Stuck with a Punk ✔

Epilogue

Deciding to be in a relationship with someone, adapting to the other person, and sacrificing some of the things in order to make a relationship work is a huge risk. Nothing can tell you if the person is going to leave in two weeks, two years or two decades, and it's something you have to accept. You can decide not to do it and cower away from it, or you can accept that in order for something to work you need to put in the work. After all, that's what a relationship is - two people that are prepared to work out the problems and inconveniences. Anyone can have good days with rose petals romantically lying on the ground, and it's easy to love someone on the good days. It's the bad days, when you have to talk something out or when the other person needs you to step in for support, those are the days that count. 

At least in my opinion. And I'm a very opinionated person. 

So, it was a risk with Annabelle, but it was a risk like any other. I thought that going slow would change things for me, but I never really got used to the fact that one day, she could do what Mason did to her. That kind of thoughts dwelled in my mind for a long time, and besides affecting my paranoia greatly, the entire relationship suffered, which only worsened how I've already felt about this whole ordeal. 

Some can control their impulses and keep their feelings at bay, but I'm not 'some'. Things were often heated because of it. Well, things were heated one way or another, if you know what I mean. But once I accepted that if I'm going to throw tantrums, things will always go south, it was easier to accept that as long as we'll help each other thrive, as she likes to say it, there would be no major discrepancies. 

I never stopped throwing tantrums. It's such an essential part of me that I was not willing to give it up or repress it for anyone's sake. Sometimes I'd drive her mad with everything, but funny enough... She never found it as a deal-breaker. 

It's only one more thing to admire about her, honestly. Especially today, I'm wondering how does she have the patience to put up with me and understand that I may not be taking everything as lightly as some people, and at the same time, relaxingly and open-mindedly following Faust performance.

I don't remember this being advertised as a modernised version, but either way, I hate it. The devil doesn't even look mean, a vision to make Faust's girlfriend look like Cindy Lauper has been very poorly executed, and Faust is always turning towards the background instead of the audience. I don't even know what the guy looks like.

Who allowed this performance to happen?

I know that Annabelle perhaps has some sort of deeper appreciation for artistic stuff than me, so I don't want to nudge her and tell her how much the entire show sucks.

For the final act, Satan brings some sort of magic tricks with him, and it's the final straw for me. If Annabelle doesn't find this ridiculous, then I don't know what will convince her.

As I glance at her to check her reaction, she is not giving any kind of emotion away. From time to time she sighs, but she could just be so in love with the performance. The first time I got to see her ballet performance, I sounded like I had a severe asthma attack. Asthma would be fitting right now. The ambulance would take me away from this fucking horror show.

Annabelle next to me, in a mint dress that makes her look like Ariel, claps when the show ends, which makes me feel a little bit tense. She always wants to discuss movies, shows, even CSI: Miami episodes, and I know she'll want to discuss this as well. I don't want to shit over something that she clearly liked, the same way that she doesn't shit over Nazi Megastructures that I watch and fangirl about.

"Finally," she sighs and gets up from her seat before it's polite to do so for the opera's standards. 

I'm not the one to stop her, so I bounce right after her, smiling to myself because now I know we can trash talk the entire show together, and I don't have to keep any details to myself.