Hurt First

An Internet Dating Story

by Brad M. Bucklin

Paula lay next to me in bed, it was late evening on May 28th, after our third time having wall shaking sex. We had known each other a couple of weeks and our personal wounds were beginning to show. She stared at the ceiling, I watched her profile, her breasts heaving with breath. She was worried, worried that she would get hurt. I tried to pull her a little closer to me.

"I am concerned about getting hurt too." I empathized. "But do we let that stop us from having a relationship? Do we hole ourselves up and not let anyone in?"

"How can I be sure that you won’t hurt me?"

I knew she wanted me to say that it would never happen, yet I also knew that it wasn’t just up to me, that I couldn’t foretell the future. It certainly was not my nature to intentionally hurt anyone. Yet experience taught me that sometimes we are just two pain bodies full of past hurts and issues that lie buried until an offhand remark is made, a certain gesture. I didn’t know what those were for her, how could I?

For all the intimate details we knew of each others bodies we hadn’t known one another long enough to plumb the depths of our psyche’s. I tried to get a glimpse of her thoughts as she lay there.

"I think it is best that we enjoy each other now and not worry about the future just yet."

She was silent, then rolled towards me, searching for something with her eyes. I sensed distrust, a wariness that dissipated when she stroked my face and I kissed her palm.

We had met online, "You have a great smile," She wrote in an email, having seen my picture on a dating site. Not having her profile to look at, she sent her "statistics" and a blurry photo. Although she lived 30 miles away and was into red meat and motorcycles, our differences were intriguing. I thought I was ready to test the waters after my divorce.

Our first date was casual, she drove into town forty minutes to meet me. There was an immediate attraction. We smiled at each other and she gave me an unexpected hug. After watching a comedy show we talked a bit and then she had to head back. In the theatre parking lot I took the initiative, giving her a kiss before parting. Had I been too forward? I wondered; she had responded positively, so we both left with possibilities.

On our second date I drove out to Paula. She said she liked Delmonico’s, so I met her there. Feeling romantic and naturally wanting to impress her, I stopped to get a rose.

Perpetually on time, I got there first. It was five o’clock and the place was deserted. I told the hostess that I was expecting to meet someone and stood in the waiting area, too nervous to sit.

Paula wore a loose dress and an air of confidence. I handed her the rose and the hostess smiled.

"Anniversary?" She asked. We both fumbled a bit and laughed at the irony. After being escorted to a private booth, we sat next to one another as if we had been dating for months.

"I’m a co-dependent." She sipped her wine and I smiled, not sure the ramifications of her revelation. "I always seem to have relationships with Narcissists, I always pick them out in a crowded room."

I never considered myself a Narcissist, so was I the first to break the cycle? I was probably closer to being a co-dependent myself, but knew I had some homework to do because I wasn’t sure of either.

"I want to be able to go places, to do things whenever I feel like it. I want someone who has the freedom to enjoy trips, weekends away." She had ordered beef and I order chicken. At that moment, I felt that I could do that, yes I wanted to go places and do exciting things. I barely knew Paula and already I wanted to go away with her. Even while little voices went off in my head saying ‘slow down’ ‘take it easy’ ‘there will be time, there will be plenty of time.’

We still lay together my arm over her, I had been talking for awhile, she was silent. "I’m talking too much." I finally said.

"No, I like the sound of your voice." I drew silent.

"I want to take you to see The Producers on your birthday." Paula looked at me mischievously. I tried to be coy.

"That is certainly a generous offer, are you sure? Ticket’s must be expensive."

"I can afford it and I would like to do it for you."

"That would be nice." It had been a long time since a woman had found me as irresistible as she seemed to. Her hunger for me was exhilarating. My hunger for her was intoxicating.

She moved down my body, feeding on me, her mouth, her hands giving me pleasure I was not used to. It had always been hard for me to take pleasure without giving it.

One more time, we were body on body, exploring the infinite oneness, the unity, a taste of enlightenment.

