through and pretend like nothing ever happened between us.

I demanded, “Here it is Valentine’s Day and I was hoping we would spend it together. Just fucking tell me you don’t want to see or hear from me again right now. At least have the f*cking balls to do that so I can cut my losses and move on with my life.”

He said, “Calm the f*ck down. What did you honestly think this was? I was horny and you did the job. I wanted to f*ck you and now you think we’re an item? You really are a stupid 21-year old little girl aren’t you? I want (insert girl’s name from work here) and would’ve had her had you not gotten in the way. I told you that yesterday for Chrissakes. Take Valentine’s Day and shove it up your ass.”

I was absolutely stunned. I didn’t say another word and I hung up the phone, completely mortified, wanting to take the cord and wrap it around my neck and hang myself with it. I’d never been so humiliated in my life.

A couple of weeks went by and I started to hear rumors from people at work that he was going around telling people how good a lay I was and that he’d love to f*ck me again. He gave my phone number out and I started getting obscene phone calls all hours of the night with people screaming and heckling, “MELISSA, YOU’RE A F*CKING WHORE! THE WORLD DESERVES TO KNOW WHAT A WHORE YOU ARE!!”

He even called me at work one day after I’d changed my number and asked me if I wanted to hook up again. I got in trouble with my boss for him calling because it caused such a commotion, along with all the gossip and the rumors that were spreading. The situation, for some reason, was a HUGE punishment for me all around and I was made to be the naked ass right square in the middle of the room.

I eventually got over him and the situation, but not without feeling an insane amount of regret, remorse and shame. I had to live with what I’d done and for some reason, it was meant to happen. It was meant to happen to me on Valentine’s Day.

I know Valentine’s Day is perfectly lovely for a lot of people and it should be. They deserve it. They deserve all the goodness that Valentine’s Day has to offer.

And for whatever reason, I must’ve deserved what I’d gotten years ago because every Valentine’s Day since then, I still hear his heartless, cruel, empty voice on the other end of the line telling me to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Melissa. My ass, literally.

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