Don't Blame Me

My life needed renewal, that much was certain, even if it meant leaving Rico. I have been restrained in this relationship that escalates without consequence. Regardless of the consequences, I had to dump the bastard some way or another. After weeks of thinking about talking about acting, I could remain this way no more. He still thinks I didn't buy him enough cokes yesterday, after he asked me to buy 6 packs of beer. When do I say enough is enough? I cannot say.

I looked around at the apartment. A rusting hellhole that only the most slothful young men could ever afford. I was seated in the kitchen. I'm in lit by a single bulb that looked more like an anglerfish antenna about to fall off its owner. It's light simultaneously blinding and beckoning when I looked up and down with my eyes. It began to blink.

Bored by the haggard decay of the drywalled kitchen, I stared out the window, the only aspect that provided any uncertainty in this drilled room. Outside was vibrant as usual, swimming with hues of red, orange, yellow, and occasional neon signs that goading anyone in eye-shot inside. Down there, it didn't matter why you were here; the city demanded you contribute to its splendor. It was the portal to opportunity, respect, enjoyment. Everything Rico promised I would have with him. Unfortunately, he suffocated from the raciness, the irresponsibility of it all.

But all woeful things must stem from perversion in some way or another. As such, he didn't initially seem this way. We met our last 2 years at NYU, at the library, daily, and I became immersed in his ambitious approach to his career. I recall sitting with him once after I helped him with his physics class, a subject I had a particular aptitude for in prep school, and he asked me my major, to which I learned it was the same as his. And once I've gotten promoted at the agency, I can start my own paper. Make it the best damn paper ever! Rico said to me that day. His optimism was slightly fazing, yet I could tell it was clear he had a plan.

As we spent more time together, our secrets spilled onto one another, comprised of commonalities and cautions. Inevitably, our school congregations morphed into dates, which I enjoyed for many a time. There were of course our differences. He enjoyed frequent trips to bars, but seemed to retain his composure every time I saw him. On the other hand, I was uniquely devoted to my classes and searching for career opportunities, something that, when asked, he seemed less and less concerned about.

However, he still assured me that he knew what he was doing, and on night, while walking along NYU Tandon Bridge after our 13th date during our third year, he asked me to live with him in his flat. We were standing on the sidewalk just a few feet away from the ledge, with the city foreboding change, opportunity, and hazardous thrills that made the moment sound all too fiction. As we got our first proper view, he tried to make his case: We've only got, what, a year most till we're on our own. Give it a try. Trust me. My parents in New Jersey had encouraged me to choose NYU because they entertained the idea of living in the middle of the action, away from them, I'm sure. Although I didn't initially understand their motive in using most of their money to admit me, they would've have approved of my hesitant decision to stay with Rico. They probably thought I was perfect for him.

It was only during that very spring break that I discovered his true passion. His affinity for refreshments mirrored the aspects of his first impression: diverse and ambitious. He always ordered beers during our dates, but the contents of his fridge made me very circumspect. Of course, like his initial mentality, his drinking expanded to cigarettes and depersonalization of just about everything. I mustered as much vigilance as I could to acquiesce his request that I try drinking. A bottle a day keeps the anxiety away he assured me one night at the Clover Club. I refrained from drinking as much as possible, but I was losing my restraint from his grasp every moment I spent with him. Yes, his apathy was becoming too fierce, but I believed that I could help him reorient away from temptation and back into his determination.

Sardonic as it might be, my inability to resist forced me to embrace his way of life. To get to heaven, you must drag yourselves through hell Rico said to me during a study session for finals. Albeit unrelated, I thought about his words as I pondered the earnestness of our relationship. We graduated in the first 2 months of the Covid Pandemic. I graduated with honors, barely amidst Rico's influence, to find that his final grades were a product of a bare minimum effort. This crisis was a dream come true for him no doubt.

With us balancing on the threshold of summer, unemployment rising, and the future the city held, matters were only made worse as I reluctantly agreed to stay without resistance. I dared not ask to rob him of his well earned money, or his right to date me. When Rico demanded something, you might as well try and bargain with the 8th Avenue Line.