I had to go out of town on family business right after our second date. We kept in touch by email. She wrote that she wanted to have me over to her place when I got back, that we could use the hot tub.

It motivated my return.

Her house was situated on a hill in a new development of nice homes on treeless plots. She stood by the garage waiting for me as I pulled into the driveway. I was late because of traffic and it being the first time out to that part of the valley.

She greeted me with a hug, led me in through the garage and introduced her two little Dachshunds to my feet. They scampered and wagged their tails as if I was a long time friend. She had said that her house was spare, she didn’t go in for frilly things. The living room was dominated by a pool table.

"That’s the only piece of furniture I took from my marriage." She offered.

In one corner there were a number of stuffed pillows and a huge stuffed bear. Next to the North wall was a shiny black piano. The walls had road signs and Harley emblems, one said Biker Bitch on it. The dining area held a big table surrounded by an eclectic mix of chairs. The wall facing the kitchen behind the dining table was gray with an intricate multi-colored pattern on it.

"It’s chalk." She said as I pondered it. "The whole wall is a big chalk board. My oldest daughter’s boyfriend did the design. He is quite talented."

The only pictures on the walls were photographs she had taken of buildings, scenery and motorcycles. Above the L-shaped couch in the family room were framed photo album covers and the shelves around the entertainment center were filled with unique pottery and art.

"What kind of music is your favorite?" I sat on the couch, the dogs immediately climbing up with me.

"I don’t know, nothing in particular." She seemed distant. She offered me a beer and we sat talking until it began getting dark. We kissed, I held her, then she attended to the hot tub, announcing that it was ready. I told her I brought my bathing suit, but she said she wasn’t going to wear one.

Her bedroom also looked out on the back yard with a large sliding door. She brought out some towels and I wrapped myself in one.

I hadn’t been in a hot tub in years. I swigged my beer, focusing on the warm water and Paula only a few feet away, naked in the moonlight. I rubbed her feet, reverting to an adolescent shyness, my mind not totally willing to accept the wonderful moment.

She massaged my feet in return and then pulled me to her. Without my glasses everything was a blur until her face was next to mine. She kissed me, her tongue intruding at every chance it could. She held me, I held her. I cupped her breasts, bigger than I had been used to in my life and perfect at the same time. We slipped and teased and groped. Exploring our edges and boundaries.

"Let’s go into the bedroom." She finally said.

The certainty of what was to follow left me breathless.

That weekend we took a drive out to Ojai, which, from where she lived, only took about half an hour through back roads where she rode her Harley. I asked her why she wanted to be with me when I didn’t ride.

"We don’t have to like all the same things." She left it at that.

It was a time of discovery for both of us, finding out who each one of us was. We browsed the art galleries and admired the same pieces, but there was an aloofness about her exploration. I was trying to get a fix, discern her tastes, likes and dislikes, but it was not easy, she gave very few clues. Nothing seemed to strike her emotionally, everything was on the surface.

We looked for a place to eat and settled for a restaurant we passed on the way into town. The weather was perfect, sunny breezy, warm but not too warm. We sat outdoors and ordered a pizza. It had to be half and half because she wanted all meat and I wanted vegetarian.

"We are so different in our tastes." She commented.

Our differences came up again a week later, when, on a rainy and dreary Saturday, we drove out to Glendale to meet with her daughter and boyfriend.

Settling into a diner style restaurant, George, the boyfriend and I ordered healthy meals while Paula and her daughter, Gretchen ordered meat and cheese.

"Sherman and I have very different tastes."

After finishing, we walked out into the drizzle. I took off my light jacket and held it over Paula’s head so she wouldn’t get wet.

"That’s so nice of you. Look Gretchen, see, he is a real gentleman." It was as if she was vying for her daughters approval or disapproval.

Back at her place we played with the dogs, she made some salad and we sat in front of the television cuddling and watching a movie.

"Why don’t you move in? You can move in all your stuff and work here, commute to your office by train. You could be my boy toy." It was a flattering offer, although unusual since we hadn’t known each other more than a few weeks.

