Trust Me…

April 22, 2013 at 2:55 am (Sweet sticky things)

Rain and I have been seeing each other for going on three years now. About a year ago, we had a dust-up and I took a little break. Since then we have reconnected, consider ourselves a couple, for what it’s worth, and she has pledged fidelity to me.

While I wouldn’t call Rain a liar, she’s not known for letting the truth get in the way of a good story. I have been present at some of the events she has described to me, and they are fascinating. Factual? Well… Based in fact. Mostly.



That has gotten better over time. We have taken chances on each other. We have a good time together. She seems to care about me. It’s not just what I can do for her anymore. However, I have had my guard up for so long I didn’t know if I could let it down. I wanted to believe, but I am as skeptical as one can get without being deranged. Dr T calls me paranoid. I tell him maybe so, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get me.

Rain has been couch-surfing for months since losing her apartment. There’s no point rehashing that; it’s over and time to move on. Except she’s found nowhere to move to. After exhausting her shelter options, she began staying with friends. She discovered how many true friends she had. The hard way. She called one night and asked if she could stay with me. My voice showed no hesitation, but I was conflicted inside. I didn’t fear for my family’s safety. I didn’t really fear getting ripped off. If I had money she would know.

I think I was worried my last place of sanctuary would no longer be mine…

Rain first came to my house last Thanksgiving. We were both alone, so we hooked up and celebrated in a most non-traditional way. After that, she came by when she felt like it, always going somewhere else to sleep. I bought a single bed for space reasons, but I think there was some self-preservation going on. If there were room, she’d never leave.

As her options dwindled, I wondered; could we spend long periods of time in what amounts to a luxury jail cell without shivving each other? We both smoke like steam shovels, her cigarillos and my, well, you know. If I’m home, there’s usually a cosmic utensil within reach.

So we tried. I’d gone to the grocery store, gave her some money to go see The Man, and we went points east. Commuters used to my sullen expression and jet-level earphone-bleed were surprised to see me sitting in the back of the bus, holding hands with an ebony goddess. Frederick, an old black dude Dr T thinks looks like a giant Ewok, gave me a big laugh. “Boy, look what you got! Hoo, he got him a live one!” Rain gave him a hug, which did nothing to hurt her approval rating with Frederick.

The first time she stayed I barely slept. Uncomfortable in my chair, she fell out once or twice. She kept nodding off while sitting on the edge of the bed. I was concerned she’d catch the place on fire. After a couple days of this, I was ready for some space. And some sleep.

Problem! I couldn’t fucking sleep if I didn’t know she was okay. I’d awaken and look to the chair. I texted her: “You okay?”

“Yeah, can’t sleep here either. Wish I was at your place.”

“Why don’t you come.”

So we played Tetris, not on the computer but on my single bed. She tried sleeping with her head at my feet. I figured her olfactory senses wouldn’t be able to take that for long, and I’d probably end up kicking her in the head. So we settled into a spooning position, and it worked. She was comfortable, I was guaranteed a lapdance that would last all night with a booty I adored. What could be the problem? Her head cut off circulation to my arm. After about an hour, my left arm was frozen in place over my head.

Back to the chair, Missy.

While we were sitting around talking, she played with her smartphone while I surfed the internet. “Hey babe, help me with something,” she asked.


“I need to fix my passwords.”

“I can do that,” I said.

And thus began my moral quandary.

I opened her email account quickly enough; she’d forgotten one letter. I checked everything out, nothing untoward. Messages in her inbox? 6,700 or so. Almost all spam.

“Can you get rid of all that? Just save the songs I’ve emailed to myself, (Youtube links) and stuff that you think I’d really want to keep. Ditch the rest.”

I scanned the page, selected and archived the Youtube stuff. I started deleting spam. “There’s a lot of stuff here. Can I do this later? Promise I will.”

“Yeah, sure.” Then she must have forgotten all about it.

Last night, I got a text from her in the middle of the night. “I’m stuck out in Gresham, walking back down Burnside. Cold and angry, fucking max. Call me so I have someone to talk to?”

I got this message about six hours too late. I sent her a text: “Still walking?”

While I awaited her reply, I remembered my promise to clean up her email account. I opened it, and began deleting. I saw nothing suspicious, just lots of crap. To me, anyway. Talk about a coupon queen, but it explained why there was never a shortage of household products at her apartment.

Then it occurred to me. If I wanted to see what she was up to, check her Sent file. So I did.

And there it was, the smoking gun. An email to her ex-boyfriend, a short, direct and very dirty request. A desperate request. My stomach flipped, and I felt kicked in the nuts. I took a couple deep breaths.

My phone rang, it was Rain. I took another deep breath and said hello.

“Hi babe, I got a ride, I’m down in Old Town.”

“I’m here cleaning out your email, like I said I would.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you’d be going in there.”

“I can get out if you want.” I logged out immediately.

She asked me about something.

“I don’t know, I’ll log back in and look. It’s mostly a lot of crap. Would you like me to block some of these? I mean, Pampers? Really?”

“I do babysit once in a while. Don’t block anything, just throw shit away.”


Sounds like permission to snoop to me!

Except I didn’t, really. I scanned through them quickly, finding old ones I’d sent her, but not much else. I looked at the message in the Sent file again. I could delete it, but that would serve no purpose. I looked at the date. It was during the time we fought, and I’d decided to take a break. I got around some. Not cool to use a double standard here.

So it wasn’t what I saw, but what I didn’t see that had me mushing up like a distraught schoolgirl. My hard-knock baby was giving it to me straight.

On this date two years ago I lost my older sister, got drunk and got into a fight with Rain. Last year was “the break”. This year I hope things are a little more lovey-dovey. We could both use a little more love and less attitude.

So, next to the naughty email to her ex-dreamboat, I checked the star function. She will know I have seen it. That’s all I want to say to her about that. Since she’s told me I am hers, and she mine, there has been no one else.

Guess I should start having some faith, huh?

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