Cliché (Andy Biersack)

No Wonder He Cheated

There's something so cliché about every single love story. Whether it's the love at first sight narrative, or friends to lovers, or enemies turned lovers, they are all a means to the same end. You fall in love, then you love and then your heart breaks when it eventually all goes to shit. You always find yourself feeling so lucky to have found 'the one', gaslighting yourself into believing that this is it and that you can see your whole life with this person. Your soulmate. It's such a stupid word, soulmate. And when your so-called soulmate decides that you are no longer theirs and they cheat on you, you find yourself being the victim of the world's biggest tragedy, because no one has ever felt such a great heart ache as you. It's quite selfish, isn't it?

If you're wondering what the hell is wrong with the narrator of this story and who hurt her, then let me tell you that the answer is right there. I am one of those selfish little assholes who sees their breakup as the literal end of the world. I don't know why he suddenly felt that I was not enough. It can't be an age thing. I'm not even thirty yet and the assistant he cheated on me with is older than me. He didn't feel the need to dignify my questions with any answers, he just told me what he did and that it was over. He was kind enough to pack my stuff and throw me out of our apartment.

Right now, I'm staying with my parents again for the first time in almost ten years. Now, that's a real tragedy. Especially, if your parents are the type to have gone through all the cliché notions of a perfect relationship. I think they still tell each other 'I love you' every day and it's disgusting. I am truly fed up with hearing my mom ask me when I'm getting back together with Michael, the afore mentioned ex.

I keep telling her that it's never going to happen, and she relentlessly keeps repeating how big of a shame it is because he was such a nice guy. If he were a nice guy, he wouldn't have cheated on me, mom. She knows what he did and still she keeps defending him. The lowest blow she handed me was when she said: "Honey, if this is how you were when you were with him, it's no wonder he cheated on you with his secretary. You've been wearing the same pair of sweatpants for a month, and you really ought to wash and brush your hair. There are pieces of potato chips from last week tangled up in there. No man will ever want to date you if this is how you look."

Yeah, my mom deserves the mother of the year award or something. I didn't deem her jabs worthy of an answer. I always kicked her out of my room and locked the door. Why should I care how I look if I'm never dating anyone again? I'm beyond done with relationships. One good thing that came from this whole shitstorm of a disaster - I've been feeling inspired to paint more. Thank God for that because I still have to do my job. Luckily, as a painter I don't have an office where I have to show up every day. My studio is my office. My paintings never judge me for how I look. And they never nag me either. Maybe I should consider staying there instead of my old room in our family home.

My mother knocked on my door one day and I told her to leave. She knocked again and I growled, getting out of bed, and unlocking the stupid door.
"What do you want?" I asked her.

"Go shower and wash your hair. We have guests for dinner. Wear something nice," she said. I gave her an incredulous stare and her gaze hardened. "NOW," she raised her voice at me. I held up my hands in defeat and did what she asked. I hopped in my shower and after washing out the second round of shampoo from my hair, I put on a shitload of conditioner. As I waited for the conditioner to do its thing, I shaved. I wrapped my hair in a towel after being done and put on a bra for the first time in weeks. It felt foreign and uncomfortable. I sighed as I put on my nice jeans, one of the rare ones without any paint on them. I opted for a blouse with a floral print. I regarded myself in a full-body mirror and scoffed. The guests better be important if I'm forced to leave the comfort of my sweatpants and hoodie.

I brushed my teeth and then I finally released my hair from the constraints of the now wet towel. I put in my earphones before I started drying my copper mane. My hair was what I liked the best about myself. I had naturally curly and ginger hair. It was hard to maintain though. I sang along to the music in my ears as I dried and brushed out all the knots that have formed in there in the past few weeks.