About 3 weeks ago, my long distance (now ex) partner broke up with me. He broke up with me by blocking me on iMessage and when I eventually got hold of him, he said it was for the best and that it wasn’t an easy decision for him.
The same night, a friend of his sent me a screenshot of his grindr profile and some… revealing posts on Reddit, not knowing we’d broken up.
It’s been 3 weeks now and he’s dating a new girl. I did the wrong thing and I looked her up and she is just like me!!! And I really mean it! We have very very similar faces, we even have the same colour hair and haircut. She listens to the same music as me, has the same hobbies, shares the same posts, even reads the same books…
Tbh I’m quite offended, the breakup was very out of the blue and then he’s moved on to someone who is… me??
I guess my question is how do I get over this? In a sense of how do I accept what feels like a really weird betrayal and get over it? I feel kind of stuck in a state of shock and could do with some advice on how to generally be okay please!
[TLDR; my ex moved on in 3 weeks with a girl who’s exactly like me. How do I get over this?]

Still plenty of meat on the bone! Here are songs played at least 12 times and therefore in the top 100 most frequently played by the band that didn't get played this weekend
Playin' Dark Star Ripple Ramble on Rose Cassidy They Love Each Other New Speedway Boogie Sugar Magnolia and Sunshine Daydream Friend of the Devil Brokedown Palace The Music Never Stopped Touch of Grey Viola Lee Blues Here Comes Sunshine Wharf Rat Lost Sailor Saint of Circumstance Row Jimmy Days Between Loser Black Muddy River Dire Wolf Mr. Charlie Don't Ease Me In All Along The Watchtower China Doll Aiko Aiko Let It Grow Peggy-O Alabama Getaway Big Railroad Blues I Need A Miracle Minglewood Blues West LA Fadeaway It Hurts Me Too High Time Comes A Time El Paso It's A Hard Rain Next Time You See Me Dancin' In The Streets Dear Mr. Fantasy Hey Jude Looks Like Rain Dear Prudence

With the current season almost on the urge of ending, many people are already discussing what theme nights could be in store for season 12. Here's my prediction for a theme night, DJ Song Night, where every contestant sings a collaboration song involving a disk jockey/music producer of any big musical genre including electronic music.
My predictions for songs:

1. When I'm Gone by Alesso and Katy Perry
2. Cold Heart by Elton John, Dua Lipa, and PNAU
3. Get Lucky by Daft Punk ft. Pharell Williams
4. Come and Go by Marshmello and Juice WRLD
5. I'm Good (Blue) by David Guetta and Bebe Rexha
6. Titans by Major Lazer ft. Sia and Labyrinth
7. Titanium by David Guetta and Sia
8. Loco Contigo by DJ Snake, J Balvin, and Tyga
9. Feels by Calvin Harris, Pharell Williams, Katy Perry and Big Sean
10. Goodbye by David Guetta, Jason Derulo, Nicki Minaj, and Willy William
11. Freal Luv by Marshmello and Far East Movement
12. Stay the Night by Zedd and Hayley Williams
13. If We Ever Meet Again by Timbaland ft. Katy Perry
14. Need Your Love by Calvin Harris ft. Ellie Goulding
15. This is what it feels like by Armin Van Buuren ft. Trevor Guthrie
16. Fuego by DJ Snake, Sean Paul, Anitta ft. Tainy
17. Mad Love by David Guetta and Sean Paul ft. Becky G
18. Sweet and Sour by Jawsh 685 ft. Lauv and Tyga
19. Thunderclouds by Diplo, Sia, and Labyrinth
20. Ritual by Tiesto, Jonas Blue, and Rita Ora
21. Candyman by Zedd and Aloe Blacc
22. Where Them Girls at by David Guetta, Nicki Minaj, and Flo Rida
23. Friends by Marshmello and Anne-Marie
24. Starboy by The Weeknd and Daft Punk
25. Hey Mama by David Guetta, Nicki Minaj, Bebe Rexha, and Afrojack
26. Party Rock Anthem by LMFAO, Lauren Bennett, and GoonRock

If you play any type of rock, country, blues, bluegrass, or essentially any American music (Don't know about other countries (say sorry) I'm an American) you simply need to know this progression by heart.
Learn it backwards and forwards and upside down. Hear it in your sleep.
There are literally thousands of songs that follow the progression exactly, and thousands of others that are variations of it. Any artist you've ever heard of has songs using 12 bar blues or variations.
Learn it.
Just a little Sunday preaching. Take care all.
Start here and then start playing