I knew, as any woman of sanity would, that I had to leave. It would be less than a year before I lost all the credibility my graduation gave me. My parents of course, would want me gone from their lives, even though all I ever wanted was to make them proud. They used all our savings on financial aid. Were they really going to want any part in the recompense and honors I had gained now. By the first year of our partnership in New York, his sanguine had all but molted into overwhelming fatigue and misery. His resonation with my desire and plight had all but vanished.

Needless to say, our relationship evolved into commensalism. I would get back from running errands to find him already home from his 2 hour shift at Starbucks and requesting dinner. Of course, dinner. How could I forget, I'd say to him after he roared like a male lion waiting for his hunters to reward him for his hard days work. After buying take out at whatever chain restaurant was available, he would gulp down 3 or 4 bottles of liquor, and pull me onto his couch. I probably was getting a back hunch from the sagging way he wrapped his arms around me, regardless of the program playing. Afterward, I spent the remainder of most nights as his bitch, which he heedlessly disguised as 'affection'. I had to take the trash out in the mornings, because every night respected his routine. He then hurried out the door to walk to his job, leaving me the car with the intent I would manage our life.

I didn't have a job. I had no synopsis of anything engrossing. The only money I had came from Rico's day job at Starbucks. I was fucking trapped. Don't blame me, Rico told me after I raised up my concerns. We got caught up. Life will find its way.

In an attempt to mitigate my unrelenting tribulations, I began tutoring younger college students in Physics and Economics. The pandemic had ironically offered many aspiring graduates like myself to learn new skills, teach others, and work form home. I thought that an online student might recommenced me, perhaps my recorded youtube sessions with them might be enough to sew a promising resume. Then again, now I was beginning to sound just like him. I could barley recall anything memorable from him.

Shit, he had stolen my means to make any change.

The only times I never saw Rico other than during errands, was when I got home early. Usually I used these unique fleeting hours to research a story to write about for the post, recalling everything locale, and everything nationwide. But it was 2020, and nothing healthy was sound or intoxicating. Nothing except the occasional swig of vodka, rum, or beer that he insisted would gratify and soothe my troubles.

As I sipped from my transparent glass, seventh one this today, I considered my options. Electric bills and taxes weren't due for months, I could manage it, but I was highly suspect of the other bills that would collar us, or possible deals Rico made without me knowing. My tutoring channel had garnered not nearly enough followers to match the influencers and artists out there positing daily.

Staying with him any longer was pointless, if only to be entertained by his, and my stupidity. With little success I had in journaling, and no promotions awaiting Rico at the cafe, I'd be forced to return to my disillusioned parents soon. I could make a good life back home to be sure, but any and all exertion spent would be only to fatten their nest. I'd rather be here, in a world shrinking its scope of opportunity, than a squalor that consumes but never grows.

My lingering had my head turned back at the crumpled white walls, plaster peeling away at the crevices on the floor. My head winded around the room, laying on the fridge, devoid of stickers. Laying on the stove and counter, devoid of a homemade meal for days. And finally laying on the windowsill, devoid of the moment when we first kissed. The light continued its twitch, with every 3rd flash waxing its energy until its time would run out.

Yet, out there, in New York, the magic still resided. It would never fall for one man, or many for that matter. It was forever unsatisfied, and I think that's what made it so damn beautiful. The chase.

My resolve right there and then was pragmatic, yet more upbeat than anything in the past year. I sucked away the last drop of vodka from my glass and set it down next to the bottleI was going to dump Rico first thing in the morning while he snoozed after a night of intense consumption, take what was mine (ie food clothes and computer) and get to my car. After getting hired at the local paper, I would submit what stories were the best, journalistic and fiction. The post would have to eventually admit me one way or another. No longer would I wait for youtubers to scroll and click on my videos.

I sighed at the thought, but it was full of determination and not the casual sigh where one admits defeat. Now that is not to say I would become the greatest writer of all time. That was a fiction too absurd to be written in any story. But I would become well known among this city. The city that asked for contribution, and I would over deliver.

When my friends ask me what took me so long, I shall simply say, "I don't blame you. But I'm here now."