(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their identity. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
As I took those few steps towards crossing the street to my the apartment, I could see Rosie looking at me out the front window. All I could really see was his silhouette. For three reasons. First, it was about two o’clock in the morning, so pitch black dark. Second, Rosie is a gorgeous shade of brown. I believe one would consider his melanin to be a medium chocolate brown? His skin was over all, smooth to the touch. He truly was a handsome man in my eyes back then.
Rosie’s physical attributes were hard to resist. He wasn’t exactly fit around the belly. He was strong in arms, chest, and legs. He had a gorgeous, voluptuous, buttocks, and a perfectly round bald head. He stood almost six feet tall. With me being five foot nine inches tall flat footed, I loved being able to look up at him when I wasn’t wearing high heels.
Rosie’s height and stature gave me a false sense of security. I longed for safety in the arms of a man. I also like height because my dad is six foot three inches tall. I accept the connection when it comes to my ego’s sense of safety in a taller man’s arms. I’m good with it, so, it sticks.
The feeling of being unsafe goes all the way back to when I was a wee little one. I was treated horribly by men throughout my life from the time I was three or four years old. If you have been following my story you are aware of two occasions so far. There is a couple more I’ll likely get to a little further along in this storyline.
Rosie also had gorgeous teeth. Not quite brilliant white. Close enough. When he smiled, all I could do was gaze at his beautiful teeth and sexy full lips. I craved his genuine smile and laughter. I didn’t see either of those too often. I think that may be why his mouth, full of perfectly aligned teeth, was like eye candy to me. Everytime I saw him smile or laugh, the little girl inside of me wanted to hug him, kiss him, and say “hey, you wanna go play together somewhere?”
I was so intoxicated with Rosie’s smile that I didn’t notice he didn’t really smile with his eyes that much. He smirked his contemptuous grin often enough, which doesn’t really take a lot of eye animation. Smiling though, his eyes didn’t light up. The only time I saw him light up was when he achieved something awesome within some work he was doing. If he was bringing in the bag, he was genuinely happy. The rest of the time, he was serious, or sullen. He preferred to refer to it as “chill”.
Rosie didn’t laugh too often. He was more on the serious side of life. He also had an odd sense of humor from my perspective. He did make me truly laugh sometimes. Those occasions were more rare than common over the almost ten years of knowing him. As little knowing as that actually was.
I do know Rosie was a go getter. Steadfast focused on making money and a name for himself in some form of career. As long as I knew him he worked inside the military holding a respectable rank, and worked as a taxi driver on the weekends, and then created other self proprietor businesses.
Gemma, who is now an arc nemesis to him at present, Rosie owned a little taxi company alongside her, his then fiancee, back in 2017. According to Gemma and Rosie, Rosie drove taxi on the weekends when he was in Moncton. Both Gemma and I were under the impression that Rosie drove taxi each weekend. Neither one of us actually knew what he may or may not have been up to.
I don’t actually know if he was working taxi everytime he said he did. He kept all the money to himself. No one would know if he was actually working, or spending some of that time using his box of colour-me-pretty, condoms. He had all the time in the world to pursue either option during those all nighters in Moncton. I would know. He scheduled time for me at a motel in Moncton whilst he was on one of his shifts.
I was even pretending to be a “trainee” alongside him. Which was his plan and execution of said plan, on more than one occasion. He used deceiving tactics in many areas of his life, and there I was whistling while I worked, with no mental registry of his slightly off moral compass. High Hoe, High Hoe, it’s off to work we go, took on an entirely new meaning. I was the hoe. I just didn’t know it.
Rosie did seem to like my company for other than sex every now and then. He is an opportunist though. He was good at creating them. Rosie wouldn’t miss an opportunity to make money or give his full effort and attention on a game of one-night-stand wack-a-hole with his latest lady friend he met online. My guess, if it was a busy night for drunkards then chances are, he was pulling in the cash. Rather than sleeping with some random women he swiped right on. If it was a slow night, he was probably getting it on like a jackrabbit that was caged for an eternity and was finally given his freedom.
Money and women were the same to him. He loved when he was in it, and hated being without it. Rosie also had a business selling art from Haiti, an online reselling business, a transportation service, and the latest one before I left him, a car detailing mobile service.