Heartbreak.
That’s what got me, well, out of my funk. In a sense, at least. I was in a rut. Knew it. She did too. Guess we were in a rut, really. Ran its course. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell, but, well, sometimes stories end, you know?
So I did my piece. Curled up into the fetal position and fucking bawled. Days went by. Go to work. Go home. A zombie. Drank a lot more. But time wore down the edges eventually. And one day, I said “fuck it.” Packed my car, quit my job, and fucked off across the country. That was the plan anyway. Heading home. Maybe with my tail between my legs. I wasn’t sure.
It was a long drive. From the West Coast to the depths of the Midwest. From the shimmering, golden shores to undulating, aureate waves of grain. Radio stations fading in and out. Long stretches of static. Data dropping fucking everywhere. Sometimes I twisted through the AM band. Hellfire and brimstone. Vast conspiracies that always lacked imagination. What happened the fun stuff? Lizard people. Time travelers. Area 51. Not anymore. Everything’s a fucking angle. Propaganda. Switch it off.
I took a long way. Choosing county routes over the interstate. I had time to kill, so why not? Might as well see some of this country. The back parts. Dark parts. Quiet parts. Flyover parts. The “you don’t see anyone other than the locals and lost” and kinda parts. And I guess I was lost, right? In a sense. Though, I was hoping I wouldn’t become physically so. God knows I didn’t need to slip through the cracks of the Earth somewhere out near Kearney, Nebraska.
But things did get strange–shouldn’t that be expected out in these less-traveled places, though?--somewhere around Sheldon, South Dakota. I was at a rest stop, pulled over for a break, trying to get the last Clif bar to break free of the piece of shit vending machine, when I saw a black semi roll up.
Now, when I saw black, I mean completely. Utterly. Entirely. A pitch black cab with tinted black windows pulling a matching black trailer. Even the rims were black. It stood out like a oozing sludge against the golden, baked landscape. I stood there, by the vending machine, waiting for a while to see who would emerge. Of course I was curious. BUt…no one did. It just sat there–this beast of a vehicle–idling. I figured the driver must have been pulling over to take a nap or to call it quits from his shift–they can only drive so long, right? But you’d think they’d want to step out and stretch their legs.
Eventually, I managed to hit the plastic of the machine just right to free my Clif bar. I tore it open, took a bite, and returned to my car. Back on the road. I had places to be.
It was strange, though. I kept seeing the black truck after that. It passed me–somehow–on the highway a few dozen miles from the rest stop. But I caught up, a few miles outside of Sioux City. I passed right alongside it, my eyes straining to see who was driving. Naturally, the windows were tinted too and I couldn’t see a damn thing. I just couldn’t put it out of my mind. Such an odd sight. This big, beastly, pitch black truck barreling across the dull Midwest. It didn’t even have any markings. No company logo. No indication of what it was delivering, who it belonged to, or where it might be going. Well, it did have plates. Washington. But there was no way to know where it originated from.
After passing by it and getting through Blue Earth, I saw it again at a rundown motel. The Cozy Inn. I had pulled off a few hours earlier, deciding to spend the night. I was exhausted, had pulled a 10 hour day and could barely keep my eyes open. The clerk put me up in some grimy room that looked like the set of more than one true crime series. Stained sheets. Peeling wallpaper. A bathroom sink more inclined to spit out brown gunk than drinkable water.
My window faced the parking lot. I sat up for a while, curtains drawn, vaguely watching the television–playing one of those trashy true crime shows I feared I might end up on–and the parking lot. Cars occasionally came and went. I saw some of my neighbors, who looked mostly like travelers or perhaps vagrants. While a police officer was detailing a particularly gruesome scene on Murder Comes Home, I saw the black semi roll into the parking lot.
Once again, it sat there idling, headlights blazing through my window. I grew irritated. I almost got up to go outside. As I was contemplating the possible dangers of such a decision, a woman approached the monstrous truck. She looked beautiful in a miserable way, with a short fluorescent pink skirt and heels too high for the pock-marked parking lot.
She opened the passenger side door and climbed in, disappearing into the tinted darkness. The headlights went off and for a while I watched, silence save for the exploitative program murmuring in the background:
Her limbs were buried in separate spots along the roadside ditch…
My heart–broken though it was–thumped in my throat.
Her head was never recovered…
I walked outside, suddenly very concerned. I stood on the pavement in my shorts and t-shirt, facing the truck, no idea what I might do.
The door opened.
The woman stepped out.
Blood was running down her neck.
I ran up to her, “Miss, hey, Miss, are you okay?! You’re bleeding. Should I call an ambulance?” I was frantic, my eyes darting between the blood on her neck, trying to ascertain the source and the thumping truck.
“Oh, I’m fine. Just swell. Fucking grand.” Her voice was dreamy. Her eyes were glazed over as though she was in a daze.
I grabbed her arm, “I really don’t think you’re–”
She suddenly became more cogent, grasping my hand, “You don’t wanna get fucking involve in this, kid.”
I thought that was an odd thing to say–she was younger than me.
“I’m just trying to–” The headlights went on, illuminating us like a spotlight on a stage. The woman darted off, swaying as she did.
I stood there–stupid–not moving. All the lights in the parking lot went out and all I could hear was the engine idling. The driver’s side window rolled down. For a while–what seemed like an eternity, really–nothing happened. But then a hand emerged, casually, finger curling backwards, calling me over. And so I walked. What was I going to do? Be rude?
I couldn’t see inside the cab, but a voice emerged. It was deep, bone-shaking. It didn’t feel like it traveled through the air. More like it vibrated my eardrums, bouncing around my skull.
“You’re hurt.”
It took me a moment to gather myself, “Hurt?”
“Deeply. Wounded. Lost. Like a stray dog.”
I squeezed my hands together and could feel tears welling up in my eyes, “I’m just–”
“I can help.” The voice pushed inside me.
“You can?”
“Get in. Come take a little ride. You’ll feel better. Free. Happy. Complete.”
I stood in hesitation, my eyes on the hand, which was a deathly pale. It was almost translucent, but seemed so soft, gentle. I wanted to feel it on my cheek.
“Okay.”
I walked to the other side of the cab, pulled open the heavy metal door, and climbed into the plush, black seat. As soon as I pulled it shut I felt hands all over me. In my hair. On my neck. Roaming along my collarbones. Grasping my shoulders. I couldn’tj tell how many. Four? Six? Eight? Soft and gentle and cold.
I closed my eyes. I sank into the darkness. The headlights went out as the cab rumbled, pulling back onto the deserted county route.
And I felt good. So good.
Now, I don’t feel anything at all. Not scared or sad or hurt or lost. I’m found. Just like you could be found. So if you ever see a pitch black semi rolling along the highway, think about flagging it down.
And then, like me, you’ll never have to die

Sabi nga nila, music is a decoration of time. Would you be willing to decorate time with me while listening to some songs?
Looking for someone to get to know and eventually have a serious relationship with. Hindi casual-casual lang kasi tingin ko wala na akong time para sa casual-thingy na 'yan :'))). Hindi rin hanggang talking-stage lang kasi I've had enough of those already.
About me: - Physical - Hindi smol-size, so around 5'6 to 5'7. A bit curvy, I guess? Basta size medium ako sa Blue Corner na t-shirt na pang-Men's. Hindi rin chinita na short-haired.

• Personality - I love animals. Minsan siraulo rin. Keratin, "keratin"?! type of humor. Kakampink. Madaldal. Yapper if yapper ka rin.
  
• Preferred mode of communication - Definitely not calls kasi mas nasasabi ko yung thoughts ko via chats.
  
• Origin - Galing probinsiya sa Norte na hindi marunong bumiyahe kasi medyo shinelter ng magulang kaya ayan. So, I can't really promise meetups, ganiyan.
  
• Education - Nagaaral pa, 4th year.
  
• Hobbies - Music. Movies. Books. What kind of music, movies, books? It's for me to know and for you to find out <3.
  

About you: 23 - 26 years old. Mas matangkad sa akin, so around 5'8 above. Hindi chubby (preference lang :')). Also loves animals. Kanal na kanal ang humor rin sana. Medyo may pagka-formal mag-type. Kakampink at hindi apolitical. May pake sa paligid niya. Madaldal para hindi Sahara Desert ang convo natin. Same hobbies para may topic tayo, opo. Moreno is a plus PLUS.
You can send an intro about you. I will not entertain chats na hi, or hello lang ang laman. I kinda made an effort on my intro about me, you can do that as well. KITAKITS SA DMS!!

