Not a Quitter, Not a Winner

TW: Themes of mental abuse

"I quit", were the words that uttered out of my mouth, as I slammed my moog synthesizer on my ex boyfriend's coffee table- causing it to break it's circuit board, amongst other damages (beyond materialistic).

I'm a musician, and I have been in an electro-dream pop band with my boyfriend and his mistress for the last two years. Word to the wise, never pursue music with a love interest- we've seen the outcome time and time again (a la Fleetwood Mac), yet, I didn't heed to that cautionary tale when I decided to pursue my passion of both my love of music and sex. Nope, I did the impulsive thing and joined a band with my now ex. Oh, that rhymed, heh.

Milo and I, Corina, had met at a rock show. Typical, I know. It was a cliche and generic post-punk band (I forget the name) and we instantly bonded over our distaste for the mundane stage presence and even more blasé auditory components coming out of the prestigious amplifiers. Well, first we eye fucked from across the smoky albeit cigarette stench laden dive bar, and than- as if we were magnets, drunkenly hobbled to one another and started giggling like school children.

I first noticed his teeth, they were stained yellow and crooked- I could tell he was insecure about them because he kept wryly smiling with his mouth closed as soon as my eyes glazed over to his lips. I personally thought they complimented his tall and lanky stature, but I wasn't about to gas him up, because he still had a smug composure...

At the time, when we had met, I was a mousey and shy lass. I had choppy chestnut brown hair and thick rimmed glasses. They didn't look cute. I remember that I attempted my hand at being a fashionista by mismatching a floral print dress with some black Doc Marten boots. On paper, it sounds hip and aesthetic, but the execution was objectively terrible. I had lipstick stains on my buck teeth and horribly blended foundation on. Some would say that I looked like a new-age, progressive John Waters film character. I think that's what attracted Milo to me. I believe that he was intrigued by my blatant inability to present myself as a femme fatale, especially in comparison to the hot babes surrounding us- all doused in leather BDSM outfits, smoking their cigarettes like champs- collar bones protruding like daggers sticking out of a poor sad sacks back.

After the show, we made out for a good two hours by the alley way. His breath reeked of PBR and Marlboro 100s, and I was infatuated.

"Let's get out of here", he whispered in my ear, as his hands caressed my bum and made its way under my dress and into my, dare I say, granny panties.

I was 19 at the time, I am 23 now- he was 32. You can do the math. I was a virgin, as well, and had never had a casual encounter like this before. I was shy, but also randy, so I obliged and walked with him a few blocks at 2 AM, over to his apartment.

It was dingy, and smelled like cigarettes- much like his breath. He slept on a bed that was stained and probably glued to the floor. I was simultaneously disgusted and excited, but my arousal only grew. Here I was, 19 years old and alone with some brooding old guy, alone in his apartment.

We had sex, it was really good- and about a week later I had moved out of my parents house and into Milo's dingy apartment. It was the beginning of a very tumultuous existence for me.

About three months in, Milo walked in through his door, holding a clunky MOOG synthesizer and a plastic bag filled with old vinyls. He loved his record player, almost as much as he loved himself.

"Here, babe, I got this for you" he muttered under his breath as he placed the synth on the coffee table. He really got it for himself, but he had a habit of buying me gifts that were actually intended for his utilization. I had never expressed an interest in playing the Synth- in fact, I had moved on from my interest in music and started pursuing interior design instead. I was even applying for grants to go to school out of state, which I am sure bothered him.

"You said you needed some hobbies, right?" he continued, as he lit his fourth cigarette that day (it was 1 PM, he woke up at 11 AM). I also never even implied I needed new hobbies.

"Sure", I humored him, however.

"You'll love this, it's so fun babe. We can jam out together now". Milo started noodling around on the synthesizer and shooing me away when I tried to play it- I let him have his fun, and stared at him for a solid 30 minutes before he finally gave up trying to sound like Rick Wright and handing it over.

"Have at it", he seemed frustrated. I grinned.

Milo is a narcissist. I was a victim of narcissistic abuse and had no idea until seeking therapy years later, about a month ago.

Something about narcissists, is that they are insatiable parasites. They don't care who they hurt, as long as they are getting what they want, which is usually based around their own ego. I could tell that, a few months in, I was starting to bore Milo with my own interests and passions. He needed a new supply. That's when Linda came into the picture.

Oh, Linda. The typical beautiful buxom blonde that had no business being out in the real world, but more so on the cover of Playboy and only Playboy. She had no business being in my apartment, I called it my apartment because... Well, I had turned what was a crack den (aesthetically speaking), into a home. I had bought all the decor and furniture for the apartment, my job as a barista was paying for the rent and bills at that point, as Milo collected unemployment checks and spent all day watching porn and making "music" on his Peavey hunk-o-junk electric guitar.

Back to Linda. Milo had met her at the local record shop, Busters. She was an employee there, I would like to say that she was vapid and had no interests- but unfortunately, she was extremely cultured and knew about everything relating to pop culture and music. She wasn't just a big tittied, pretty faced blondie. She was also very interesting, and it was slowly corroding my self esteem.

Milo had brought her over to the apartment about a year into our relationship, she walked in wearing a Kraftwerk tank top and some shorts that accentuated her perky butt. Her smile was paid for, and extremely bright, it quite literally lit up the room.

"Hey, babe. This is Linda, she's my new friend and our new band mate", he boasted- as if she was his girlfriend. Oh, and she was. She was his "other" girlfriend, but I didn't find that out until recently.

"Oh my god!" She screeched with her shrill tone, "this apartment is so kitschy". She started touching all my action figures and collectables that I had acquired over several months, I sat there with gritted teeth. It's almost as if I was in her home and didn't want to be rude. She had the affect on people, you can tell she owned whatever room she walked into.

Milo stared at her as if she was a prize trophy, and kept wafting his wispy hair. I could tell he fantasized about sleeping with her all the time. I sat in the corner as if I was chopped liver.

A few hours passed, which consisted mostly of them flirting and giggling, when we finally started jamming. I was on the Synth, Milo on guitar and Linda on drums. We owned a drum kit, by the way.

We sounded very good. It was frustrating. She kept coming over after that for "band practice", and every time, Milo would "walk her home" and be gone for hours.

I found out he was cheating on me with her, long story short. How did I find out? It was obvious, he didn't deny it when I would bring it up.

Which leads me to today, the day I "quit" my relationship and our band. It took a lot out of me to come to terms with the reality of my situation, I gave up everything for this man and he threw it away by having sex with the hot blonde girl.

So, here I am, in a coffee shop at 2 AM, writing about my woes. I am not sure where I am going from here, but anything is better than going back to the nightmare that was my life with Milo.