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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
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."
"Why should I believe you? Your friends are all players. I’m sure you’re just like them," she snaps.
"Emmy, I swear. Nothing happened. Can we just drop it?"
I sigh.
"I wish I could believe you," she says softly.
"Maybe if you spent more time with me instead of your friends, I could start to trust you."
I reach into my jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the concert tickets I’ve been saving for the right moment.
I’ve been trying to come up with the perfect time to surprise Emmy with them, but I haven’t had the chance yet.
"I know you’re mad, but—"
I start, but she cuts me off mid-sentence.
"I just don’t understand why you can’t be more like him," she says, her voice rising again.
"Seriously, he would’ve been here an hour ago and he wouldn’t be driving a crap car like this!"
"Actually, I got us tickets to that band you like."
Emmy’s face changes instantly.
She takes a step closer to me, her voice suddenly sweet again.
"Really? Can I see them?" she asks, her hand reaching out toward mine.
I hold them just out of reach.
Natalia warned me about Emmy’s mood swings, but I never thought they’d be so drastic.
"Sure, but first, can we talk about why you keep comparing me to him?"
Emmy hesitates, her eyes flickering with uncertainty.
"I guess... I just miss how easy everything was back then," she admits quietly.
I sit back in my car, staring at Emmy’s face illuminated by the dashboard lights.
Her words hang in the air between us, echoing with a hint of something I can’t quite place.
My hands grip the steering wheel tighter, memories flooding back to the forefront of my mind.
Memories of the "accidents" she’d confessed to me early on, the suspicious bruises she’d explained away when we first started dating.
The hypocrisy of her comparison hits me like a slap in the face.
I turn to face her, my voice steady despite the rising frustration inside.
"Emmy, I think there's more to this than just missing him," I say, trying to keep my tone gentle.
She looks down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
"Maybe... maybe I'm just scared of getting hurt again," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I pull the car over to the side of the road, parking outside her apartment.
We sit there for a moment, both processing what she just admitted.
The silence stretches out between us, heavy with unspoken emotions.
Finally, I reach for her hand, but she pulls away, her earlier vulnerability already slipping behind a mask of confidence.
"When have you ever been there for me like he was?" she demands, her voice sharp again.
I take a deep breath, trying to keep my patience intact.
"Emmy, I've been there for you plenty of times. Like when you were sick last week and I stayed up all night taking care of you. Or when I rearranged my work schedule so I could be at your family's dinner. Or even that time last month when I surprised you with your favorite dinner—"
I start listing off examples, but Emmy waves them away dismissively.
"Those don't count," she says flatly.
My frustration boils over, and I grab my phone from the center console.
I scroll through the photos we've taken together over the past few months, documenting our relationship in moments big and small.
"Look at these," I say firmly, holding the screen up for her to see.
"Point out exactly when I did something to hurt us." Emmy stares at the photos for a moment, her expression unreadable.
She finally sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly.
"Okay, maybe I haven't been fair," she admits reluctantly.
"But it's hard to let go of the past when it keeps haunting me."
I pull the car back onto the road, driving to her apartment with the engine idling.
As we sit there, I notice Emmy staring out the passenger window, her gaze distant.
The words she just said echo in my mind, haunting me as well.
"What exactly haunts you?"
I ask, turning down the radio.
She tenses at my question, her fingers clutching the strap of her purse tighter.
"You wouldn't understand," she says curtly, her voice laced with a hint of desperation.
But I press on, my curiosity piqued.
"Is it because of what happened with him?"
I ask gently, my hand reaching for hers.
She pulls away again, her grip on the purse strap tightening even more.
But this time, I notice something else too—a slight tremble in her hand.
"Emmy, I've seen the bruises," I say firmly, my voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside me.
"I saw them when you wore that short sleeve shirt a few months ago. You told me they were from an accident, but I'm not sure I believe that anymore."
Her breath catches in her throat, and for a moment, she doesn't respond.
Then she reaches for the door handle. "I'm just tired," she mumbles, her voice barely audible.
"I need to get some sleep."
I reach over and engage the locks before she can open the door.
"No more deflecting," I say firmly, my voice firm but controlled.
"Tell me what really happened with him."
Emmy freezes, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance.
"Why does it matter now?" she snaps, but there's a tremor in her voice that betrays her.
"Because I want to help you, Emmy," I reply softly, my gaze unwavering.
She leans back in her seat, her face twisted in a mix of anger and desperation.
"Unlock the doors," she demands, her voice rising.
But instead of complying, I take a slow breath, my eyes locked on hers.
"Emmy, how would you feel if I started comparing you to Sarah?"
I ask, my voice steady.
Sarah, my ex who always supported me in every career choice I made.
The one who never criticized my car or job.
The one who never made me feel like I wasn't good enough.
Emmy freezes mid-reach for the door handle.
Her shoulders tense, her gaze darting between me and the locked door.
I continue, my voice measured.
"How would you feel if I started telling you how Sarah was better at cooking than you? Or how she always made sure I had clean clothes for work?"