I met Luna on a train two years ago. I’d just escaped from a toxic relationship, so romance was the last thing on my mind, but then she sat across from me in the carriage and asked about the book I was reading. She had a copy in her bag and wanted to know if it was any good.
I'd never felt such an instant, effortless connection with anybody before. I took a chance and asked her to dinner, and by the time the waiters cleared away our desserts, I already felt comfortable being vulnerable around her. So we went on a second date. And a third. And next thing I knew, we were planning our second anniversary.
In all that time she never gave off any 'creeper' vibes. Until a few months ago, when I stayed the night over at her place...
She'd gotten up early to use the bathroom. I grabbed her laptop off the side desk so I could catch up on some work e-mails, and the incognito tab was just sitting there. My first thought was: either she's having an affair or she's got a secret fetish.
What I found instead was a Google account with a photo album called ‘Michael’s EX’. In it, there were 427 photos of my former girlfriend turned psycho stalker, Sadie. This included shots of ‘Sadie the stalker’ with her family, screenshots of her passport—the works. On Facebook, Sadie's latest post said Moving to the Philippines, and since then she’d become a social media church mouse, so how did Luna keep her under surveillance? And how did you even get PERSONAL ID from a person halfway across the globe?
Down the hall, I heard the bathroom door swing open. Quickly I closed the laptop and pretended to be asleep until Luna planted a kiss on my lips. “Wakey wakey Bugs.”
I faked a stretch. “Morning Lola."
(At school, the other kids christened me ‘Bugs’ because of my cartoonishly large front teeth; I called Luna ‘Lola’ because of her blonde bangs and heart-shaped face.)
“How about we grab a fry for breakfast?” Her smile didn’t seem genuine, more like she was wearing a mask.
“Crap. I forgot I’m doing overtime today, I’ve gotta get to work.” With that, I shot out of there faster than a bullet train to Tokyo.
Because I didn’t wanna believe the worst about someone I cared so deeply about, I didn’t contact the police (not that anybody could’ve guessed what Luna was up to) and made excuses whenever she asked to meet, delaying the decision whether to end our relationship.
At night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time a hedge rustled outside, I’d run to the window and pull back the curtain only to discover a black cat skulking around the garden. I put this down to my previous relationship leaving me with a mountain of unresolved PTSD.
Sadie the stalker also seemed normal until we moved in together. After that she started picking fights if she caught me talking to another woman, even just distant relatives or childhood friends. The screaming matches went from weekly to nightly, only ever ending when I conceded to her every wish and gave her full access to my phone and social media accounts. I literally needed to grab my clothes into a bag and run away one night, and then I started hearing noises outside my new apartment. And although I never found any evidence, I was pretty sure she’d broken in at one point because the books on my side table were suddenly out of order one day. What hurt the most was Luna knew all this and still acted the way she did.
Right as I reached my lowest point, my close friend Gertrude called and said, “The universe is telling me you could use a sympathetic ear.”
I told her the universe didn’t know the half of it.
I’d met Gertrude—aka my surrogate mother—on a flight to London. Passing over Wales the aircraft hit heavy turbulence, and the grey-haired hippie in the seat next to mine squeezed my hand so tight that my fingers turned blue. After we levelled off, she apologized and said, “So what’s calling you to London?”
“A job.”
A few glasses of wine from the service trolley later, she blurted out, “You know your aura is strikingly similar to my husbands.”
“Uhh, thanks. Where is he now?”
“Oh, he burned to death in a house fire.”
Gertrude’s eyes started welling up. To take her mind off the subject, I said, “I lied earlier. I’m going to London because I fell in love with a Londoner.” I pulled up pictures of Sadie (back in her pre-stalker days) on my phone. “We met in Italy. She looked flustered trying to read a map book so I offered to help. Next thing I knew, we were planning a trip to this place called Orvieto.”
“Michael, I need to know how this story ends. Gimme your number.”
Since then, we’d met two or three times a year.
I laid the whole mess out over pizza. It was the first time since finding the Google account I didn’t feel hidden eyes crawling all over me.
Just as I wrapped up the story, over in the corner booth, a family burst into a chorus of happy birthday. A waiter appeared carrying a chocolate cake, capped by a giant candle that looked more like a flare. Gertrude tensed up.
“So what do you think about all this?” I asked.
She looked back at me and said, “It’s possible your reaction has been a touch on the dramatic side.”
“DRAMATIC??”
“Well consider things from Luna’s point of view. Your last relationship lasted for, what, three years? Maybe she felt threatened.”
“I don’t believe this.” I grabbed a cigarette from my pocket, but Gertrude snatched it away.
“You know how I feel about you poisoning your lungs, Michael.”
“Don’t you start. I got enough of that crap from Luna.”
Gertrude always encouraged me to work through my romantic problems. Ultimately, I decided her love of fairytale romances clouded her judgement and ghosted Luna instead. But I couldn’t escape her shadow. She always felt close. In fact, it got so bad that at a friend’s costume party several weeks later, my eyes kept compulsively scanning the crowd as if she was there in disguise, ready to pounce.
I stood off to the corner until, over the sea of heads, I spotted a beautiful stranger dressed as Jarlath the Goblin King. I took a shot of liquid courage and made a B-line towards her.
Halfway across the crowded room, beer splashed across the front of my Ziggy Stardust outfit.
“I am so sorry,” a female pirate said, patting me dry.
“Don’t worry about it.” Every time I tried circling her, she moved to cut me off.
“I am such a klutz. Why don’t you come into the kitchen so I can clean up this mess?”
I put my hands on her shoulders and steered her out of the way. “It’s fine. Trust me.”
Approaching Jarlath from behind, heart slamming against my chest, I said, “Well this is awkward. One of us is gonna have to change.”
Jennie had bright blue eyes and dimples impossible to miss. Ten minutes into our debate about David Bowie’s greatest album, I said, “You know Absolute Bowie are playing the Half Moon next week. I could take you?”
“Sorry. I’m going with my boyfriend,” she said with a sympathetic smile. From beside the buffet table, the pirate stared daggers in our direction.
“No worries,” I replied, despite the fact I was brimming with jealousy.
The next day, as I jogged off my hangover, a brown-haired lady cut across my path and we both went spinning to the ground.
“Flip, sorry.” I rushed to pull her up by the hands. “I’m like a bloody zombie lately.”
She did a doubletake. “Ziggy, right?”
There was no mistaking those eyes. “Jarlath?”
“Well, Jarlath or Jennie. Eithers fine.”
“Right. Well, sorry again. Enjoy Absolute Bowie.”
Before I could jog away, she said, “Hey, so that guy I was seeing? Turns out he’s a total prick.”
Jennie and I went for coffee. Coffee morphed into drinks. Drinks morphed into a steamy make-out session on my sofa.
But as she covered my neck in soft kisses, my stomach turned. It felt like cheating. So, I put the brakes on things and said, “I can’t do this. I’m really sorry. You’re amazing, but I just got out of a serious relationship…and…it’s just…”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.”
We agreed we’d let our connection blossom in its own time.
Jennie had a playful mystique to her. Within a handful of dates, we’d developed inside jokes and could tell what the other was thinking. But Luna’s imprint was hard to shake, to the extent I almost mixed up the two ladies’ names multiple times.
To detox, I suggested Jennie and I spend a romantic weekend in the Lake District, because after two days of hiking and kayaking my ex would no doubt be a spec in the rearview mirror.
Hours before we set off, however, Luna’s mom called. She wanted to meet and wouldn’t accept any excuses.
“Look, it’s obvious why I’m here,” she said, sitting across from me in Starbucks. “Ever since you and Luna broke up, she’s been acting…different.”
“Different? Different how?”
“I call but she hardly answers. I go over to her place but she’s never there. Now she’s telling me she needs to find herself. Says she’s moving to Australia.”
Her fingers tightened around her cup. “I need to know what happened between you two. And I don’t care if that paints anybody in a bad light. I’m just worried about my daughter is all.”
I told her about the Google account.
“Did you confront her about it?”
“Hell no. I ghosted that crazy bitc—” I cleared my throat. “I mean, I just…stopped seeing her.”
She started crying so loudly customers at nearby tables paused their conversations. I touched her forearm, promised I’d call if I remembered anything else, then set off for my romantic weekend.
But while Jennie and I enjoyed all that fresh air and pub food, a thought nagged at me. Luna adored London, so why move to Australia? It seemed so out of character. Back at our rented cottage, I was so fixated on the thought I needed a smoke, badly.
“What the hell is that?” Jennie demanded, as she stepped onto the front deck.
I glanced at my hands. “Uhh, a cigarette.”
“Michael! Don’t be sarcastic. You know how I feel about those things.”
“…Do I?”
“Uhh, well it’s the same as anybody else. Quit poisoning your lungs and put that thing out.”
“Alright alright, geeze. Sorry Luna.”
“That’s okay.”
A knot formed in my stomach as she went back inside. I’d called Jennie Luna by mistake. And she hadn’t noticed. In fact, her reaction to me smoking was identical to Luna’s—even the snappy way she said the ‘poison your lungs’ line.
I followed Jennie into the lounge, where she’d curled up on an armchair with a Colleen Hoover novel. She was hiding something. What else did she know about Luna? Maybe I could trick her into revealing some details…
From behind, I started massaging her shoulders. “Sorry for being rude before. I know what you said came from a place of love.”
“That’s okay.”
I waited until her eyes drooped shut, then said, “It really is perfect here, huh? Maybe we should stay forever.”
“Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
Her little groans of pleasure, the rhythm of her breathing, it all felt so familiar. I waited until the tension in her neck dissolved, then I pushed my lips against her ear and whispered, “So how about we take this into the bedroom…Lola.”
“Hmm. Sure thing Bugs.”
My hands froze. Jennie jumped up. “Uhh, that felt so good, why’d you stop?”
“What did you just say?”
“What did you just say?”