You know, if there is one thing I have come to learn over my fifty-one years on this planet, I know what I do not know. Even within what I do know, I still know what I do not know. There is much that I do not know. Knowing he was driving a taxi, and truly knowing he was driving a taxi, are two totally different realizations. Whichever realization it is, is often discovered in hindsight.
They say hindsight twenty/twenty. I tend to concur with that. In my world, I have come to realize, a narcissist and an empathetic people-pleaser are both experiencing the same toxic pain when it comes to their perception of love. They are simply expressing themselves from two different ends of the love spectrum. The narcissist doesn’t believe they are truly loveable and feels a pull to prove it. The empath believes they are loveable and feels a pull to prove it. Both souls feel void of true love.
Who is really right, and who is really wrong? Both are villains and victims of self made circumstances surrounding love. No one is truly at fault.
Would you get pissed at a child for eating all the candy without sharing, if you were the one giving the candy to them? Rosie and I are no different. I gave him the candy freely. He happily obliged by taking it. We must both take accountability for our decisions and actions. It’s important for evolutionary growth. Both here on earth and in the astral plains.
I know what I don’t know. I’m curious to learn from others. I love observing people. Learning from people. In particular, people whom are artistic, thought provoking, and most importantly authentic to the best of their abilities. Nowadays if a person were to approach me they would be wise to come at me authentically and respectfully. If I observe an ego with energy that would affect me adversely, I excuse myself and walk away, usually in silence. Don’t get me wrong, I would assert my boundaries verbally and firmly when required. I will educate an ignoramus if necessary. I stand my ground. I use my discernment in the moment to know which option best serves the occasion.
I also remind myself that we are all created from the same source. With the same source energy. We are the same creation having a perceived individualized experience of existence through a fragmented awareness. The fragmented awareness is the “I am” that you give yourself. You are aware that you exist, therefore, you do. Everything else is a meat suit with lots of options to choose from to explore who you are and what you are capable of.
I have also learned that it is not necessary to have to explain myself in all situations to all people. I do what I know to be right and I do it with pure intentions. In other words, I know what I am doing. Other people’s opinions or objections are noted, not necessarily mandatory for me to follow. It’s truly liberating having the gift of this mindset.
That was quite the detour from Rosie’s silhouette in the window. I guess I needed a side quest to get my ego off of my appreciation for Rosie’s physical appearance. Back to seeing his form.
The third reason I could only see Rosie’s sillouette in the window when I was saying my goodbyes to Joel, was because I was starting to lose my vision to cataract at that time. I couldn’t see very well. I have had two cataract surgeries and now wear glasses. I know the downfall of my eyes were due to smoking. Rosie wore glasses too. Although Rosie smoked, I believe he wore glasses for most of his adult life. I don’t think smoking was necessarily a factor. Not sure on that one. It’s neither here nor there. I prefer glasses to contacts.
I liked seeing Rosie in his glasses. He could look quite distinguished at times. He could rock a sleek, well pressed gentleman’s suite. His expensive looking framed glasses were the final touch to a perfect ensemble. He may have been a secretly cruel adversary for me, admittedly, he was also very yummy to look at. I can see why women caved to him so quickly and easily. I know I certainly did.
Even though I couldn’t see Rosie very well in the narrow front window, his sillouette and energetic presence felt formidable to me. He can be intimidating without even meaning to be sometimes. My stomach dropped to the ground when I took one step up and opened the front door to the apartment. There he was sitting on my bed, beside the side table, and just to the left of the window from which he peered out of.
“Who the fuck is he?!” Rosie demanded to know. Rosie’s eyes were blood red and filled with hatred. I knew I had to stand firm whilst also treading lightly. “He is a person I met online. He’s a good person. Don’t bring him into this”. “What do you mean don’t bring him into this? What the fuck are you doing with that guy?! A day before my birthday?! Seriously?! What the fuck!”.
Rosie’s face grew more intense. He was clenching his chiseled jaw. I started to put my things away and moved the vase of roses Joel had given me when he first arrived for our date. I was recollecting myself and doing my best to stop the anxious tremors my body was feeling. The last thing I needed in that moment was a cramp attack. That wouldn’t have been good.