"Where would I put my stuff? Your house is organized and every room accounted for."

"I’ll clean out the front room, you can have that." It appeared she was serious.

"It’s a little early to be talking about me moving in, isn’t it?"

She brought the subject up at least four or five times in the following couple of weeks. I kept avoiding it, but couldn’t deny that the idea wasn’t tempting.

The weekend of my birthday was the first time she spent at my tiny apartment. I had just bought a brand new mattress and we broke it in. I hadn’t ever known a woman so insatiable. We would part, spent and soaking the sheets, laughing, teasing each other, sleep or try to sleep for awhile and then she would tease me awake. After midnight she leaned over me saying... "It’s your Birfday, it’s your Birfday." I was sore and sleepy, but it was my birthday after all. She straddled me as I continued to lie on my back. The bed creaked and I wondered if the noise was too much for that early in the morning.

Lack of sleep made us both a bit groggy when it came time to get ready for the Matinee of The Producers.

Paula slipped into a long, cotton, brown and gold dress. She called her daughter and they talked while I used the bathroom and put on a good shirt and sports jacket with black pants.

Things seemed easy with her at that moment. Even though I was feeling worn and a bit spaced out, I was ready to enjoy the gift she had so graciously given me.

I drove. We planned to eat at a restaurant that I knew near the theatre. The day unfolded as if we had been having a relationship for months instead of weeks. The show, the meal, her company, it was all more than I had experienced with a woman in years.

I had almost forgotten what she had said to me that night in May. Lying next to each other, my arm under my head. Her staring at the ceiling.

"I am afraid of being hurt, that I will be hurt or hurt you."

"I am worried about being hurt too."

"I had a boyfriend, after my divorce. He was bad for me, very narcissistic and I was very vulnerable. After getting out of the institution...."

"Institution?" That was something I did not expect.

"I checked myself into an institution a year ago, when I was having a nervous break down. I couldn’t put a sentence together and my mind was going a thousand miles an hour." She wanted to put it all out there and that was good, but I think she also wanted to gauge my reaction. She chose to get help, that sounded healthy. It was a year ago after all....

"When I got out, I was still very fragile and my old boyfriend called me. We got back together, it was a big mistake." Little warning bells started ringing in my head.

"How long ago was this?"

"Six months,"

She had been wounded, but more than that, she had been devastated by her own past and patterns. How did I even fit into this picture? Was sex just an outlet for her, a release valve? While grateful for it, it could never define a relationship for me, or could it? Paula was both a force of restraint and unrealized emotion.

"He lives a mile from my house, just down the road."

"So, you could run into him while doing your shopping?"

"He works up north and is never here."

She moved to look at me and, once again, stroke my face.

"Who am I with now?" She asked matter of factly. I kissed her as an answer.

"I want to go to Santa Barbara for the fourth of July weekend. I want to splurge. I don’t want a relationship where I can’t do things with the person I am with. Do you want to go? I will take care of everything."

The idea was tempting.

"That’s if we still like each other in a month." She smiled and kissed me again.

"Of course, if we still like each other."

Where were we? I was captivated, bothered and falling more and more for this bundle of contradictions and doubts.

I spent the next few weekends, and some week nights at Paula’s place, driving the 45 minutes into the deep valley, around the strange rocky hills that formed the gateway to Simi. One weekend she went up to Washington with her daughter for her daughters boyfriends birthday. She paid for their trip and spent the week by the snake river.

While she was gone we talked three or four times a day, the conversation always lively, full of sexual innuendo. We both couldn’t wait to see each other.

The day they returned I drove up to surprise Paula. I knew that they had been traveling for most of the day so I stopped and got a pizza, arriving only minutes before them. Paula was pleasantly surprised, but white as a ghost.

"I am sick, I have to go in and lie down." We hugged briefly and she rushed into the house.

