not so fairy Tale – Good girl meets bad boy and dramamama is born
Unlike most of my friends who’d had first boyfriends treat them badly, mine had treated me like a Princess, so this is how I thought it always would be. How naive was I?
I met my bad boy while I was dating a boyfriend. He was the best friend of my boyfriend’s older brother. I really paid him no mind, and knew little about him except that he drove a fast car and everyone called him “Squig.” I did come to notice when our paths did meet Squig would stare at me, looking me up and down in a way that no other had before. I would question my boyfriend about this, and he’d said Squig “didn’t like me much,” and would always tease him about dating me adding, “Squig must think you’re ugly or something.” Oh.
Funny then that the very day after my boyfriend and I broke up, the phone rang. It was Squig, calling to ask if I wanted to accompany him to a party. Huh? First of all, I asked Squig -how ever did he get my number?!?! “Well how do you think I got it?,” he snickered. Furious, my ex-boyfriend has given it away I agreed to go out with Squiq just for spite.
From that day forward, I was Squig’s side-kick at every exclusive Bad Boy’s Only party, pow-wow, and event…and it was all very, very bad. I got to see just what the bad boys did when the girls got left behind. The drinking, the drugging, the cheating, the fighting. I saw it all. The whole time this bad boy waited patiently for me to be his girl.
At first it was a fairy tale. He wined me, dined me, and constantly raved about how exquisitely beautiful I was, and oh how brilliant. However, he was also bold, brash, and prone to random brawls with other drunken bad boys. Not to mention, he was short and stocky, not the long and lean type I usually favored. Yet, I found his dark and dangerous ways most intriguing. Something I hadn’t quite seen before in my rather sheltered life thus far.
He had a way of calming my OCD-anxiety tendencies. “Just put this shit away”, “You can do this, or “You’re fine baby, don’t worry about it,” he’d say. Very simple. Else, he’d just lend a hand, and I was amazed at how quickly this bad boy could get a house clean. He also wasn’t phased by my strong personality, others sometimes found hard to take. He actually digged it. “Wow, you’re a fiery little thing, ” he’d say in admiration, leaning back with a smile on his face.
He waited a long, long time. Two years to be exact. Not that he wasn’t persistent. Many a night, he would beckon to me, “Come here, come here.” He’d also repeatedly say, “What good girl doesn’t want a bad boy?”
Even when I joined the military, he’d sent letters professing his undying love for me. Insisting I was the one. I was meant to be his wife, the mother of his children. We would have lots of children together, and he would make certain this would happen. He was quite sure our first-born would be a boy. I finally decided he must be the man for me.
For a time it was very loving relationship. Although I should have known the passion driven by both of our strong personalities would only come to escalate as his drinking intensified. The drama did get much darker though, especially after a hiatus of a few years. However, the time we did spend together created the most beautiful beings I could have ever asked for.
Looking back I do laugh at many of the early days: How after we became engaged, during an argument he tried to rip the diamond ring off my finger, and I would not give it up. In attempting to escape his grasp, I gripped the bottom door of his bedroom and ripped it off the hinges. It came crashing down on the both of us, and finally, he let me go. I raced down the attic stairs and even managed a quick good-bye to his parents before I jetted in escape to my car, as they both stared in bewilderment. Or, when I lept cleanly over a chair in his parent’s kitchen to point my finger in accusation at him while he laughed, enthralled. And, the time he would not stop calling me some awful name in bed so I dumped an entire pitcher of water over his head. He responded simply by stripping of shirt, saying, “I think you should sleep on the couch tonite.”
So while many of his proclamations did come to be, he was quite wrong about a few things. For one, our first-born would NOT be a boy.