He tries again to take my hand, but I cross my
arms over my chest like a little girl having a
temper tantrum.
“Why are you saying these things? Is that what
you seriously think? That I want to be with you so
I can assume some kind of super hero status? I’m
not a hero and I’m not a person who has been
given the gifts of sentiment, compassion or pity. If
I want to stay, it’s because I want to.”
“Only because you want to? What are you, five
years old?”
“What do you want from me?” he yells. “What
the fuck do you expect me to do?” he continues in
a rage.
And that’s when I understand that this is all
wrong. That he is wrong. I can’t accept the
consequences of this relationship. Because I’m not
alone anymore, there are two of us and this baby
deserves the best.
If he can’t have a father who is able to give and
receive love without feeling an obligation to do so,
then it’s up to me to do my best to give him
everything I can on my own.
“I don’t expect anything. I never asked you for
anything! You’re the one who came to me, who
said all those things to confuse me and take
advantage of my vulnerability. You’re … you’re
exactly what I would have expected from you and
what everyone already knows about you, Patrick:
you’re an asshole, a bastard who’s incapable of