I retrieved the pizza from my car and helped her daughter’s boyfriend take their luggage into the house. After a judicious amount of time, talking with them and eating pizza, I went to check on Paula. She was running between the bed and the bathroom. I got a wet wash cloth and put it on her forehead, wiping her face and holding her hand.

"I have never had a man do this for me before." She whispered running to the bathroom once more. On her way back she grabbed a towel. Wearing only a white t-shirt, it was difficult to not see the outline of her breasts, her perfect legs and bare lower extremities. How could I justify my rising passion when she lay there sick and suffering? I sat staring into her face, asking what she needed. She suddenly sat up, but didn’t make it to the bathroom, using the towel to stop the flow.

"You have seen me at my worst." She quipped.

"It is ok, I don’t mind and will stay as long as you want me to."

She rested and I went into the living room. Her daughter and her daughters boyfriend had left by that time so we were alone.

I watched television uneasily, checking on Paula every few minutes. I had early appointments in the morning and knew I couldn’t stay, but I didn’t want to leave her alone in her condition either.

She was sleeping fitfully when I came in around 9:30.

"Do you want me to stay with you overnight?" I placed another cold compress on her forehead and put a small plastic bucket, I had found in the laundry room, by her bed.

"I feel miserable, I must look awful."

"No one looks good when they are sick."

"I don’t want you to see me like this."

"Too late." I smiled.

"Go home, I will be alright. Laurie is coming back tomorrow. There is no reason you have to stay." In a way I felt relieved, and at the same time I wanted to stay and take care of her. I chastised myself for thinking so selfishly.

"I want to stay."

"There is nothing you can do that you haven’t already done." She tried to smile. There was such a feeling of affection, dare I say love, that came over me seeing her lying there. Was it love?

She rolled over and tried to sleep.

Had I done enough? Having to do it again, I would have stayed all week if I needed to.

I called her in the morning. She said she felt better but hadn’t stopped puking until 4 in the morning. Now she was just drained.

That night was the first time we had been together since our third date, where we hadn’t had sex and I felt it was a turning point in the relationship where it could become more substantial. Caring might now extend beyond whether the other person had come or not. There was still a huge physical attraction, but I thought we could start working towards companionship.

Now I was looking forward to our fourth of July weekend more than ever.

Late Thursday the third of July I picked Paula up at her house.

"I wasn’t sure if you would really come. I was afraid that you were going to use the opportunity to dump me."

"What ever gave you that idea?"

"I don’t know. I guess my insecurity."

I dispelled her fears as best I could. A short debate followed, about who should drive, this resulted in using my car, which was appropriate. Besides I had washed it for the occasion. The drive to Santa Barbara was an hour from her house and we found the resort with one slight detour.

Driving into the villa style entrance way of Bacara, lined with Rolls Royces, Maserattis and Mercedes was a bit intimidating; here we were in my Honda Accord. The place was beautiful, elegant and expensive.

I had a twinge of apprehension, this was more lavish than I had anticipated and was feeling out of place.

At check-in the clerk had us under Paula’s last name, Sumner.

"Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Sumner." Neither one of us corrected her. Paula seemed to get a kick out of it.

The whole place was built like a hillside Mediterranean village with separate buildings and steep walkways. After a brief tour we were shown to our quarters on the ground floor of building 24. We had a small patio that was private and overlooked the lawn on the south side of the complex.

The room was smaller than I had anticipated, but it was very tastefully done with marble and wood trim that made it cozy.

Most of the weekend was spent, amid tangled sheets, but we did venture out now and then. On the fourth of July we went down to one of the restaurants by the pool and sat on the patio, as close to the beach as possible. We ordered food and drinks and sat for hours relishing in each others company. As it got dark, we stood by the balcony, anticipating the fire works.

"How do you feel?" She looked mischievously into my eyes.

"I feel great, this is beautiful..."

"How do you feel about me? What do you feel?"

I knew what she wanted to hear, she wanted me to profess my love. I was trying to be playful and a bit mysterious, yet I didn’t want to say something that I didn’t believe.

She had a few glasses of wine and her emotional walls were breaking down. Although playful, she insisted on an answer. We kissed and whispered, talked and parried.

