Earlier in the week, Gary said he wanted to cook for me this weekend so last night I went around to his wearing jeans and a new red jumper. When he opened the door, he looked me up and down, looked disappointed and made a comment about me not making any effort. He seemed irritable and quickly steered me to the table. When I entered the dining room I was surprised at how much effort he’d gone to. The table was beautifully set with a red table cloth, candles, heart confetti, posh plates and cutlery and even Adele playing in the background. I wondered if his slight moodiness was actually nerves.
We sat and ate the gorgeous dinner he made but then the atmosphere changed, probably fuelled by the alcohol he’d had and Gary started getting at me over nothing and he refused to back down. Eight times I tried to reach out to him, physically touching him as well as actually almost begging for him to stop being so shitty with me but he would not let go of whatever bee he got in his bonnet. It was ridiculous. In the end, he went into the living room and fell asleep on the sofa and I went up to bed alone. I laid there thinking about the number of times I went to bed alone when I was with Tom and how it felt just the same as that. We’re only a couple of weeks into dating and already he’s sleeping on the sofa and yet I stayed instead of getting a taxi home.