I press on, letting the comparison sink in.
Emmy's face contorts with a mix of anger and hurt, her fingers tightening around the purse strap until her knuckles turn white. "Or how about this?" I ask, my voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside me.
"How would you feel if I told you that Sarah was more supportive of my career goals than you are?"
I lean forward slightly, my gaze locked on hers.
"Wouldn't that be hard to hear?"
For a moment, Emmy remains silent, her face twisted in a mix of anger and vulnerability.
Then she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm sorry," she says, her shoulders slumping slightly as she looks down at her lap.
"I didn't mean to compare us like that."
I nod slowly, my gaze still locked on hers.
"It's okay," I say softly.
"But it's not just about comparing us. It's about understanding each other's feelings."
She nods again, her eyes welling up with tears.
"I know," she whispers.
"I just get so scared sometimes."
I reach out and gently brush a tear from her cheek.
"I know," I repeat softly.
"And I'm here for you. But we need to communicate better."
She nods again, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she looks up at me.
"Okay," she says firmly.
"I'll try harder."
I smile softly and unlock the doors for her to get out. As we walk up to her apartment, Emmy's arm wraps tightly around mine, pulling me closer with each step.
We reach her front door at exactly 7 PM, the time we agreed on.
I glance through the living room window and see Emmy pacing back and forth, her phone pressed to her ear.
I pull out my own phone and shoot her a quick text that I've arrived.
The moment she sees it, she storms out of her apartment, slamming the door behind her.
"You're three minutes late," she snaps as she climbs into the passenger seat, even though my dashboard clearly says 7:00.
I glance over at her, noticing that her eyes are red and puffy like she's been crying.
But before I can ask what's wrong, she's already speaking up again.
"My ex would've been here two minutes early."
I grip the steering wheel tighter, my patience finally snapping.
"That's the game you want to play? Fine."
I jab a finger at the clock on my dashboard.
"Sarah wouldn't be throwing a fit right now. She'd appreciate that I showed up exactly when I said I would."
Emmy's face contorts in shock before morphing into anger.
She reaches for the door handle, but I hit the lock button before she can open it.
"No, you wanted comparisons? Let's talk about how Sarah never played these mind games."
Her breathing becomes shallow, her knuckles white against her purse strap.
"She didn't constantly tear me down or make up times in her head."
I lean closer to her, my voice dropping to a low whisper.
"Sarah was the one who made me feel like I could do anything."
The air in the car is thick with tension, the only sound coming from the hum of the engine.
I lean back in my seat, watching Emmy's tight grip on her purse.
My anger slowly deflates as I realize we're both using our past relationships as weapons.
I unlock the doors and turn to face her directly.
"Emmy, why are we still talking about our exes?"
I ask softly.
She stares straight ahead, her knuckles still white against the purse strap.
When she doesn't respond, I reach for the radio dial.
But before I can even touch it, she catches my hand.
Her fingers are cold and trembling.
"We need to stop living in the past," she whispers, her eyes finally meeting mine.
I notice that her knuckles are still white against the purse strap, and suddenly I remember what she told me a few weeks ago.
That her ex stole money from her.
"You don't need to hold your purse like that," I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm not him. I won't steal from you."
Her grip loosens slightly, but her eyes remain fixed on the dashboard.
I reach for her hand again, moving slowly so she knows I mean no harm.
She flinches at my touch, but doesn't pull away.
"He used to take my credit cards," she whispers, her voice trembling.
"Said I owed him."
I squeeze her hand gently, trying to offer some comfort.
"You don't owe anyone anything, Emmy," I say firmly.
Her eyes flicker with a mix of vulnerability and relief as she finally looks at me.
I lift her hand to my palm, noticing how soft yet cold her fingers are.
She's trembling slightly, and I gently rub warmth into her hands.
When I lift them to my lips, she tenses for a moment before relaxing into my touch.
I kiss each knuckle slowly, remembering how these same hands once pushed me away in anger.
Her breathing steadies, and she leans closer, letting her guard down.
As I continue warming her hands between mine, she whispers another apology for her earlier outburst.
"It's just hard to trust again," she admits, her voice barely audible.
I nod, understanding the weight of her words.
"We'll figure it out together, Emmy," I promise, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
We sit in silence for a moment, the only sound coming from the hum of the engine.
I gently lift her hand to my lips again, watching as the streetlight casts shadows on her face.
Her eyes soften, and her breathing slows.
She's still as beautiful as the day we met at that coffee shop.
The same delicate nose, bright eyes, and gentle curve of her smile that caught my attention that day.
I trace my thumb across her palm, remembering how she blushed when I first held her hand.
"You're still as beautiful as the day we met," I whisper softly.
Emmy starts to pull her hand away, but I hold it tight.
"We have time to figure this out. We're young, and there's no rush."
She hesitates, then nods slowly, her eyes searching mine for reassurance.
"Do you really think we can make it work?" she asks, her voice tinged with hope and doubt.
I smile softly, squeezing her hand once more. "I believe in us, Emmy."