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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!”
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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 remember the first time Emmy and I hung out.
She was so sweet and caring.
I thought I had found the perfect girl for me.
Our relationship continued for a while, but Emmy started to change.
She began to get critical of me and my friends.
She would always find something wrong that I was doing and would get so upset with me.
No matter how hard I tried, it seemed like I could never do anything right in her eyes.
She started to compare me to her ex-boyfriend, which made me feel even worse.
I tried my best to be patient and understanding, hoping that things would get better.
But they never did.
Things only continued to get worse and worse.
Emmy's constant criticism and comparisons took a toll on our relationship.
We began to drift apart, and I found myself falling out of love with her.
I don't know what to do.
I am at a crossroads.
Should I try to make things work or should I move on?
I grip the steering wheel tighter as Emmy continues to rant.
Her words all start to blend together.
It's the same thing she always says.
I'm not good enough.
My job is stupid.
My clothes are ugly.
My apartment is small.
I'm not as smart as her ex-boyfriend.
I'm not as rich as her ex-boyfriend.
I'm not as good in bed as her ex-boyfriend.
The streetlights cast harsh shadows across Emmy's face as we drive down the street.
At the next red light, I turn to face her.
"Why are you even with me?"
My voice comes out steadier than I expected it to.
Emmy's mouth snaps shut mid-sentence.
She blinks at me, mouth opening and closing like a fish.
The light turns green, but I keep staring at Emmy instead of driving forward.
A car honks behind us, but I ignore it.
"Because I thought you could change," she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Change into what, exactly?" I ask, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.
"Into someone who actually cares about what I need," she replies, her eyes searching mine for something I can't give.
I pull off the main road and onto a quiet side street lined with dark office buildings.
Emmy doesn't even notice.
She's too busy telling me all the ways I'm not good enough for her.
I can feel my grip on the steering wheel tightening again, my knuckles turning white.
The dashboard clock reads 11:43 PM.
We're the only car on the road.
I park beneath a broken streetlight, cut the engine, and turn to face Emmy again.
Her words falter as she looks around at our surroundings.
The only sound is the tick of the cooling engine.
Without looking at her, I tell her in a flat voice to get in the back seat.
There's a pause, and then Emmy slowly opens her door.
She hesitates for a moment, looking at me over the front seat.
I can't see her face clearly in the dim light, but I sense her uncertainty.
She slowly climbs between the seats, her designer jeans catching on the center console.
She curses under her breath as she tries to untangle herself.
The scent of her perfume fills the small car's interior.
Finally, she falls into the back seat with a soft thud.
I watch her in the rearview mirror as she smooths out her blonde hair.
It's a nervous habit I've noticed over the past year we've been together.
She only does it when she's feeling anxious or uncertain.
Her earlier anger has faded, replaced by something else.
I take a deep breath, reach for the door handle, and step out into the night.
I open the driver's side door, letting in a rush of cold air.
The hinges creak as I lean down, one hand on the roof and the other on the door frame.
I peer into the shadowy back seat, my eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness.
Emmy sits rigidly against the leather, her fingers clutching her designer purse.
Her eyes meet mine, wide and uncertain in the dim light.
I deliberately keep my expression blank, my gaze steady.
The only sound is distant traffic and Emmy's shallow breathing.
Neither of us speaks, but the words hang heavy in the air between us.
I close the door, leaving her in the silence she created.