“I called you Lola,” I replied, my arms frozen in midair. “And you called me bugs.”
“Like the cartoon, right? I thought it’d be a cute nickname. Anyway, I’m tuckered out.” She forced a yawn. “Why don’t we get some sleep?”
As her hand laced with mine, an image of me waking up drugged and gagged and tied to the bedposts flashed before my eyes.
I said, “Sure. I just…need to use the bathroom first.”
The second the door shut behind me, I flew out of the house, climbed in my car, and sped away.
Within seconds my phone started blowing up with calls, followed by texts. Where are you going? Is everything okay?
No, I wanted to reply. I’m onto your sick little game. Whatever it is, I’m onto it.
Luna stalked my stalker, now Jennie somehow knew Luna and I’s nicknames. How? Did all women take turns drawing straws and whoever picked the short one needed to become my girlfriend?
I couldn’t go home. For all I knew, my exes would’ve been there burning effigies of me. I needed a safe place. Somewhere I could lie low until I got all this straightened out.
“Of course you can stay,” Gertrude said over the phone. “I’m out with some friends, but I’ll meet you later. If you hop the side gate there’s a spare key under the kissing gnomes out back.”
Gertrude lived in a detached house in Wembley. It took a bit of foraging to find the gnomes hidden beneath the weeds in the brown, patchy garden.
I needed to shoulder the door open. Inside, a mountain of letters and flyers had piled up on the welcome mat.
Down the hall, a huge archway connected the landing with a lounge, where a bar sat against the far wall, surrounded by upholstered sofas, a low table, and tie dye sheets strung over the filthy carpet. Everything had a real elegant vibe, despite the musty air.
I’d drained two glasses of whiskey before Gertrude arrived.
“Looks like you’ve had a rough evening.”
I said we could talk in the morning.
“Not a chance. You can’t take negative energy to bed. Come on, confession is good for the soul.”
She sat on the sofa and patted the empty seat next to her. So, with a weary sigh, I shared a tale of deranged exes.
“Crazy,” she said.
“I sure can pick ‘em, huh?”
“No, I mean you’re crazy.”
“What?”
“Think about it. What’s more likely: that your ex’s are secretly in collusion, or you’re being paranoid? Look how bloodshot your eyes are. When’s the last time you got a good night’s rest?”
She made a great point; teenagers on the street occasionally shouted ‘Bugs’ or ‘Thumper’ at me. Jennie might’ve come up with the nickname herself. I pinched the bridge of my nose, groaning.
“Look, sleep here tonight. Tomorrow we’ll brainstorm ways you can make it up to Jennie.”
I fumbled through my pockets for a cigarette.
“Really?” Gertrude said. “If you insist on poisoning your lungs, can you at least do it away from my home?”
“Well if I can’t smoke, I’m gonna need a refill.” I shook my empty glass.
On my way toward the bar, a wave of wooziness hit me. My first instinct was to blame it on the alcohol, but there was something else.
It was her reaction to the cigarette. My finger ran through the thick layer of dust along the bar’s countertop. Why was it like the place had been abandoned? Why did Gertrude always pressure me to stay with my psycho girlfriends? And how come she always reached out, as if on cue, whenever my relationships hit problems? It couldn’t be coincidence…
I poured two glasses of whiskey and carried them to the sofa. “So, you’re really against the whole smoking thing, huh?”
“Of course. It’s a filthy habit.”
“Yeah. Plus, there was that mess with your husband. House fire, right?”
“I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Sure, sure.” I ignited the lighter with a roll across my trouser leg.
Gertrude grabbed a cushion and hugged it. “What are you doing?”
“Alright, cut the crap. What the hell’s going on? Have you been sending your friends to date me?”
“What are you talking about?”
I wrestled the cushion from her and held the lighter beneath it. “I want an explanation right now or I’m torching this place.”
This was an empty threat. I wasn’t some pyromaniac—I just wanted answers. Inch by inch, I raised the flame. “Last chance. Why are the women in my life acting weird?”
Gertrude grabbed for the lighter. As I swatted her wrists away, we both got scorched, and for a moment her skin went wild with spasms, a sensation I can only compare to reaching inside a bucket of wet, writhing maggots. My gaze whipped between her face and her hands, which vibrated like plucked guitar strings.
Before I could scream, she yanked me up, clamped a cold, wrinkled palm across my mouth, and forced me against the wall. I thrashed around, unable to move. For a lady old enough to collect a pension, she was crazy strong.
She waited until I ran out of breath, then said, “Michael, please. I’m not going to hurt you. Open your heart and listen.”
What else could I do?
“You were right before. I have been keeping a secret from you. The truth is, I’ve been in love with you since we met. I’d never flown before. And you were so so sweet. You started talking about this other woman, but I knew our energies were perfect for each other. And it’s like I always say, love makes us do crazy things. You can’t begrudge me that can you?”
She looked as if she expected me to respond, so I shook my head.
“But I think we’ve reached a point where our connection is so deep we can be completely transparent with one another.” She took a slow, steady breath. “Michael, all your ex’s, Luna, Sadie, Jennie. They’ve all been…well, me.”
I stared at her, confused.
She sighed. “It’ll be easier if I just show you.”
Out of nowhere her hand wriggled again, then her face tightened, as though the skin was being stretched over the bone. Wrinkles smoothed out and colour bled into her grey hair, turning it brown, and within seconds I found myself face-to-face with Jennie. Even her vintage clothes morphed into a green blouse and white slacks.
“See?” she said in Jennie’s voice, her now blue eyes locked on mine.
I screamed into the soft flesh of her palm.
“Sssh, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Watch.”
Her entire body jerked and twitched, the muscles spasming as she shifted from Jennie to Luna. “See? Think of these as costumes”—from Luna to Sadie—"the important thing is what’s underneath. And you’ve fallen in love with what’s underneath three times. Now I’m going to let go, but I need you to promise you won’t overreact. Understand?”
On the verge of a panic attack, I nodded furiously.
The second she pulled away I made a break for the exit. The thing posing as Sadie grabbed me and hurled me backwards against the wall.
Like a disappointed teacher, she put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been so patient with you, Michael. So very, very patient.”
She blocked off any hope of escape. I sidestepped around the outer edge of the room, towards the bar.
“All those years moulding you. Trying to grow you into the man I know you can be. I really thought we had it this time. For the record, I wanted to do this the easy way. But drastic times...”
I was so scared I slammed right into the cabinet and yelped. Glass bottles chattered together, and then something wet ran down the back of my shirt. It was whiskey, leaking from the overturned bottle onto the carpeted floor.
Speaking more to herself now, Gertrude said, “I’ll just have to keep you here until you love me as much as I love you. Of course, that means posing as you so nobody gets suspicious, but that’s no trouble. I’ll tell your dad you’re moving to Italy. You always loved Italy.”
Pose as me? She'd been killing my ex's and taking their place, I was just the latest in a long line. She’d keep me as a personal sugar baby if I didn’t escape, but how? She was impossibly strong, and the only thing that seemed to scare her was…
Snatching the bottle, I doused the remaining whiskey all over the carpet and furniture. As I flicked the lighter open, Sadie’s hands shot up.
“Bugs…darling…what are you doing?”
I took three slow, steady breaths. “Breaking up with you, you crazy bitch.”
I tossed the lighter forward. Within seconds flames sprung up all around us, spreading as far as the sofa. Sadie’s shoe caught fire, and as she stamped around, unintentionally fanning the blaze, her body writhed again, starting with the ankles. Fat boils climbed up every inch of exposed skin, milky white and with the consistency of frog spawn, like she’d had a killer allergic reaction to poison ivy.
She dropped to her knees, wailing like a wounded animal. This was my chance.
I made a break for the exit, giving the creature as wide a berth as possible. But as I got one foot planted in the hall something clamped tight around my ankles. My chin hit the floor, then I started sliding backwards.
I twisted onto my back. Where Sadie’s left arm should’ve been, a tentacle-like appendage stretched across the length of the room, a distance of over twenty feet. It reeled me toward her like a fish on a line. Whatever that thing was no longer looked human. It melted like an ice statue, with no bones or connective tissue inside, its lips nose and mouth becoming hideously elongated before dripping off in huge globs like melted candlewax. A fire alarm started wailing as the tentacle dragged me through the flames, scorching my arms and legs.
The loose mass of skin reached out and encased me like a mother bird sheltering its eggs.
“WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME?” all my ex’s voices screamed at once. Whichever direction I looked, silhouettes of faces rose and fell, as if trying to burst through. Parts of them dripped inside my mouth, disgustingly warm with a bitter taste worse than Vaseline.
I put everything into clawing my way out if there. What was left of the beast had the consistency of wet clay and came apart just as easily. I tore away chunks until there was a hole large enough to squeeze through. Then, I crawled along surrounded by black smoke.
At the far side of the room I risked a glance back and saw a bumpy, uneven hand reaching out of a puddle of ooze. Soon I was crawling over the bristly welcome mat, then fumbling for the door. All I remember after that are paramedics wrestling me into an ambulance…
A specialist officer came to see me at the hospital the next morning. They’d been unable to contact the homeowner, Gertrude Huyton, and through his line of questioning I could tell they hadn’t found her ‘remains’ inside the charred house. Like the wicked witch of the West, my stalker had melted. I told the officer she said I could stay the night, and that I probably started the fire by dropping a cigarette.
“In that case, we’ll keep trying to reach her.” He walked to the curtain surronding my bed and paused. “Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, her cat is missing.”
“Her...cat?”
“Yeah. The little black one. One of the firemen pulled it out of the wreckage. The poor thing had burns over its legs but it ran off before anybody could take it to the vet.”
I swallowed a gulp and thanked him for telling me.
And now I’m still sitting here listening while nurses rush back and forth, terrified any one of them might be Gertrude…

