Flash Fiction Story - The Heart of a Manipulator (read with caution)

When he first met me, I couldn't believe it. Here I was, a nobody who was struggling in the world, and this man, this very special man, turned his sights on me! He was so attractive, so sure of himself, and he had eyes for me. He approached me and introduced himself, then extended a confident hand for me to shake. I shook it and felt his power coursing through it. He said that he'd seen me in the coffeehouse many times, yet waited for the right moment to introduce himself. I told him that I was glad he did so. That was the beginning of it all. From there, we went out on dates during every date, and he showered me with tokens of affection and, I thought, love. We saw each other for several months and I noticed that while he loved being around me and showed me much affection, he never said those three little words. Plus, he spent a lot of time talking about himself, and wasn't I lucky that I fell into his life? One day, as we ate ice cream, I told him that I loved him. The words felt so right to say and I knew that he felt the same way. He set his spoon in his cup, looked at me with a curious expression, and told me that I had ruined our day. I watched in shock as he got up and walked away, leaving me to wonder what had I done. For three days, I tried calling him, wanting an explanation, yet he never returned my calls. I stopped taking care of myself as my brain was wracked with guilt - what had I done, WHAT HAD I DONE. Finally, on the fourth day, he called me and acted as though nothing had happened. Yet, something did happen - a hairline crack in my view of him appeared. He showed up at my apartment and swept me off my feet and I felt nothing but Heaven once more. 

A month later, while we were at a bookstore, he came up to me with three books in hand and told me that I needed to read them. I looked at all of the titles and told him that I would add them to my TBR list. His eyes suddenly bulged out as he yelled at me - NO, you read these books NOW! He then thrust them into my arms and crossed his arms over his chest, daring me to tell him otherwise. I slowly nodded as a tear slid down my cheek. Sure, I whispered, I'll get them now. He stared at me for the longest time, only to soften up with - well, only if you want to. I quickly nodded and told him, yes, I would read them all immediately. He smiled and patted my back, then gently pushed me toward the counter. I could feel the stares of the other patrons in the bookstore, yet my eyes were only focused on the counter . . . and the door. From there, he would pay me a compliment, only to poison it with a curt insult: your choice in friends is shitty, why can't you dress better than that, my god, what did I ever see in you, you know NO ONE likes you . . . . I would cry as he stormed off and left me. He needed to punish me for how I lived my life. Then, after three or four days of not hearing from him, he would suddenly appear with flowers, candy, books, or something as he wore the biggest smile on his face. And every time that I took him back into my life, I also felt more and more pieces of me breaking away, spiraling into an inky blackness that only I could see.  

January 14th. Just a day to everyone else yet to me, it meant something entirely different. Only two days before, he had yelled at me because I spread strawberry jam on his toast rather than blueberry, and he went on and on about stupid I was and no one liked me. I woodenly listened to his berating speech, while I fumed on the inside. It took me a while, but I finally understood what was going on. I finally saw him for the manipulating asshole he was. I finally realized that he was nothing behind all of the "love" and "insults". He needed me to be his focus of attacks on both ends. He needed me because he couldn't like himself. He needed all of me to desire all of him. And on January 14th, I finally realized it. My phone rang; I looked at it to see his number. I smiled and then let it ring. It stopped and a new voicemail popped up. I listened to it - he wanted to ask me if I wanted to go with him to the farmers market. My heart pounded with adrenaline as I slowly deleted his message. Five minutes later, he rang again and I got up to fix myself a cup of green tea. I returned with cup in hand, then turned my phone to vibrate as I enjoyed the silence. During that day, he called three times and every time I checked the voicemail, it went from lovey duvey to whiny and pleading to downright angry and insulting. By the fourth message, I was a slut and a whore, stupid and had no brain, I had no friends and I was a loser. I drank my tea, even though my hands shook. I never heard from him again. I never even saw him again. He knew that I finally caught on. 

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