Page 2 of Resisting my Roommate

“Society loves to tell us it’s what we’re supposed to do. Doesn’t it?” I lift my glass back to my lips. “Find someone, settle down, play house. Doesn’t mean it’s the right path.”

“Sounds like someone’s a little jaded.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m a realist. There’s this ridiculous societal pressure that, in order to live a complete life, you need to be married. If you ask me, it’s all bullshit.”

She grabs the glass the bartender leaves on the counter and brings the straw up to her full, red lips. A part of me wonders how they’d look wrapped around my dick instead of that straw.

I blame the whiskey for even thinking it.

“I’m going out on a limb here and guessing your girlfriend or wife left you.” Her voice pulls me back to the present, giving me a dose of reality.

She doesn’t realize how right she is. But I’m not about to talk about the worst time of my life with a complete stranger, even if I technically did bring her question upon myself. Instead, I do what I always do in these situations. I deflect.

“People get married because they think it’ll solve something — loneliness, insecurity, fear of missing out, or that getting married will make them whole. It doesn’t.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m not getting married for any of those reasons.”

“No?”

She squares her shoulders defiantly. “No.”

“Then why are you?”

“Because I love him.”

“Love,” I scoff. “That’s an even worse reason to get married than loneliness or fear of missing out.”

“Why do you think that?”

I lean back in my seat, letting out a dry laugh. “Where do I start?”

She arches an expectant brow and fixes her eyes on me, waiting for whatever pearls of wisdom I’m about to impart on her. I take a moment, running a hand through my hair as I consider all the reasons the mere idea of love makes my skin itch.

“For one, love is temporary. It’s like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. Bright, dazzling, but gone in a flash. You may think it’s going to last forever, but eventually, it burns out. And what are you left with? A stick and a lot of smoke. Nothing real. Nothing of substance.”

She tilts her head, a small frown forming on her lips, but she doesn’t interrupt. She wants to hear this, and thanks to all the whiskey I’ve had, I’m on a roll.

“Two,” I continue, holding up two fingers for emphasis, “love’s a damn liar. It makes you believe things are better than they are. It’s like a pair of rose-colored glasses that hide all the cracks and warning signs. You convince yourself the other person is perfect and you’re meant to be together. Sooner or later, the glasses come off. When they do, reality hits harder than a two-ton truck.”

“But isn’t that the beauty of love?” she asks softly, taking a sip of her water. “That despite any flaws, you still care for each other and want to be together?”

“It’s not the flaws that get you in the end,” I argue, my words slurring slightly. “It’s the expectations love builds up. You have these pre-conceived notions about what a relationship should be, how your life is supposed to look. When it doesn’t meet those expectations — because it never will — you’re left disappointedand bitter. That’s when the fights start. And let me tell you, love turns real fucking ugly when it’s backed into a corner.”

She takes another sip of water, still watching me with interest. “Love is just a fantasy. Is that it?”

“Fantasy, illusion, call it what you want,” I reply with a dismissive wave of my hand. “It’s unreliable. Fleeting. And the worst part? People use it as an excuse to ignore all the practical reasons they shouldn’t get married. Love makes people do stupid things, like tie their whole damn life to someone else when they barely know themselves.”

“So we’re just supposed to play it safe?” There’s a spark of fire in her voice I find intriguing. “Never take risks?”

I lean in closer, my tone steady but firm. “I’m saying if you’re going to gamble, at least know the odds. And love? You’d have better luck spending your night at the roulette table and letting it all ride on a single number.”

Silence hangs between us for what feels like an eternity, her expression a mixture of frustration and something I can’t quite put my finger on. Maybe I’ve pushed too far. Maybe I sound like an asshole.

Who am I kidding? I’mpositiveI sound like an ass.

But this is my truth. I’ve seen what happens when people let love dictate their decisions. I’ve been there.

In many ways, I still am.

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