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Hope you had a good week. This is my first attempt at writing a Neko listener script so I hope you enjoy it.
Story: Everyone has a bad day. This one just happens to be your Neko's.
​
Please Read!!!
*Script is okay for monetization
*Credit is required!

Reddit: u/swiftie_orchid 

*Please send me a link to your video. I'd like to see what you come up with.
*DO NOT change the story or make the story spicy/NSFW
*Improvisation is okay and will be marked in the script
*Inspired by the following quote from Good Will Hunting: You'll have bad times, but it'll always wake you to the good stuff you weren't paying attention to.
*Feel free to ask me questions if something in the script doesn't make sense.
​
Key Code
SFX-sound effects
*** -listener response
( ) -tone of voice
<Italics> -improv suggestions
WN-writer's note
​
Comforting Your Neko After a Bad Day
Ambience: Homey. The speaker can be cooking, watching TV, reading or washing dishes while listening to the radio or preferred music choice.
​
SFX: The listener opens the door, returning home from school.
​
Speaker: Hey, sweetheart. How was...
​
SFX: Closing the door behind them, the listener runs upstairs and shuts themselves in their room.
​
Speaker: ...school today. Hmm, something's wrong.
​
SFX: The Speaker stops what they're doing and goes to check on the listener.
​
Speaker: (Voice is slightly muffled behind the closed door) Honey, it's me. May I come in?
​
SFX: The Speaker enters the room, talking as she sits beside the listener.
​
Speaker: Hey. Is everything okay? You seemed upset when you came home.
​
***
​
Speaker: You had a bad day.
​
***
​
Speaker: And anything that could go wrong...oh, honey. I'm sorry. Bad days aren't fun.
​
***
​
Speaker: Yes, even I have bad days. But you know what? It's only a bad day. Not a bad life. Come here, kiddo.
​
SFX: The sheets rustle as the Speaker moves closer to the listener and hugs them. They give the listener scritches for a while as they talk.
​
Speaker: Tell me what happened. I'm listening.
​
***
​
Speaker: Did you tell an adult?
​
***
​
Speaker: (Slightly annoyed when the listener tells the Speaker that the adults didn't help) Of course, they didn't.
​
***
​
Speaker: No, darling, I'm not mad at you. You did the right thing by not fighting back. You'll have bad times, but it'll wake you up to the important stuff you weren't paying attention to.
​
***
​
Speaker: (Laughs quietly) Okay, okay. So I may have quoted my favorite movie but it's true. How many bad days do you remember when compared to remembering the good?
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***
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Speaker: Here's a different example. Do you remember...<Improvise a happy memory. Could be your own or made-up>
​
***
​
Speaker: And then the one time...<Improvise a different happy memory>
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***
​
Speaker: Yes, exactly!
​
The Speaker is silent, listening as the listener shares their favorite happy memory.
​
Speaker: See? You're already remembering more good times than bad. And you're laughing again. Now let me see the damage. Thankfully, it's not as bad as I thought. Just a black eye. It'll hurt for a while but will heal. You'll be back to your old self in no time.
​
SFX: The Speaker brings out their phone and dials a number.
​
Speaker: Yes, hello. This is ________ . I'm just letting you know ______ <Be reasonable when giving your Neko a name> won't be at school for the next two days. Yes, one of their friends can get the homework assignments for them. Mmhmm. Thank you.
​
SFX: The Speaker hangs up.
​
***
​
Speaker: Why did I call the school? Because you and I are going to take a mental health break. Just me and you for the next two days.
​
***
​
Speaker: Those are excellent ideas! We'll brainstorm more at dinner. Speaking of dinner, how do you feel about having salmon? Or maybe tuna?
​
***
​
Speaker: (Laughs at the listener's excitement for dinner) Alright, salmon it is! I'll get dinner going in a few minutes. First, we need some ice for your eye and some ibuprofen (WN: You can change ibuprofen to whatever you use for pain relief). And just one more thing I almost forgot.
SFX: The Speaker gives their Neko another hug.
Speaker: Never forget that you mean the world to me, my sweet Neko, and I will always love you for who you are. I love you, honey. Always will.

