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MidReal Story
The Truth About My Girl
Scenario:When I first started dating Emmy, I thought she was perfect. Sweet, caring, and easy to be around. But over time, her mask slipped.
A year into our relationship, and she’s turned into someone I barely recognize. Arrogant, critical, and always reminding me how her ex did everything better. Every little thing I do feels like a mistake.
Tonight is no different. I’m late picking her up after her girls’ night, thanks to the traffic. The moment I see her, she’s already scowling.
“Seriously? My ex would’ve been here early—and he wouldn’t be driving a crap car like this!”
Create my version of this story
Jamie Bennett
boyfriend, relationships with Emmy and friends, average build, brown hair, conflicted and patient
Emmy Knight
girlfriend, relationship with Jamie and friends, slender with blonde hair, initially sweet but now critical
Natalia Hayes
mutual friend of Jamie and Emmy, supportive of Jamie
I pull into the driveway and kill the engine.
I’m exhausted.
It’s been a long day, and all I want to do is go inside, make myself a drink, and collapse onto my back.
Emmy is being more and more critical these days.
I try to be patient, but it’s getting harder.
Every little thing I do seems to be wrong in her eyes.
She’s constantly comparing me to her ex, which I don’t get.
Isn’t the fact that I’m not him a good thing?
Apparently not.
It’s been nearly six months since we met through Natalia, and while Emmy was sweet at the beginning, things have slowly started to deteriorate.
I try to talk to her about it, but she just says that I’m being too sensitive.
That isn’t it at all.
I grip the steering wheel and stare at my front door.
The porch light casts harsh shadows across the steps where Emmy and I first kissed.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know it’s Natalia again.
She’s been texting me all night, asking how I’m holding up.
I ignore it and focus on what I want to say to Emmy when she gets home.
"We need to talk about these comparisons."
No, that sounds too confrontational.
"I feel hurt when…"
Better, but still not quite right.
The clock on my dashboard hits 11:30 PM.
Can’t sit here forever.
I grip the steering wheel tighter and stare at the porch light, watching it flicker in the darkness.
My phone buzzes again.
Another text from Natalia.
Are you okay?
I’m fine.
I type out a quick response and shove my phone back in my pocket.
Emmy’s words from earlier echo in my head.
"My ex would’ve been here early."
The same ex she mentioned when I bought her flowers last week, when I cooked dinner on Tuesday, when I picked the wrong restaurant for date night.
I reach for my phone again, then stop myself.
The clock changes to 11:45 PM.
I release my grip on the steering wheel, my hands stiff from clenching it for so long.
The dashboard clock reads 11:52 PM.
Another text from Natalia buzzes in my pocket, but I leave it unanswered.
I stare out the windshield at the moths dancing around the porch light.
Emmy used to laugh at them with me, but now she’d probably say her ex had better outdoor lighting.
My throat tightens.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and push open the car door.
The hinges creak, another thing Emmy would criticize if she were here.
I stand up, feeling like I’m lifting weights with each movement.
I step onto the cracked concrete path leading up to my porch.
The moths scatter, and their erratic shadows flicker under the light.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket, probably Natalia again.
I ignore it and walk up the wooden steps.
The old wood groans under my weight.
Emmy would’ve said it needed better maintenance.
I stand in front of my door, key in hand, rehearsing what I want to say to her tomorrow.
The door swings open, and Emmy stands there, arms crossed.
"You're still out here?" she asks, her voice a mix of surprise and annoyance.
"I needed to talk to you," I reply, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.
She turns and walks into my dimly lit living room.
I follow, watching her drop onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh.
The coffee table between us feels like a barrier.
I lower myself into the armchair across from her, choosing not to sit beside her on the couch like I normally would.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket, probably Natalia again, but I leave it there.
Emmy scrolls through her phone, barely acknowledging my presence.
I clear my throat to speak, but she rolls her eyes without looking up.
It reminds me of last week when I suggested we have a movie night.
I lean forward, hands clasped together, waiting for her to set down her phone.
She continues to scroll, her eyes fixed on the screen.
I shift in the armchair, the fabric creaking under my weight.
I glance at the coffee table between us, feeling like I need to cross that barrier before I can talk to her.
My phone vibrates again in my pocket, probably Natalia checking in, but I ignore it.
Emmy’s posture is dismissive, her legs sprawled out like she owns the place.
One leg is dangling over the armrest, her toes tapping against it.
When I open my mouth to speak, she holds up a finger, signaling me to wait while she types something.
I clear my throat, gripping the armchair's fabric.
The living room feels smaller than usual, lit only by the lamp and the occasional glow from Emmy’s phone.
Emmy’s feet still tap against my couch’s armrest, creating an irritating rhythm.
When I open my mouth to speak, she cuts me off with a loud sigh, but I press on anyway.
My voice comes out steadier than I expected.
"Emmy, I know about the messages you've been sending to Natalia," I say, my words hanging heavily in the air.
Her fingers freeze mid-type, and she finally looks up, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and defiance.
"Well, maybe if you were more present, I wouldn't have needed to," she retorts, her voice sharp enough to cut through the tension.
I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees as I watch her return to her phone, scrolling through it with a dismissive attitude.
The coffee table between us seems like a barrier, and the silence stretches out like a heavy blanket.
My phone buzzes again, probably another text from Natalia, but I leave it in my pocket, focusing on Emmy's posture and the words that are stuck in my throat.
Finally, I clear my throat and break the tension, asking firmly but quietly, "Can we talk about this now?"
She sets her phone down with a thud, meeting my gaze with a challenging stare.
"Fine, let's talk," she says, crossing her arms defiantly.
"But you better be ready to hear some hard truths."
I lean back in the armchair, watching her face harden.
The living room feels smaller than usual, and the air is thick with tension.
Emmy shifts on the couch, finally putting her phone face-down on the coffee table.
My own phone buzzes again, probably Natalia checking in, but I keep my eyes fixed on Emmy.
"What do you need from me right now?" she asks, her voice sharp and critical.
I take a deep breath before responding, trying to keep my voice steady.
"I need you to be honest with me. I need you to tell me what's going on."
She scoffs, rolling her eyes.
"You're too passive. You don't take charge like my ex did," she says, her voice growing sharper with each word.
"You're not ambitious enough. You're not romantic enough. You're just not enough like him."
Her words cut through me like a knife, and I feel myself shrinking away from them.
But I try to stay calm, to keep my voice steady as I ask again, more firmly this time.
"What do you really want from me, Emmy?"
Emmy leans forward, her hands clasped together in her lap.
She looks up at me, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and sadness.
"I want you to be the man I need you to be," she says, her voice cracking.
"I want you to be confident and strong. I want you to take charge and make things happen. I want you to be enough for me."
I look at Emmy, trying to understand what she needs from me.
I can see the pain in her eyes, the frustration that she's not getting what she wants from our relationship.
I want to help her, but I'm not sure if I can give her what she needs.
I take a deep breath and reach out for her hand, trying to be gentle but firm.
"Let's figure this out together, Emmy," I say.
"We owe it to ourselves."
She laughs sharply, picking up her phone again and scrolling through it with exaggerated disinterest.
My own phone buzzes once more, Natalia probably checking in on how things are going with Emmy, but I leave it in my pocket and focus on the girl across from me.
I wait for her response, knowing that this is a turning point in our relationship.