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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
It’s been a few months since Emmy and I started going out.
At first, she was really sweet.
But now, she’s always on my case about something.
I feel like I can’t do anything right anymore.
And it doesn’t help that she constantly brings up her ex, who was apparently perfect.
I’ve tried to be patient and understanding, but it’s getting harder and harder.
"Emmy, I told you. I was working late with some friends. I wasn’t out at some bar with girls all over the place."
I try to keep my voice calm, but Emmy is making this conversation extremely difficult.
"I don’t know why you feel the need to lie to me, Jamie," she huffs.
"I just told you, I’m not lying."
She sighs loudly.
"Whatever. I just wish you could be like Brandon. He never kept things from me. We were always open and honest with each other."
There we go again with her fucking perfect ex.
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, my knuckles turning white.
She’s been bringing him up for a few weeks now, but it’s really starting to piss me off.
"I’m not Brandon," I say through gritted teeth.
"I’m Jamie."
"Right, you’re Jamie. The guy who can’t even pick me up on time."
Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard.
"I said I was sorry."
I try to keep my tone even.
"I didn’t mean to be late."
"Brandon would never be late."
I’m about to lose it, but then she starts talking about her ex again, and I just tune out.
I don’t want to hear any more about how great he is or how much better he did things than I do.
It’s pissing me off.
A few minutes later, I pull into an empty parking lot and cut the engine.
"What are we doing?"
Emmy asks, looking around in confusion.
"Why did you stop?"
I turn in my seat so that I’m facing her, and she looks at me warily.
My heart is pounding in my chest as I ask the question that’s been on my mind for weeks now:
"Do you still have feelings for Brandon?"
Emmy's eyes widen, and she hesitates before speaking.
"Jamie, it's not about having feelings for him," she finally says, her voice softer than before.
"Then why does it feel like I'm competing with a ghost?"
I park the car under a flickering streetlight, the only light in the empty parking lot.
The engine is still humming in my ears as I turn it off.
My hands are still gripping the wheel, my knuckles white.
Emmy's words hang in the air like a wall between us, and I can feel her eyes on me, but I don't dare look at her.
She starts scrolling through her phone, deliberately ignoring me, but I catch her glancing at me from the corner of her eye.
The parking lot stretches out around us, empty except for a few leaves blowing across the pavement in the autumn wind.
I turn off the engine, and suddenly the silence feels heavy.
Emmy shifts in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest.
"What?" she snaps, but there's uncertainty in her voice.
"Do you really want to be with me, or am I just a placeholder?"
Her eyes flicker with something I can't quite read, and she bites her lip.
"Jamie, I...I didn't realize it seemed that way."
I reach across the center console, my fingers trembling slightly.
Emmy flinches, but she doesn't pull her hand away.
The streetlight casts harsh shadows on her face as she finally puts down her phone.
My thumb traces small circles on her palm, a gesture that used to comfort us both.
But now, her shoulders remain tense, and she stares at our joined hands without speaking.
The only sound is the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of leaves against the windshield.
I squeeze her hand gently, hoping for some sign of the warmth we once shared.
But her fingers remain limp in mine.
"Emmy, I need to know if we're moving forward or just stuck in the past," I say quietly.
She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine for something I can't quite define.
"I want to move forward, Jamie, but it's hard when I'm still figuring out what that means for us."