By this time it was approaching the beginning of March and I had grown more attached to J. than ever as I tried desperately to hold on to him, while he slipped further and further from my reach. Then one day he called to tell me that it was too much. He simply did not have the time or energy to be in a relationship, much less give me the attention that I demanded. So he vocalized what I had known for weeks but dreaded hearing, he needed space. Not only this but he had other drama in his life that had recently been weighing on his soul. Her name was M.
M. was a girl whom he met out at the clubs about 4-5 months before he met me. She was a petite, blonde party girl with loads of personal demons and little brains to match. A loose cannon, so to speak. And she had a huge crush on J., he confessed. In fact, he had been seeing her at the time that we met. He had no real feelings for her but they had spent a considerable amount of time together and now she was heartbroken, he admitted. He had been sort of stringing her along. He was bored, he told me, and she was always there. But when he met me, his life began to change and he wanted nothing to do with her. The day he met me was the day he began to ignore M. In her eyes, I’m sure, seemingly out of nowhere. He never explained himself to her. He stopped meeting her out, stopped answering her phone calls and texts, and basically cut all ties with the girl hoping that she would disappear. But she had not. It was a jerk move, he admitted. I thought so, too.
Perhaps, if M. had had more self-esteem and fewer issues, she would have eventually moved on and we could have forgotten about the whole thing. But this was simply not the case. Now here we were, five months later, and he still had to constantly ignore calls from her. She was, he thought, perhaps in love with him. Though he wasn’t sure how, as he’d never really treated her well. Some people are just desperate. M., then, weighed heavily on J.’s conscience. Karma, he reasoned, would come back to bite him in the ass for doing her like he did. He was far brighter than her to begin with. It just wasn’t fair. He felt as though he had been hurting a helpless puppy dog. Or stealing candy from a child. It was simply wrong. And he had to fix this mess he had created, before we could move on. How, he asked me, would we ever really progress in our relationship to the level that we hoped, if he didn’t clean up his past? We needed to start this relationship on a fair and even slate, with no skeletons in the closet. He always did want to do what he reasoned as “fair.” It’s why his name was DJ Justice. It’s why more people knew him as Justice then J., his real name. It’s partially why I was so attracted to him. If nothing else, this man was fair.
Having spent hours explaining himself, he seemed to have a point. Perhaps, I figured, I should let him “clean up this mess he’d made,” so that we could move on. After all, that is all I really wanted to do in the first place. And by all means, if this situation was what was preventing us from moving forward, than surely he should fix it. Besides, this wasn’t my first time hearing of M. Once in late December, I had been at Katmandu on a Saturday night with J. as he Dj-ed, per usual. I remember I was standing on stage beside him, enjoying myself and dancing in my own world. Suddenly this girl came from the front door in a tiny, somewhat trashy outfit and bee lined for J. She pulled herself right up on stage and attempted to plant a kiss on his lips. Taken a back but always the quick one, he turned his head just in time as she landed it on his cheek. “J.!!!” I heard her exclaim, “Where have you been?!?” Now I thought this was all a little weird but figured she was just an old pal. I didn't think too much of it. But J. seemed the most uncomfortable of all. He was short with answering her and glancing at me all the while to see my reaction. I simply watched on as the drama unfolded, only half way interested. J. began to back away from this overbearing and highly intoxicated girl. He came towards me for refuge, putting his arms around me.
Offended but hardly surprised by his rejection, the girl moved to the other corner of the stage as she tried to save face and greet some of her other friends. Within a few moments however, she was back in J.’s face. He let go of my hand and said to me, “I’ll handle this.” This time she was shouting at him. As if out of nowhere a complete 180 degrees from her desperate kiss attempt, she shouted, “Who is this girl?! Who is she?! Are you with her? Are yall together?” Naively, for a moment I wondered, "Is she talking about me,” before realizing a second later, of course she is! Confused and mesmerized, I watched on as J. politely asked her to get off the stage. When she refused and remained in his space, asking him questions and demanding answers, J. called security and had her kicked out.
The drunkenness become embarrassingly obvious as her emotions escalated and she refused to be escorted out by security. This resulted instead with their carrying her out, as she kicked and screamed the entire way. Once out the door, and with one unsuccessful attempt to get back inside, I never saw her again. J. apologized publicly on the mic for the drunken lady and then he turned the music loud and we partied on. To be honest, I still didn’t think too much of it. Clearly, this girl was a little crazy and had feelings for J. that were not mutual. There was nothing particularly unusual about this scenario though. Dating a DJ, I saw loads of girls with a few screws loose who wanted to be with my boyfriend. Perhaps this one was simply the craziest yet, I thought.
Later that night as J. and I pulled up to his house, I prepared to help him unload the DJ equipment from his car as we always did. As I sat in the passenger seat, he looked down at his phone and then turned to me with a blank expression, “You might want to just go straight inside. That girl from the club, her name is M., and she’s on her way over here.” “And?” I answered, confused with his protective tone, “What’s she going to do? Why can’t we just talk to her and tell her to leave?” “Because she’s crazy.” He answered bluntly. “Just trust me, you head inside and I’m going to try to quickly unload the equipment before she gets here so we can both avoid her. But if she pulls up before we finish, I wouldn’t want you to be outside and have to deal with her. She’s completely psycho and I don’t know what she would do.” “Okay,” I answered, trying to remain calm and collected, “Should I be scared? Will you be okay?” “Yea, I’ll be fine,” he assured me, “Worst case scenario we’ll call the cops.”
Thankfully, J. made it inside before M. made it to his place, but only by a few minutes. Soon we were up in his room and I heard loud banging on the front door and the doorbell was going off continuously. Geez, this girl really was psycho. We laid in bed together, holding each other, trying to free our minds from the sounds. We turned the TV on and put the volume all the way up to try and drown out the noise. It hardly worked.
J. was becoming increasingly frustrated. He went to take a shower to try to calm down. By now, it was reaching near 4am and we were both exhausted. It had been over an hour and this girl was still down there banging and ringing the bell over and over again. J. later told me she was probably on drugs, as this would explain the incessant determination and lunatic behavior. J. ended up calling the cops around 4am. She was arrested as we watched through the window. Finally, we could get some peace. J., however, was thoroughly embarrassed and apologized profusely. It was fine, I told him. I was just glad it was over with and we were both safe. He agreed.
However, what I didn’t know at the time was that, while M. was more than likely on drugs during this incident and surely she was acting like a psycho path, she was not some random girl from the club as J. had given the impression of her to be. As I was only to find out months later, when J. let the “skeleton out of the closet”, he had in fact hung out with this girl more than once. She had even spent the night at his house a couple of times! While she was, by no means his girlfriend, it is safe to say he played a part in her developing this obsession with him. In other words, it wasn’t completely created in her brain, as he might have at one point wanted me to believe. We never spoke much of the incident after it happened. I now believe it to have been a sort of spark that began a string of guilt within J. that proved destructive to our relationship. It was this guilt that eventually led him to decide that he had to “clean up the mess” before we could move forward.