The white vase held twelve lovely red roses. I valued them. I think I received four bouquets of flowers in my lifetime from men, and only two of those with vases. I placed them aside gently on my full length dresser out of arms reach from Rosie. They were originally on the side table near where Rosie was sitting. I didn’t want him to accidentally knock them over in his drunken stupor. Rosie got up from the bed and started pacing back and forth within the confines of the small front room. “Did he give you those?” he inquired as if to ask a retorical question. At the same time, it was as if he wanted to feel the pain of me saying “yes he did.” He glared at me until I said yes.
People don’t necessarily realize that when they are holding deep trauma and painful ego conditioning, they will lash out in ways to get people to continue hurting them. Guilt and or deep shame are often a part of the equation. An aggressive person secretly believes they deserve pain. Therefore they feel a morbid sense of relief when someone lashes back at their untoward behavior. They do this subconsciously to give themselves a reason to maintain the anger towards someone else. Rather than associate the anger with themselves.
I think Rosie wanted me to give him the nasty details of my engagement with Joel so that he could feel a little better. He, without maybe realizing it, needed to feel the betrayal pain associated with him hooking up with multiple women behind mine, and his fiancee’s back. It’s a morbid way to self teach empathy, and to inflict self punishment. Unfortunately, most in deep ego pain like Rosie, who lean towards the narcissistic side of the love spectrum, do not make the learning connection. Empathy usually continues to elude them. It’s easier to be angry with someone than it is to be vulnerable and honest. A person can unload all of their pent up angry energy that was stored away since childhood, into someone else, whilst being unaware they are doing so.
I was prepared to have to spill the beans. I also knew he was failing to remember, he broke things off with me two and a half to three weeks prior. I was by all accounts single and free to date whomever I chose. Even if it was way too early to date after a serious break up.
I sat down on the bed nervously fidgeting with my fingers when Rosie slammed his ass down a couple of inches from me. I was sleeping on a makeshift support structure made out of filled boxes and milk crates. I was sleeping on mine and Liv’s storage. I didn’t own a proper bedframe, nor box spring. When Rosie hit the bed, a portion of the bed mattress sank. Collapsing one of the boxes, and causing the bed to sink a little bit.
Glaring me down, Rosie looked me dead in my eyes and asked “did you sleep with him?” My first thought was, um, my daughter and her boyfriend are a wall apart from us. With a doorway hosting no door. They wouldn’t be able to help but overhear everything being said and done between Rosie and I. I suspected they were entertained, whilst at the same time, concerned for my safety. I had to defuse the situation. I also knew I had to honestly answer his question. His anger would have skyrocketed to another galaxy if I had chosen not to answer. With that in mind, I answered his question a bit sheepishly. With a downward gaze and an affirmative nod, I answered, “yes. I did”.
Thank goodness Rosie didn’t ask how many times. I had, I guess I would call it, fun sex, twice when I was with Joel over those three days. If Rosie knew it was more than once with Joel, I think his fist would have gone through the wall by my head. He never hit me. He did intimidate me tremendously on occasion though. Enough for me to imagine in the possibility of being hit. That night was no exception. He was unpredictable, harsh, and extremely disinterested in any form of heartfelt conversation. He was pissed and drunk. Those make for a volatile cocktail at the best of times for anyone.
Rosie went off. “It’s my birthday! You did this to me?! To me! You! You of all people! On my birthday! Did you even think of me?! Is he better than me?”. I responded “I know it’s your birthday tomorrow Rosie. Yes, I was thinking about you non stop since you told me you were going to make things work with Gemma a little over two weeks ago. You crushed me! I walked the walk of shame for crying out loud. Do you remember that?”. Next thing to be said was, “Were you thinking of me when you were fucking Joel?” Deflection tactic at its finest. Not sure if I kept a straight face or if I smirked a little when I responded “well, no. I was kinda busy”. That answer didn’t help diffuse the situation.
Joel thoroughly and ravinously enjoyed eating taco. He engulfed himself in the taco I brought him for our three day date. That was what first flashed in my mind as I was answering Rosie’s question “was he better than me?”. Rosie didn’t eat my taco. He may of taste tested once or twice in nine years. Joel, he had fun and I let him.
There was a challenge though, I haven’t been able to orgasm that way since my first husband lashed out at me for not climaxing fast enough. Joel obviously liked a challenge. You’d of thought he enlisted into a ten kilometers marathon, hoping to be in last place. Joel didn’t succeed in achieving the ultimate climax reward from me that he so desperately wanted to witness. He certainly did get his fill of taco though. And it definitely wasn’t without effort on his part. I gotta give him kudos for that.