"I think that my money is going to be an issue."

"Your money? Why would that be an issue?"

"It usually is. Do you know how much money I have?"

"No." This was an odd turn of conversation. "I really don’t care."

"Oh, but you will. Money always seems to be an issue."

"It is not an issue for me. I would like you if you didn’t have a dime."

"How do you feel about me.... I have to know."

"I love you." The words were true for the moment. Something touched me, a vulnerability? "I have never been with an unsuccessful man." Now, I wasn’t sure how to take that. I really did start thinking about her money, and knew that the issue really wasn’t about her having money, it was that I didn’t.

"I am not as financially successful as you." I countered. "But I feel I am successful in many other ways.

"I will help you be successful. You can write and I will be your muse."

Sounded like a good plan. But I had the nagging suspicion that there remained expectations I was still unaware of.

We watched the fireworks, holding each other, then went back to the room. Paula’s digital camera came in handy as we romped until early in the morning, sleeping only after total exhaustion.

In the morning we ordered breakfast, much more than both of us could eat, but we sat on the patio and consumed cereal, bagels, eggs, bacon. Paula’s robe fell open and there was no reason to close it. We were decadent and free. Yet as we talked, I could hear her distance returning. She joked about the way I pushed my cereal around in the bowl.

"You are such a geek." she said.

I was overwhelmed by her passion and her attention, but the roots of it all ran deep into darkened and polluted soil.

The next day, we spent in a Cabana by the pool. Paula invited her daughter to join us since she was only a few miles away.

It was quiet and relaxing, having ordered lunch, we sat talking idly. Laura seemed reserved and cautious but I liked her.

Paula and I went to settle a bet on who could swim faster.

"I will so kick your butt." She said playfully as we rolled in bed. "I was a swimming champion."

"I am sorry, but I don’t think so. I have been swimming since I was five."

The issue was brought up at least four time in the weeks prior to the fourth. Now it was time for the challenge.

It was late afternoon and the pool was almost empty. An elderly man did lazy laps the length of the pool and some children played at the shallow end. We took up our positions towards the middle marker, waiting for a clear path.

"Go" we were off. I felt badly, I could have let her win, but I took her challenges as real, that might have been a mistake.

We took turns lapping the pool underwater. She dunked me a few times, we played, but her mood was even more challenging and edgy.

"You are such a geek." She smiled but I wasn’t sure how to take it. "You are my geek."

Had I been mistaking anger for playfulness?

That evening we took a walk along the beach, she took her camera and snapped some pictures. Taking our shoes off, we let the sand squish between our toes and danced with the waves as the tide started to come in.

Back in the room we discovered that the bottoms of our feet were spotted with oil. The sand was full of it, leaked, no doubt, from the oil rig that sat off shore. We decided to take a bath and, while laying in the bubbles together, scrubbed each others feet. Then just lay back with her nestled into me like a human easy chair. It was the best moment of the whole weekend.

The next morning was our last at Bacara, we tried to have sex but were both exhausted. We walked around the resort, went to the bar for a beer and watched a wedding party argue among themselves. We stopped in the boutique so she could look around. She wasn’t impressed.

"Prices are too high." That was the dichotomy of her issue with money

"If I spent all my money tomorrow, I know I could make it back within a year." Yet she often acted like she never had enough. True, she had offered to splurge on this weekend, but it was soon evident that there was a price to be paid.

By eleven, a cart came to pick us up. While it was sad to leave, we were both ready in our own way. I told Paula, I wanted to go to the gift shop and she said she would meet me there after taking care of the bill.

What happened at the gift shop was the beginning of the end, the opening of old wounds from our pasts.

I went in with the intention of buying a souvenir for my son and perhaps something else to remember the great weekend. I considered the options for a while and then decided to get a few gifts so I could give them to those people I wanted. I thought it would be nice to give something to Paula, but wasn’t sure which one was best. I bought two t-shirts and a hat emblazoned with the Bacara logo.