I was a busboy at the Cocoanut Grove. That Saturday, the place was a heaving mass of humanity. Soldiers on leave, couples on dates, socialites, and gangsters—the club was their playground, and I was just an invisible part of the scenery. The air was a haze of smoke and alcohol, thick enough to choke on.
It was around 10:15 PM when I first saw him. A man in a dark, heavy coat, standing by the service door near the kitchen. Odd attire for such a warm, crowded club, but what really caught my eye was his face. His eyes were black pits, empty yet somehow full of a cold, malevolent hunger. His smile was a razor-thin line, cutting through his face like a wound. He gestured for me to come closer, but before I could move, he slipped into the kitchen.
Seconds later, the lights flickered, and fire erupted in the Melody Lounge. The flames didn’t spread—they leapt, as if alive, cutting off exits with a terrifying, unnatural precision. Panic ignited, and the crowd became a stampede. I tried to guide people to safety, but the fire seemed to anticipate our every move.
As I fought my way toward the kitchen, hoping for another way out, I witnessed horrors that will forever be etched into my memory.
The first was a young woman in a red dress. She had been dancing with her boyfriend moments before the fire broke out. When the flames began to spread, she tried to run, but the crowd was too thick. She stumbled and fell right in front of me. In the chaos, no one stopped to help her. The flames reached her, and her screams pierced through the cacophony. Her dress ignited, the fabric melting into her skin. I watched in horror as her flesh bubbled and peeled away, revealing raw, charred muscle beneath. Her eyes locked onto mine, pleading for help, before the fire consumed her completely. I couldn’t do anything but keep moving, the image of her agony seared into my mind.
Further ahead, near the bar, a middle-aged man, a regular at the club, was pounding on a locked door that led to the staff area. His hands were bloody, and his face was contorted in sheer panic. The smoke was thickening, making it hard to breathe. I saw him drop to his knees, clawing at his throat as he began to choke. His skin turned a sickly blue as he suffocated. The fire found him next, wrapping around his legs and creeping up his body. His screams were a mix of terror and pain as the flames cooked him alive, turning him into a grotesque statue of blackened bone and seared flesh. I wanted to help, but the fire was relentless, and I had to keep moving.
Near the back exit, which had been illegally locked to prevent people from sneaking in without paying, I saw a young couple—newlyweds celebrating their honeymoon. The husband was trying to shield his wife with his body as they pounded on the unyielding door. The fire closed in, and I heard their desperate cries for help. The flames licked at their legs, their screams merging into a single, horrifying wail. The husband’s back blistered and burst, his skin sloughing off in sheets. The wife’s hair ignited, and she clawed at her scalp in a futile attempt to extinguish the flames. They held each other as they burned, their bodies fusing together in a grotesque, charred embrace. I was frozen in place, unable to look away, until a surge of heat pushed me to keep moving.
I fought through the flames, dodging falling debris and stumbling over lifeless bodies. The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Finally, I found a side door and burst into the alley, gulping in the cool night air. As I looked back, the building was fully engulfed, the screams of the trapped mingling with an unholy laughter that echoed in my ears long after.
The official reports blamed faulty wiring and overcrowding, but I know better. The man in the dark coat—he wasn’t human. He was something ancient, something that revels in chaos and feeds on fear. Since that night, I’ve been plagued by dark dreams and even darker realities. Doors in my house creak open on their own, whispers drift through the night, and I see shadows moving just beyond my vision.
Every anniversary, the nightmares get worse, and I feel his presence more acutely. It’s as if the fire forged a bond between us, a bond I can’t break. I’ve tried to tell my story, but no one believes me. They think I’m just a traumatized survivor, driven mad by the horrors I witnessed.
But I know the truth. And now, so do you.
If you’re reading this, I’m begging, heed my warning. On the anniversary of the Cocoanut Grove fire, stay away from dark, crowded places. If you see a man in a dark coat with eyes like voids, don’t approach him. Run, and don’t look back.
Because once he marks you, there’s no escape. The flames will find you, and Hell will claim its due.
Tonight, as I write this, I can feel the heat building, the shadows lengthening. He’s close. I can hear his whisper just beyond the door. I don’t know if I’ll survive another anniversary, but if I don’t, remember my story.
Remember that some fires are more than just flames. They are gateways, and some doors should never be opened.

