Toxic love during the pandemic

It was in the simplest things that he could manage to make implode; like as if he had no cognizance of what normal was and his only fleeting escape would be the blame he could place on the one he claimed to love. It was through her simple "I missed you last night. I really wanted to hug you," in its sincerest sense of yearning that would soon be the chess piece in his game of purposeful guilt-inducement.

"I understand. Lonely," he replies nonchalantly, after taking a five-minute pause behind the blinking cursor. Calculated. Strategic. His answer is as cold as fingers circling on crisp bathroom floors in the middle of November, and lacking in the personal want to reciprocate her feeling of longing. To another, it would seem that he is the lost boy, too unconcerned with the details involved in the mere ability to possess the empathy required to fathom how to respond; he, an innocent in the name of not having had healthy relationships prior to his meeting her. It would appear this would have been the satisfactory goal in being achieved, and it would appear that the actor he had convinced himself he was, was merely the sing-song version of convincing the narcissist that the poison spewed is not termed abusive.

"You don't have to say things that you feel would comfort me,” she defends softly, careful not to lose herself in the now ever-growing feeling of guilt and shame. “I know it makes you uncomfortable.” It was a moronic effort to even reach out in the first place. She should have known better; she should have known that the truest sense of love would not have to be premeditated to procure the responses she burns for - that of which she is starved of, not to her surprise.

"It's not that. I just need to think before I speak." A pathetic attempt to gaslight.

"What's there to think so much about from my expression of wanting to share a hug with you last night?” she asks, desperate to rid herself of the disbelief. Before him, she had felt like she could have conquered any battle in the pursuit of wanting. With him the burden of self-doubt lay heavy on her chest – is it so hard to feel like I am worth the romance? “And, well… if I was a guy, I think I'd simply say 'I miss you too and I wish I could give you those hugs.'" It was far from rocket science but the slight pang in her stomach made her feel like maybe it would be easier to explain the latter than deal with half-reciprocated love and a dash of resentment.

"Just. I seem to say so much that offends you, so I'm trying to be careful with what I say." For a moment she thinks to herself, what could be so offensive in a simple reply to a longing for the simplest act of human embrace? From a hug from him? It was no secret that she had purposefully been avoiding him due to the unfortunate pandemic that plagued the country, and that he was the greatest advocate for conspiracies against human rights, but solely from behind his devices. It was clear that he had much to say but too little will to allow himself the expression. Was he truly afraid of the repercussions of his words, and for what reason did his view of replying honestly have to be synonymous with being offensive? He had a talent in turning the simple act of common flirtation into an evaluation session of one’s worth. They had scheduled to meet at a safer time, but it quickly dawned on her that his expression of any feeling from the aching of her absence would be clouded by the silent anger in the judgement of her choices.