Paula came in and we looked around together. She saw a $150 bottle of perfume and I thought of buying it for her, even though my funds were getting a bit low. As the cashier was ringing me up I asked Paula if she wanted anything in particular. She said no, so we began the drive back to her house.

The whole ride back we didn’t speak. My mind was filled with memories of the weekend and our unbridled lust. I thought she was being quiet out of exhaustion. I talked a bit, reached over and squeezed her leg and rubbed her neck, but she was peculiarly un-responsive.

When we got to her house I unloaded her bags and we stood in the kitchen. The garbage was ripe so I offered to take it out but she didn’t want me to do anything, she said she was very angry.

I was shocked, I hadn’t a clue. I immediately started going over things in my mind. What had I done? This was eerily reminiscent of times when my ex-wife would get upset at something I said or did and I was oblivious. I certainly didn’t do anything intentionally.

"What, what did I do?"

"It is happening all over again. I put myself out there and get nothing, nothing in return. I should have expected it."

"I don’t understand." The room, the world was growing gray.

"You bought something for yourself and for your son...but."

Like a thunder clap it hit me. I had forgotten to give her the t-shirt. I hadn’t even figured out which one to give her yet. But she was right. I had unpacked the car and made no mention of it, nor any move to give her anything. I felt like a rat. Like an ungrateful bastard.

"I have something for you in the car."

"No, you are just trying to appease me now. You had no intention of giving me anything."

I did have the intention, I had thought about it in the gift shop and on the way home, but I hadn’t acted on it and that was what was important. I could see that anything I said or did from that point on would be pointless, she had made up her mind. But, like a fool, I tried.

"I bought you a Bacara T-shirt, I will get it."

"Don’t bother, I won’t wear it."

"Please, I bought a t-shirt and I want you to have it."

"You didn’t buy it for me. You didn’t say, I am buying this shirt for Paula. You bought it for your son."

"I bought more than one t-shirt, and I bought a hat. I like to collect hats. The second t-shirt is for you." She had a point though, I wasn’t sure which t-shirt I was going to give her.

"It isn’t the t-shirt, in fact it would have been better if you hadn’t bought anything at all. But to go and buy things just for yourself, that hurts. I told you that was what all the men in my life have done, ignored me."

"I certainly didn’t ignore you." My mind was racing. I didn’t want to be classified with all the other men in her life. I wasn’t a narcissist, I truly did care and didn’t want to end such a perfect weekend this way. She started pushing me out the door.

"I want to be alone now." I struggled with ways of making amends.

"I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you."

"That’s what makes it all the more painful. You didn’t even think about your actions."

It seemed I was to be damned anyway I looked at it.

"The little hairs stand up on the back of my neck when I know you aren’t telling the truth." Guilty, I was guilty of not being more decisive. Now I was paying the price.

We stood in her doorway. It was sunny but it seemed cloudy to me. I tried holding her, finally she let me as I reiterated my apologies.

"I should say goodbye and never see you again." She was serious and that hurt so much I thought I had been gut punched.

"Well, at least you gave me a rose."

"Please, don’t let this ruin the weekend, our relationship, we can work through this. I believe that we are worth working through it." I stayed there until she agreed to try and get past it. I reluctantly got in my car and drove down her hill.

The whole ride home I beat and abused myself. Playing everything back in my head, why I hadn’t bought that perfume for her? Then everything would have been alright.

The next few days we talked and emailed. She was very distant on the phone, but finally after her therapy session on Thursday e-mailed and apologized. She had been projecting onto me traits of other men who had disappointed her, and it wasn’t fair.

We spent the next two weekends together and the incident seemed to be behind us. I brought her with me to one of my network meetings where I won a trip to Catalina. I told her I never win anything and that she was good luck.

"Who are you going to take?"

"You of course."

"You don’t have to take me, you know."

"I want to take you."

A week later it was over.