I am self conscious about a lot of things when it comes to sex. I have a history of pain that I am lovingly self healing when it comes to intimacy and intercourse. Including a mangled looking vagina left from a man who had no concern for my mental, nor emotional well-being, after having his hands down there. He literally left me scarred for life. I’m doing my best to manifest reconstructive surgery down there. My vagina is not pretty and it acts as a reminder of all the men who used my body for their own sadistic needs.
Many a consentual sexual encounter started with “what’s that?” after seeing my little lady part. My response was “a man left me like that. Let’s just leave it at that”. The guys I were with felt relief that I didn’t want to talk about it after the brief explanation. We moved on from that topic rather quickly. When I say guys, I mean three or four of them from my past. Rosie was one of them who asked. With any other sexual partner over my lifespan, I offered up the information as a heads up and said I didn’t want to elaborate. None of those men seemed to be too bothered by it. I had the right holes in the right places. The only other thing is, I have to wait a little longer on the toilet after peeing or I end up having an issue with my skin down there. It takes a little tenderness and patience when wiping. That routine and daily reminder isn’t likely to end anytime soon.
Rosie stood back up and started pacing. Then he said “come with me”. Then he proceeded to grab my hand or arm and gestured towards the door. I pulled my arm back and exclaimed, “I’m not going anywhere with you. It’s two o’clock in the morning and you’re drunk”. He paced a little faster, brought his finger to his lower lip, as if to start biting his nail, and then said “I need smokes and I need you to come with me”.
It was two o’clock in the morning. I was exhausted, anxious, pissed, and needed to get him calm, or out of our apartment, away from Liv and Aiden. At the same time, I was also a little scared of what he was capable of and what he may have done to me if provoked enough. I eventually caved and agreed to go with him.
We both stepped outside and walked on the sidewalk towards the next street. There was a reason I didn’t see Rosie’s car when Joel and I first arrived. He parked off my street at the next four-way intersection. He parked in a dark area on a side street. Rosie’s car was also black. It was a Ford SHO, I believe? The fancy one with the bells and whistles. He even had a vanity license plate that referred to the make of the car.
I had suggested we walk to the gas station. It was only a couple of blocks away. Rosie wasn’t having it. We walked a soldier’s pace down to the end of my block to his car. “Get in” he said, as he opened his driver’s side door for himself. I stood there on the sidewalk on the passenger’s side and said “no. You’re drunk. Let’s walk.” Rosie’s response was “No. Get in the car. Fuck Clair, just get in”.
I knew it was a bad idea when I asked “are you sure you are okay to drive?”. Rosie wreaked of hard alcohol. I don’t know how much he drank. He definitely drank a lot. That man could usually hold his liquor and keep it together. Either that, or just fall asleep in the midst of his own sentence. I suspected he started drinking when he was texting me mid afternoon earlier that day. Even though I knew that, I reluctantly agreed and got into his car.
That car would have been considered a fairly fast vehicle. At least to me it was. Rosie was driving like he was on the freaking Autobahn. Doing eighty to a hundred within a matter of seconds on city streets with stop signs and traffic lights. Road rules need not apply in this situation. Rosie needed smokes.
I held on for dear life. The holy shit handle bar inside the car near the roof was my best friend in that moment. We only drove a few blocks but it felt like my entire forty-three years were being played out in slomo whilst simultaneously seeing my life flash before my eyes. Snapshot, zoom, snapshot, zoom, inside my head. It was freaking terrifying. Needless to say, I was a hot mess.
When the car came to a screeching halt in the gas station parking lot, no exaggeration, Rosie got out and headed for the convenience store inside the station. I felt kinda bad for whomever was the cashier that night. It couldn’t have been fun serving Rosie in the state that he was in.
I sat in Rosie’s car in silence, staring at the door of the convenience store, waiting on Rosie’s return. I had to muster up all my strength to stay put. I use to be a runner. An avoidant attachment style I think it’s called? I would run at the onset of severe discomfort. At the same time, I was desperate for love from an emotional and intellectual standpoint as well. I just wanted to bolt home, lock the door, and hide under my warm blankets. No chance. I thought better of it. If I had done that, Rosie would have been outraged and back at my door in no time. Police would certainly have been called. I didn’t want that for him, the kids, the neighbors, nor for myself.
