I’ll Take It Black - “Virginia Is For Lovers Pt. 3”
I never gave bobby pins much thought. Probably, because, at the time, I could barely do my hair. So when I noticed a pile of them on his nightstand, I immediately began to shake. Grabbing them to inspect for clues, as if that was even necessary. It took me less than a second, and no close observation, to notice they were black. My hair is red, for anyone that doesn’t know, bright red actually. An indicator, for anyone that knows anything, that I’d use brown bobby pins. You know, in an effort to achieve maximum camouflage? Not to say I don’t have a few random colored ones in my bag, left behind by my best friend, but 9 of them?! There was no way those were mine! Right..?
“What’re you doing?” he asked as he walked in the room, throwing his body on the bed. “Whose bobby pins are these?” I accused, zero thought given to my approach. My hand held out, displaying my find in an attempt to catch an “oh fuck!” face. “What do you mean? Those are yours. Who else's would they be?” The response and tone were so flawlessly, matter-of-fact, I couldn’t help questioning myself. Was I trippin’? Had I left them here after all? The text I had previously seen slipped my mind as I fell into defense mode. Afraid to act crazy, to show my insecurity. Afraid to be wrong.
“But I don’t even use black bobby pins. So that can’t be true,” I pressed, my voice resonating with uncertainty. “I don’t know, Syd. They have to be yours,” his tone implying this was the end of the conversation. I didn’t believe him, well, not exactly. But I also didn’t feel I had enough hard evidence to keep pushing. I know what you’re thinking, why didn’t I just cut him off, right? The answer wasn’t that easy though. Or maybe, in retrospect, it was. Largely summed up to me being young, stupid, and yet to realize my self worth. I was over being weak and naive. Claiming victim to my choice of dating an apparent fuckboy.
It was time to take my best friends advice and start holding my cards in my back pocket, at least until I was ready to play my hand. So that’s exactly what I did. The next day after work I sped to his house, trying to maximize the time I had before he got home. I knew in order for my gameplan to work, I needed to solidify a few facts. Specifically, the amount of condoms he had in his underwear drawer. If there was anything I knew, it was that he wasn’t sleeping with anyone unprotected. Making it a no brainer, at least for me, to count them and then repeat in a day or two for easy confirmation. On top of that, he was a habitual vacuum’er. Which, to a crazy person, translated to, “get on your hands and knees and search for hair”.
You’re probably thinking I’m crazy, which is fine. I’d rather be crazy than disrespected. Plus, to my defense, my search for hair was, unfortunately, massively successful. Finding small clum ps of it (black hair, obviously!) balled up all over the ground, right next to the bed. This fuckboy bitch was trying to play me and I was going to prove it! Sometimes I forget that men are dumber than women, at least as it relates to certain things. More specifically, cheating. So as I stressed myself out, searching and stalking his IG. Waiting for his break times, or for him to wake up, so I could stalk his “likes” for potential clues to who “Jasmine” was. He was dropping the ball on covering his tracks. Too high to do the “did she leave anything” sweep, before going to bed.
It didn’t take long for me to find Instagram. It took me even less time to confirm via her bathroom selfies, that we worked in the same building. “Fan-fucking-tastic,” I thought to myself, “I’m gonna have to beat a bitches ass at the job.” Him and I had made plans to have a “date night” of sorts, so it was time for me to bail or check my shitty attitude. I decided to do the latter. I mean, who wants to miss out on taco night? I had been in his apartment a total of 2 minutes when I saw it laying on the ground. A heart shaped necklace with purple crystal in it, the jewelry store kind, not Forever 21. The room turned red as my imagination, jumping right to thoughts of the various ways this could have been separated from its chain.
I gathered my things, jewelry in hand and went to wait in my car until he got home. It was time for him to learn how fucked up he had me.