Committing To A Compulsive Flirt (Part 1)
I snooped at his phone. I'm not proud of it. I despise myself for doing it.
One, because whatever reason I had, it was an invasion of his privacy and it was wrong.
Two, because I knew I just shot myself in the foot.Â
It was a Tuesday. May 1. It was a holiday and we planned to check in for the night so we can go to work together the next day. While we were having dinner his phone vibrated. His face lit up and he grunts "bat ngayon ka nagparamdam?" ("why text me just now?").  I think that was the moment this stupid ticking time bomb was planted into my brain's frontal lobe. And he texted away. texted during the dinner. Texted during driving.Yeah, sure, I could have thought about a hundred of other reasons or stories behind the reaction (and I did, for the sake of giving him the benefit of the doubt), But like I said. Something in me set off the time bomb.Â
Later that night, after our "intimacy session", he fell asleep. I saw his phone lying on the table and kablam goes my precious bomb.
I went straight to his messages and found a conversation of him and this good for nothing dumbass bi- -
-this girl. (Lord, forgive me) (who am I kidding. Iâm agnostic)
Anyway. This girl was someone who've had "serviced" him before in the past in a happy ending spa. Needless to say their relationship outgrew the client-provider boundary. He said it never really progressed, she relocated back to Davao and got herself a boyfriend. That was his past, thatâs really none of my business. So I didnât care much.Â
Then recently he went to Davao for business (legit business. I can confirm). He was there for like 2 days. I didn't give a shit though. I wasn't some psycho gf who'd suspect him for every trivial thing. I've even forgotten that this girl existed. I didn't care.Â
Until I found myself chugging my fourth bottle of Red Horse and have finished half a pack of my newly bought Marlboro pack.Â
"I miss you terribly"
"If only you responded that time..."
"If I was able to meet with you that time, I might not have been able to control myself...."
He deleted some of the texts. I know because the conversation had some points referring to texts that were sent during the time he was in Davao. But I found no trace of them.Â
Don't even get me started on technical bullshit.
Facts.Â
The texts were suggestive
It was hurtful on my part.Â
He knew that.
He was trying to hide it.Â
It was deliberate.
Another thing here is that I don't know which is the more hurtful scenario here.Â
He wasn't able to consider what I'd feel during the time he was sending those (how the fuck, when I was beside him having dinner)
or he did consider what I'd feel but did it anyway.
IÂ had to get up and smoke. and smoke and then drink beer and smoke some more and then some more and then get some more beer and smoke again.
God. I felt numb. I didn't know how to think and feel and what to do. And I kept laughing and smiling as he watched me drown myself with beer. And he kept asking what was happening.
I kept smiling because I didn't want to cry.
I kept smiling because it's ridiculous. this whole thing is.
I kept smiling because I needed to distract myself from feeling the pain.Â
I kept smiling because I didn't want to be weak.
I kept smiling because I was scared as hell.Â
I kept smiling because I didn't want to get hurt. not like this.Â
So I told him while smiling,
"Next time, when you know you're meeting up with me. Make sure you clean your..."
and I couldn't finish it. Because there is a part of me that refuses to admit that I'm that type of girl. the girl who snoops. the neurotic girlfriend.Â
I couldnât finish it because thereâs this semblance of pride and dignity left somewhere in me that refuses to submit to the idea I was about to suggest
"clean my what? my nose? ear?..."
heâs funny like that. I laughed.
"Your phone."
and I broke into tears.Â
He knew what I was taking about. l
And all he could say was "Don't think about it"
And I'm like, "HOW? How the fuck do I not think about it? Do you think I like thinking about it? That I actually enjoy thinking about it? I don't! Believe me, if I had a choice to think about it or not, I really wouldn't. But I guess sometimes it really isn't up to me what this goddamn brain choose to think about, is it? If you know how. Please teach me."
And he goes "you know I love you"
I do. I do know. And I know it's supposed to make me feel better but it doesn't. It only made things worse, actually. Because it doesn't make sense. And that's what's killing me.














