Glitch

He's gotten to this point in his life, slumped over on a park bench, wishing he could stop sticking his feet in his mouth as if they were candy. Tact is an art he wishes he could perfect, instead of sending girlfriends, well, ex-girlfriends, into a tizzy.

It's not his fault when they ask if their dress makes them look fat. It made her look like someone had gotten a bit too excited filling the sausage casing at the factory.

He hadn't meant to admit that out loud. He never did.

It had plagued him all of his life, since he could form coherent thoughts. Ones that offended people, because apparently as much as his mother touted honesty as the best policy, going so far as to name him Lincoln after Honest Abe himself, it was not always the easiest policy.

"Oh snookums, Granny missed you. Did you miss me too?"

"Not really. I like when Grams babysits me more," he had managed with his cheek still in her fist.

It was the first time his honesty had broken a heart.

Twenty years later, slumped, it had done it again. 

This girl had been different. She was objectively beautiful, with his eyes unable to find flaw. Trust him, he had checked, many times, getting distracted during very satisfying nights tumbling around in the sheets. She was brilliant, and funny. His glitch wouldn't even let him fake laughter, but he didn't have to worry.

They had first met while she was on her first date with another boy. She was obviously struggling to find an excuse to leave. She had run into him coming out of the bathroom and offered to pay for his meal if he pretended to be her angry boyfriend catching her out with another man.

He had just clocked out for the day. He could have ordered a surf n' turf and taken her up on the offer. 

Hypothetically, if he wasn't him, cursed with that stupid honesty glitch.

She went back to her table, and twirled her pasta with her fork, waiting for him to storm over. The ball was getting too big to fit in her mouth. Her date seemed unfazed, diving right back into his story about his stint in juvie.

"Excuse me," Lincoln had interrupted, bringing over a takeout box. "Here is your bill."

"We're not done yet." He gestured at his half eaten steak.

At this point, he should have admitted defeat and backed down. He should have gone home and reheated his leftover pizza, and forgotten all about her.

"The lady wants the date to be over. So pay your bill, take your steak, and leave her alone."

The problem with his glitch was that there was no way to suppress the truth either. 

He hadn't left willingly, giving Lincoln a black eye before getting escorted out, his half steak left on the table. Tired and defeated, he took a fry off the plate and ate it.

"Are you alright?"

"No, but your smile helps." He forced more fries into his mouth to keep his distance.

He swears he hadn't meant to flirt with her. But her smile was helping, or what he could see of it from his good eye.

She had given him a ride home. She'd also given him a kiss and her phone number.

Six months into their relationship, his Granny had died. They had been making out on his couch when the phone rang. It was his mother, and he put her on speaker as he continued to send a trail of kisses down his girlfriend's neck.

His lips stopped when he heard the news. 

He made haste to hang up on his mother, because he really couldn't bite his tongue for that long, before exhaling in relief. "Thank God."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"I'm not."

She didn't believe him (she still thought his glitch was a running gag and that he just had an off sense of humor) and pulled him away from her.

"Seriously, it's okay to cry, Lincoln."

He wasn't good at faking tears either.

A few months later she had met his sister. When he had gone off to the bathroom, she had asked her how she put up with his brutal honesty. She had shrugged it off like nothing, but his sister insisted.

"I've known him all my life, and he can't lie. He's told his ex that her new haircut made her look like a dude. He admitted to almost eating the last cookie before dinner. Didn't even eat the cookie. He even called mom once when he was throwing a house party to tattle on himself. Boy's got the glitch." 

"I like that he's honest. It's refreshing."

That's what she had said.

Before, that is, she changed her mind.

About a year into the relationship, it started to grate on her. They had moved in together, and she became first hand aware of everything she had been warned of.

"You need to use more air freshener in the bathroom when you eat Indian. I can still smell last night's dinner."

"You snore like a bear gargling chain saws. Maybe it's time you see a doctor."

"There's a zit on your cheek. You may want to apply your coverup better before you head to your girl's night."

One sucker punch after the other. She was getting sick of it, but he was covering the rent, so she stuck around. Physically, not emotionally.

This afternoon he came home early from work. He had slipped on a stray strand of pasta and smacked his body against the ground. His head was aching. It was a slow Tuesday, and his boss let him go an hour early.

He came home to find his girlfriend sandwiched between the mattress and a friend.

A friend who had seemingly lost his shirt.

"I want to say that I never want to see your face again, but you are a very beautiful woman." He would miss her face. He'd miss all of her, tucked between him and the mattress, and not some loser she had met while studying at the library.

"Can't say the same about you," she remarked.

So there he sat, four blocks from his apartment, wondering what she meant by that. Did she mean that she did want to see his face again, or that he wasn't beautiful? Maybe both, because unlike him with his stupid glitch, she could lie.

He called her number, and it went to voicemail.

"You need to move out. It is not healthy for me to stay in this relationship. I'll be back later tonight, so have your bags packed and your key ready." He hung up. "I love you."

That would take some rewiring. He needed to make a new truth.

"I don't, n-not love you."

"I hate you...not loving me."

A lot of rewiring.