Rosie came marching back to his car, doing his best not to walk drunk and disorderly, with smokes in hand. As soon as he got in the car, he lit up a smoke. He offered me one. His kind gesture shocked me a little. I took him up on his offer thinking “okay, now he is calming down”. No such luck. Rosie started back up again.
“What did you guys do? Why did you take him to meet your parents? Why did you do this to me?!”. I could hardly get a word in edgewise. He was in no state to listen anyway. Now I was really getting pissed. Empathy went out the window with the smoke from my cigarette. “What do you mean, to you! You made it very clear that you were committing to your family and going through with a lifelong loving marriage to Gemma. In case you forgot, I am single!”.
As soon as those words came out of my mouth, Rosie whipped the car around the turnabout, chose to take the third exit, rather than the fourth, which would have brought us to my place, then blasted down the stretch of road for a good minute. He then swiftly and unexpectedly turned his car to the right, with minimal breaking, into another apartment building’s parking lot. The streets were empty thank goodness. The car came to a sudden, whiplash worthy, halt. Finally, we were parked.
As soon as the car stopped, I released my hand from the holy shit bar, fixed my cramped fingers and yelled “are you seriously trying to fucking kill us?! I gotta get out. I am done with this”. I got out of the car, slammed the door, and started walking as quickly as I could back to the apartment. He got out of his car and stood under the parking lot’s orange streetlight. His face glowed under the light whilst the rest of his body formed a silhouette.
Rosie wore black or grey nine times out of ten. He was in all black clothes and a grey coat that night. It was a little eerie seeing him with that cascading light overhead. As he stood on guard he yelled a whisper “Come back here. Let’s talk. Come here! Clair, come here!”. I chose to ignore his pleas for a second. His voice got a bit louder and even more stern. He then whistled like he was whistling to a dog and said “come. Come Clair. Come. Be a good girl”.
I turned around and yelled “you have no care for my life whatsoever. Nor do you give a shit if anyone else is around to hit with your car! Where are the cops when you need them?!”. His immediate response was “fuck you!”. My response “fuck me?, alright then”. I turned around and kept on walking. Leaving him to either have to yell louder to get me to listen and risk people waking up, or he had to get into his car and go. He chose to get into his car.
I walked home about three blocks away. When I entered the apartment the kids were asleep. I took a deep breath and slumped onto my bed. My intuition was telling me it wasn’t over that night. I was surely hoping it would have been. No such luck. He was back at my door demanding to be let in within about ten minutes. With the kids sleeping, everywhere else in the city being quiet, and Rosie’s raging ass breaking the sound barrier with his insistence and rigorous knocking, I let him in. After a few minutes of silence and a little bit of calmness finally coming over the situation , Rosie said in a low whispering voice, “let’s go to a hotel, you and me”.
Rosie had to drive one way streets for awhile to get back to my place. He must have chosen to chill a little whilst he was making his several left-hand turns. I said no of course. I explained with crystal clarity that I would not then, nor ever again, get into a vehicle with him when he had been drinking. At the same time, I didn’t want him driving in his condition all the way back to Oromocto either. I didn’t have the heart to send him on his way. I couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t do something stupid. I offered to let him sleep in my bed beside me. Rosie eventually caved and agreed not to drive until he was sober.
It was awkward laying there beside him. Rosie wanted to snuggle. He then asked me to go to a hotel with him the next day instead. The least I could do was be with him on his birthday, was the manipulative message Rosie kept playing on repeat until I said yes. The poor downtroddened soul. I just wanted the night to end so I said, “sure. I guess so.” Inside myself, all I wanted to do was scream, cry, and curse. My life was a shit show. It took about twenty minutes of silence after that before I finally drifted off to sleep.
That experience traumatized me now that I look back. It was excruciating and taxing both emotionally and mentally. I was also scared shitless. Which was the reason that memory kept replaying in my head when I was ticking down the minutes to my departure back in 2023. I got a glimpse of that wicked temper enough times between that drunken catastrophe, and that moment in time of alone scaredness sitting outside the building after being locked out by him, to know I had to play it smart.
LivWithClairity 
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