I was a busboy at the Cocoanut Grove. That Saturday, the place was a heaving mass of humanity. Soldiers on leave, couples on dates, socialites, and gangsters—the club was their playground, and I was just an invisible part of the scenery. The air was a haze of smoke and alcohol, thick enough to choke on.
It was around 10:15 PM when I first saw him. A man in a dark, heavy coat, standing by the service door near the kitchen. Odd attire for such a warm, crowded club, but what really caught my eye was his face. His eyes were black pits, empty yet somehow full of a cold, malevolent hunger. His smile was a razor-thin line, cutting through his face like a wound. He gestured for me to come closer, but before I could move, he slipped into the kitchen.
Seconds later, the lights flickered, and fire erupted in the Melody Lounge. The flames didn’t spread—they leapt, as if alive, cutting off exits with a terrifying, unnatural precision. Panic ignited, and the crowd became a stampede. I tried to guide people to safety, but the fire seemed to anticipate our every move.
As I fought my way toward the kitchen, hoping for another way out, I witnessed horrors that will forever be etched into my memory.
The first was a young woman in a red dress. She had been dancing with her boyfriend moments before the fire broke out. When the flames began to spread, she tried to run, but the crowd was too thick. She stumbled and fell right in front of me. In the chaos, no one stopped to help her. The flames reached her, and her screams pierced through the cacophony. Her dress ignited, the fabric melting into her skin. I watched in horror as her flesh bubbled and peeled away, revealing raw, charred muscle beneath. Her eyes locked onto mine, pleading for help, before the fire consumed her completely. I couldn’t do anything but keep moving, the image of her agony seared into my mind.
Further ahead, near the bar, a middle-aged man, a regular at the club, was pounding on a locked door that led to the staff area. His hands were bloody, and his face was contorted in sheer panic. The smoke was thickening, making it hard to breathe. I saw him drop to his knees, clawing at his throat as he began to choke. His skin turned a sickly blue as he suffocated. The fire found him next, wrapping around his legs and creeping up his body. His screams were a mix of terror and pain as the flames cooked him alive, turning him into a grotesque statue of blackened bone and seared flesh. I wanted to help, but the fire was relentless, and I had to keep moving.
Near the back exit, which had been illegally locked to prevent people from sneaking in without paying, I saw a young couple—newlyweds celebrating their honeymoon. The husband was trying to shield his wife with his body as they pounded on the unyielding door. The fire closed in, and I heard their desperate cries for help. The flames licked at their legs, their screams merging into a single, horrifying wail. The husband’s back blistered and burst, his skin sloughing off in sheets. The wife’s hair ignited, and she clawed at her scalp in a futile attempt to extinguish the flames. They held each other as they burned, their bodies fusing together in a grotesque, charred embrace. I was frozen in place, unable to look away, until a surge of heat pushed me to keep moving.
I fought through the flames, dodging falling debris and stumbling over lifeless bodies. The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Finally, I found a side door and burst into the alley, gulping in the cool night air. As I looked back, the building was fully engulfed, the screams of the trapped mingling with an unholy laughter that echoed in my ears long after.
The official reports blamed faulty wiring and overcrowding, but I know better. The man in the dark coat—he wasn’t human. He was something ancient, something that revels in chaos and feeds on fear. Since that night, I’ve been plagued by dark dreams and even darker realities. Doors in my house creak open on their own, whispers drift through the night, and I see shadows moving just beyond my vision.
Every anniversary, the nightmares get worse, and I feel his presence more acutely. It’s as if the fire forged a bond between us, a bond I can’t break. I’ve tried to tell my story, but no one believes me. They think I’m just a traumatized survivor, driven mad by the horrors I witnessed.
But I know the truth. And now, so do you.
If you’re reading this, I’m begging, heed my warning. On the anniversary of the Cocoanut Grove fire, stay away from dark, crowded places. If you see a man in a dark coat with eyes like voids, don’t approach him. Run, and don’t look back.
Because once he marks you, there’s no escape. The flames will find you, and Hell will claim its due.
Tonight, as I write this, I can feel the heat building, the shadows lengthening. He’s close. I can hear his whisper just beyond the door. I don’t know if I’ll survive another anniversary, but if I don’t, remember my story.
Remember that some fires are more than just flames. They are gateways, and some doors should never be opened.

I was a busboy at the Cocoanut Grove. That Saturday, the place was a heaving mass of humanity. Soldiers on leave, couples on dates, socialites, and gangsters—the club was their playground, and I was just an invisible part of the scenery. The air was a haze of smoke and alcohol, thick enough to choke on.
It was around 10:15 PM when I first saw him. A man in a dark, heavy coat, standing by the service door near the kitchen. Odd attire for such a warm, crowded club, but what really caught my eye was his face. His eyes were black pits, empty yet somehow full of a cold, malevolent hunger. His smile was a razor-thin line, cutting through his face like a wound. He gestured for me to come closer, but before I could move, he slipped into the kitchen.
Seconds later, the lights flickered, and fire erupted in the Melody Lounge. The flames didn’t spread—they leapt, as if alive, cutting off exits with a terrifying, unnatural precision. Panic ignited, and the crowd became a stampede. I tried to guide people to safety, but the fire seemed to anticipate our every move.
As I fought my way toward the kitchen, hoping for another way out, I witnessed horrors that will forever be etched into my memory.
The first was a young woman in a red dress. She had been dancing with her boyfriend moments before the fire broke out. When the flames began to spread, she tried to run, but the crowd was too thick. She stumbled and fell right in front of me. In the chaos, no one stopped to help her. The flames reached her, and her screams pierced through the cacophony. Her dress ignited, the fabric melting into her skin. I watched in horror as her flesh bubbled and peeled away, revealing raw, charred muscle beneath. Her eyes locked onto mine, pleading for help, before the fire consumed her completely. I couldn’t do anything but keep moving, the image of her agony seared into my mind.
Further ahead, near the bar, a middle-aged man, a regular at the club, was pounding on a locked door that led to the staff area. His hands were bloody, and his face was contorted in sheer panic. The smoke was thickening, making it hard to breathe. I saw him drop to his knees, clawing at his throat as he began to choke. His skin turned a sickly blue as he suffocated. The fire found him next, wrapping around his legs and creeping up his body. His screams were a mix of terror and pain as the flames cooked him alive, turning him into a grotesque statue of blackened bone and seared flesh. I wanted to help, but the fire was relentless, and I had to keep moving.
Near the back exit, which had been illegally locked to prevent people from sneaking in without paying, I saw a young couple—newlyweds celebrating their honeymoon. The husband was trying to shield his wife with his body as they pounded on the unyielding door. The fire closed in, and I heard their desperate cries for help. The flames licked at their legs, their screams merging into a single, horrifying wail. The husband’s back blistered and burst, his skin sloughing off in sheets. The wife’s hair ignited, and she clawed at her scalp in a futile attempt to extinguish the flames. They held each other as they burned, their bodies fusing together in a grotesque, charred embrace. I was frozen in place, unable to look away, until a surge of heat pushed me to keep moving.
I fought through the flames, dodging falling debris and stumbling over lifeless bodies. The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Finally, I found a side door and burst into the alley, gulping in the cool night air. As I looked back, the building was fully engulfed, the screams of the trapped mingling with an unholy laughter that echoed in my ears long after.
The official reports blamed faulty wiring and overcrowding, but I know better. The man in the dark coat—he wasn’t human. He was something ancient, something that revels in chaos and feeds on fear. Since that night, I’ve been plagued by dark dreams and even darker realities. Doors in my house creak open on their own, whispers drift through the night, and I see shadows moving just beyond my vision.
Every anniversary, the nightmares get worse, and I feel his presence more acutely. It’s as if the fire forged a bond between us, a bond I can’t break. I’ve tried to tell my story, but no one believes me. They think I’m just a traumatized survivor, driven mad by the horrors I witnessed.
But I know the truth. And now, so do you.
If you’re reading this, I’m begging, heed my warning. On the anniversary of the Cocoanut Grove fire, stay away from dark, crowded places. If you see a man in a dark coat with eyes like voids, don’t approach him. Run, and don’t look back.
Because once he marks you, there’s no escape. The flames will find you, and Hell will claim its due.
Tonight, as I write this, I can feel the heat building, the shadows lengthening. He’s close. I can hear his whisper just beyond the door. I don’t know if I’ll survive another anniversary, but if I don’t, remember my story.
Remember that some fires are more than just flames. They are gateways, and some doors should never be opened.