"I went on line and saw that your profile was still up and that it had been accessed within the past 24 hours." Once again, I didn’t know what to say. I had received a few brief contacts from people who saw my profile but hadn’t responded. Trying to reassure her was like pushing a boulder uphill.

I went up on Tuesday to see her, comfort her. The minute I walked in the door she pulled off my belt and climbed on top of me. I resisted.

"Do you know how much you mean to me." I held her hand which had started probing my legs. She smiled and said nothing, pushing harder, trying to grope me. I stopped her and tried to make her listen.

"I mean it, do you know what you mean to me. I want to make this work. I want it to be about us, not just you or just me, but about us. Is that alright with you?"

"Yes." Her groping was becoming unbearable. "I want you inside me."

"Do you know how I feel?’ She did not answer, but was undressed and ready. I couldn’t resist. I told her I loved her, she was silent. But once again we had earthshattering sex.

Wednesday I called her after my writers meeting, but she wasn’t answering her phone. When I got home, there was a message that she wanted me to come to her. On my way, she called me again, asking why I wasn’t there yet. She seemed to be drunk.

On my arrival there was no preamble, just her spread out on her bed. I could smell the wine, and she complained that her stomach bothered her. In the morning we had sex again, not realizing, as one never does, that this would be the last time.

I had to go to work so we both left early. She did not kiss me goodbye. That night I called and she was even more distant than usual.

"I didn’t want to do this over the phone. I have things that I want to say."

I should have taken the hint and driven up there immediately, even though it was close to eleven pm.

"You can tell me, what is it?" A few minutes of hemming and hawing, then...

"I really can’t get over the fourth of July and then your profile still being up. I don’t want to see you anymore."

Another punch to the gut.

"I think those are just excuses, I thought we were working past those things."

"I can’t. Besides the my money is going to be an issue."

"How is that going to be an issue?"

"I am going to want to take trips and do things, I want someone who can pay their own way."

"I can pay my own way." I knew what she was driving at, but was unprepared for her to say it outright.

"You don’t make enough money. You don’t own a house or your car." It might have been more painful if she said I was a lousy lover, that she didn’t like my face, but to reject me because of money, that seemed, shallow and the cruelest cut of all.

I tried to reason with her for a while but I knew it was futile. She had made up her mind and started to cry, which was the first time she had expressed an emotion in front of me. It made me want her all the more as it always does.

After we hung up I was empty, sad, angry, confused. Over the next few weeks I tried calling her but she would not answer. I emailed her, with long passionate passages that included quotes from the book she had given me on my birthday. Then she blocked my email. I did not understand, I had never felt so rejected. I dropped off gifts to her house, including the Catalina trip I won, the Bacara t-shirts. I wanted her to have them all. It was a vain attempt at connecting with her, trying to communicate.

Weeks passed, still no communication. Her birthday was fast approaching and I wanted to do something special. I still wanted her back. I arranged for roses to be sent over a four day period and finally a gift on the last day. I set up an alternate email address and wrote her a brief note.

She wrote back, saying that she never wanted me to contact her again in any form and that she was very serious about it. I didn’t know what made her so angry, but she blocked that email address as well.

My friends all had advice and my therapist offered a clinical point of view, but I was stuck on her, I wanted there to be a ray of hope.

I knew that there was going to the opening of one of her projects, a gallery. I had met the artist and co-owner so I asked if I could come and he said he would send an invitation.

A few days before I got an answer from Paula.

"You are not invited. If you attempt to come you will be considered trespassing and the police will be called." Trespassing? Police? What had I done? The mystery was deep. Why did Paula, the one who was so afraid of being hurt, go out of her way to be so mean?

I acknowledge my naivete and my yearning, but I never stepped over the line.

As we lay together after sex a month earlier, she said softly...

"I have some of you in me now."

"Yes," I said, "But do you know what I want?" She did not answer.

"I want this." Pointing to her heart, I put my ear to her breast.

"I want to dedicate myself to us, what do you think?" She remained silent. It was then I needed to see clearly, to understand the silences. To know that when everything was said and done we always hurt ourselves first.