You push and prod.
To save yourself, you wield your accommodating and understanding nature as the ultimate weapon. You ask him the one question he can’t possibly hope to answer- Why does he not love you?
After all that you’ve given of yourself so freely trusting faithfully in the institution of the “we”, why are you so patently unhappy. For if he loves you, if he loves you enough, it would set everything right at once wouldn’t it? You couldn’t possibly still be so unhappy.
So he must have changed. His feelings for you must have changed.
But, of course he loves you. And the question tears at his heart. You’ve never put him in a difficult place before. You’re this independent woman who never asked for anything. His head can’t wrap around why you are so miserable. And yet he can’t do anything about it.
For you’ve made him the root to your insecurities, the reason for your doubts and suspicions; without his knowing it you have already convicted him as this recidivist monster who selfishly repeatedly took you for granted.
With every utterance of “Forget about it.”, “I’ll handle it.”, “Don’t worry.” relieving him of his responsibilities, with every load you heaped upon yourself not sharing the burdens of your life, you pushed him further and further away from the support he was going to be in your life. You isolated yourself and then turned to demand penance from him bitterly.
Your words tinged with exasperation, you seize upon every occasion, becoming highly sensitive to minute changes in tone. Ammunition builds. Promises gain significance. You lay the groundwork waiting for the perfect opening, and it arrives.
He promises, “I’ll be there for you.”
You pounce, unleashing the torrent of underlying resentment you’ve been saving up specially for this situation, testing the waters, playing up his guilt, pushing all the right buttons to escalate the situation beyond his grasp, challenging him to prove his love through an impossible ultimatum.
But he can’t.
Nothing he says or does now will salvage the embers of this dying flame.
You force his hand backing him into a corner.
And, detonation in T – 10s.
You propose, “What do you think about friends with benefits? It would fit our current situation better and it’s not really that different from what we have now. You won’t be taking me for granted if we’re not together. It’s a win-win situation.”
He accepts, “Alright. I don’t know how things may go from this.”
You escalate, “I want to sleep with other people. I don’t know who yet but I know I will want to. Just a heads-up.”
He backtracks, “Multiple friends with benefits? You know I can’t, I really can’t, I have terrible jealously issues.”
You erupt, “You’re kidding. You can tolerate a disintegration of a relationship to a friends with benefits situation but you can’t think about me fucking other people? You’re a fucking class act.”
He placates, “I’m sorry. Don’t. Please let’s not move away yet, give me time please. I don’t want to break up with you.”
You accuse, “Only because you don’t want me to fuck other people besides you. I can’t believe this; how did I ever sink to such lows.”
He runs, “I’m turning in. I can’t think.”
You pursue, “I can’t sleep. How can you sleep? I’m trying and failing miserably to sleep. How am I supposed to sleep with this on my mind?”
He resigns, “Let’s break up then?”
You mellow, “If that’s what you want, I’ll understand. I pushed for it this whole conversation.”
The deed is done. There is no hope for reconciliation.