Confused, whether my ex was narcissist or I was doubting all along?
Hey, just wanted to come here and share my story. I am 20-year-old (F). Last year in July, I came across a guy (30M) on an app. We shared same ethnicity but he was living abroad for past decade. We matched, we clicked and I thought this was the man I had been looking for all my life. He seemed so sweet, fun to talk and charming. One thing that pulled me toward him was his respectful and polite attitude towards me (this was big for me since I am coming from a rough childhood), he used to call me 'Miss', respected my opinions, shared his own without making me feel uncomfortable and we were kind of cloning each other. Our beliefs and moral values seemed very similar.
We talked for about two weeks and it was a detailed discussion on life and how we view it. Later on, he told me he was looking for something serious and I, who is coming from traditional muslim culture, wanted nothing more than a serious relationship (marriage). So he sent a proposal my home, his family came and met my family (that is how it happens in our culture). My family was little hesitant because we did have some cultural differences but I wasn't too noisy about it. Long story short, we got engaged in the following September. He couldn't come so his mother fulfilled his duty that was to slip the ring on my finger. After the ceremony I video-called him, excited, and told him about the day and expressed how happy I am. I was expecting something, maybe a little spark in his eyes or something sweet to say but he wasn't reciprocating the enthusiasm. He only smiled and talked a few and that's it. Oftentimes I felt like he wasn't expressing enough but I never let my head go south. I always gave myself an explanation for his actions. Everything was going fine until he had to come to his home country for his father's surgery. During those times, I did my best to remain supportive, empathetic. I gave him space, stood beside him, cheered him up.
A few days before the surgery, he decided to meet me out of a blue and yes, this was first physical interaction. I was in uni when he told me and like every other girl, I wanted our first meeting to be special. For those who are unfamiliar of muslim traditions, it is not preferable to meet alone before nikkah (the marriage ceremony). So my family wanted someone with us and I wasn't much in favour of it. I knew my boundaries and just wanted to have some good time with him. Therefore, I asked him to reschedule so I can convince my family to allow us to meet in a public place. I was only 19 and considering my age, I didn't have much authority to take such decisions. He, on the other hand, got furious because I asked him to reschedule. I felt bad for breaking him as he said he was excited to meet me and he needed me the most in hard times like these. I felt guilty but the next day, we met. He came to my home to pick me up, had a chat with my family. My family (uncle and aunt since I'm living with them after my parents' divorce) allowed us to have dinner.
During the dinner date, I was nervous. My body felt shivers and I couldn't understand whether it was from excitement or anxiousness. He was driving quite rashly, I am also a driver so the reckless driving didn't scare me, i trusted him on this but I knew something about him was the reason behind my sweaty palms. I just couldn't spot it. We remained silent throughout the drive, I wanted to speak and I tried to initiate but he kept it short. Only music was filling the silence. We reached to a mall and I was observing whether he will open the door for me but to my surprise, he didn't. Instead he walked ahead of me. Watching him speeding off didn't leave a good feeling in my chest. He wanted a coffee so we went to get one. I didn't get anything for myself because all of a sudden I wasn't hungry anymore and also I forgot my wallet at home and my self respect didn't allow me to get anything. He ordered a burger for himself and shared some bites with me. I noticed he didn't pull out a chair for me nor did he let me step in and out of elevator first. Throughout the eating process, he remained silent and looked around. I felt awkward as I am lively person and this was the man I wanted to talk to the most. It was just an awkward silence that I wasn't expecting to be a part of our first date at all. He didn't feel like the man I was talking to on phone. That man was responsive, loving. This was just something else.
We went back to the car, again him leading and I following him in heels. Just when I was putting seatbelt on, he kissed me. It was my first kiss and he totally caught me off guard. Right after that he gave me a smug smile. He kissed me again and I was long lost to react on anything. It was a lot. I wanted to stop him but my feelings for him got a hold on me. I regretted that but I couldn't stop it. After dropping me home, he left a text "I had a great time with you". Whereas, I was convincing myself that I had a good time as well.
After that we didn't talk much about this dinner but a question remained in my mind, "how did he find me?" because to me, he was handsome and I was strongly attracted to him but I never got the clarity on how did I look to him, especially after spending time with him I got more curious. I offered him my support during the tough time and chose not to ask him the question. After his father's surgery, he kept forcing me to have lunches with him and i had without my family's knowing. After our every meet-up the question began eating my head a little more. Finally, after some days I decided to ask the question. To which he got mad. He blamed me for stressing him and accusing him of not liking me even though I just meant to ask him if he liked me. I needed reassurance but he got defensive and "warned" me that my fears and overthinking will ruin our relationship. That was the first stroke that hit my heart and I couldn't believe what happened with me. I felt horrible and cried myself to sleep The next day he acted completely normal and love-bombed me as if nothing happened. I remained silent to avoid conflict.
A few days later, he asked me to accompany him to his home that was in another city (his father's surgery took place in my city and they were in hospital). Now keeping the society where we both belong from, this was a big problem. I had to refuse him and over this he got furious again, blaming me for not wanting to spend time with him. I understood he lived his life in a western country but he knew his culture better than me, his family was far stricter in their customs than mine was and only if they had known that i visited their house before marriage alone with their son, it would have been a hell for me. It was wrong and I stayed with my decision. Later on, he asked me to meet him for the last time before he left. A day before the meeting, he started joking about having a fetish of having sex with a teenager. I kept brushing it as a joke until he directed it on me and when I asked him to wait for a year as we were to get married, he reasoned that I wouldn't be a teenager anymore and he could not wait that long. I confronted him about feeling manipulated and he got defensive. Long story short, he went back and after some times, he started noticing my silence. He asked me about it and I mustered courage and told him my worries. He listened to me quietly, didn't react like he normally did to my concerns but complained that I hurt him. For which I did feel bad as I never wanted to hurt him.
now the reason why I wrote this whole story was because he was a totally different man during the first third months of our conversation. He portrayed to be a knight in shining armour. His voice held so much meaning when he promised he would be the most understanding and patient person in my life. He felt like my saviour, my best friend and reason to live everyday. I suffered from parental neglect and absence and his promises healed me but when he acted contrary to his words, I used to get confused. I loved him, madly that even after five months of no contact I wake up to his thoughts. He has moved on and found someone else but I am back to my alone self, holding my broken pieces and working on my career. I felt like i was in a trauma bond but still again, sometimes I feel due to my past traumas, I lost a good man. He made me believe so with his love bombing. I got addicted to him as he was the only source of my happiness. but I knew it has to end because he disrespected my grandfather and mother because they saw the same signs in my father even though I didn't tell them enough. I didn't believe them until circumstances forced me to. Can you guys tell me what have you gotten from my story because I need to hear it from external sources.