Chapter 12 - Little Lies.

Have you heard the joke about the man who comes home early and finds his wife half naked by the pool with their handsome young gardener on top of her? The wife says: ‘It’s not what you think! I got dizzy and started to pass out. Juan saved my life by giving me CPR.’ Afterwards, she sticks to her story so convincingly that her husband starts to believe her version of the truth and not his own eyes. He ends up thanking the gardener and tipping him generously for saving his wife’s life.

It’s funny right? You hear that joke and you think, what a rube. How could anyone be THAT clueless? 

Except, that’s exactly how gaslighting makes you behave. 

If you’ve ever spent any time around a narcissist, you’ll know what I mean. They’re so good at lying, they make you think you couldn’t possibly have seen what you thought you saw. You must have misunderstood. Maybe he goes so far as to make you think you’re losing your mind. 

They seem SO convinced they’re right that you doubt your own senses.

Apparently the term - ‘gaslighting’ - comes from some old movie from back in the 1940s where a man sets about to systematically drive his wife mad by making her doubt her own perceptions. I’m way too young to have ever seen that flick, but after my time living with Ethan I now understand the concept pretty well. I understand how a manipulative relationship can make you doubt your own sanity. Make you disbelieve your own eyes and ears. Make you question reality itself. 

And the craziest part of it is that it’s usually not even about a big lie. Gaslighting can be about virtually anything. In fact, it’s the smaller things that they lie about that make you the craziest. You could almost understand covering up for the big lies. But why lie about something small and easily disprovable? Why lie about something inconsequential?

The answer can be found in the fact that a narcissist simply can’t bear being wrong about anything. The narcissist always has to be right. They always have to be in control of everything. They have to be perfect. 

The corollary of that principle is that you, as their victim, are never allowed to be right if your position is contrary to their own.

So, while you might not think it’s worth it to argue over some petty little slip up, they will fight you to the death just to prove that they’re never wrong. And they’re so good at arguing and manipulating you that eventually you start to buy into their assumption that they are always right and you are always wrong. In that way, all the little lies serve to condition you to believe the big lies. 

Before you know it, you too are tipping the gardener for fucking your partner, and don’t understand how you became the butt of the joke.

The following week was a little better. Things seemed to settle down a bit. I was adjusting to my new, post-Brian life. 

It wasn’t easy, though. I quickly realized how pampered I’d been, first growing up in my parents’ wealthy suburban enclave and then moving into Brian’s luxurious loft. Even my brief stint occupying Debbie’s spare room hadn’t quite prepared me for the austerity of Ethan’s starving artist life. 

It was the little things that got to me, you know? Like not having a washer/dryer in the apartment and not being able to run a load of wash at the laundromat because I’d run out of change. Or running out of shaving cream and toothpaste but not having the money to pick up more. I guess I’d taken for granted Brian’s cleaning and grocery delivery services. But I was resilient and I made do and it was okay. I guess.

The only other argument - well, it was more of a question on my part than a real argument actually - Ethan and I had that week was over the money thing. See, after Sunday night, when I’d given him my paycheck to use to pick up my meds, he never gave me the rest of my money back. I only remembered that fact on Monday when I went to the cafeteria to grab some lunch, and realized I had a mere $5 in my wallet. Of course, Ethan showed up not five minutes later and found me sitting at a table eating a power bar, looking glum.

“Why the long face, Babe?” He asked, pulling up the chair next to me. “You know, you shouldn’t frown all the time - people are gonna think I’m not keeping you satisfied.” 

The way he said it, he made it sound like a joke, but the words themselves kinda struck me as odd. Like he didn’t care if I was in a bad mood, as long as it didn’t reflect back on him? Like, somehow, after only being officially together for a week, I had somehow been transformed into an extension of him. A mere accessory. One that was meant to be decorative at all times. Or, was I being too prickly and simply overreacting to his little joke? 

Setting that matter aside, though, I broached the much more important topic of my paycheck. “I didn’t have enough cash on me to get a real lunch,” I explained, waving my power bar in his face. “Can we stop by an atm on the way home so you can give me back the rest of the money from my paycheck - minus the copay you’re out, of course?”

“Oh, well, I’m afraid all that money is gone,” Ethan answered matter-of-factly, completely ignoring my look of consternation. “It really wasn’t that much to start with, you know. So I just used what was left to pay the electric bill and the internet service. After that, there’s only, maybe, fifty bucks left, and I thought we could use that to pick up some groceries on the way home.”

“Seriously?” I grumbled. “So what am I gonna use to live on all week? I don’t even have enough cash to buy lunches.”

“No problem. That’s why you have a talented and resourceful boyfriend on hand,” Ethan declared, taking out his wallet and demonstrating the way it was practically overflowing with greenbacks. “One of the perks of being a street performer; I happened to make some pretty good tips last week. And I’m more than happy to buy my beautiful boyfriend lunch. What do you want?”

Okay, I was a little miffed that Ethan had used my money to pay bills without asking me first, but I was too hungry right then to get into it. I let Ethan buy me a burger, fries, and a coke, and while I ate, I tried to frame how I wanted to approach him about the money thing. Knowing how easily offended he could be, I didn’t want to just accuse him of anything. Plus, I didn’t want him to think I was some kind of freeloader who didn’t intend to help out by paying my share of the bills. But that didn’t mean he could just spend my money without asking me, either. Especially not when money was so ridiculously tight. We needed to establish some rules. Some boundaries. Maybe even sit down and work out a budget so I could plan my finances a little better. 

Before I’d worked out what I wanted to say, though, a gaggle of Ethan’s music school friends arrived in the cafeteria and immediately joined our table. I didn’t want to discuss money problems in front of all of them, so I held my tongue. I made a mental note to bring the issue up later that night, after we got home.

Unfortunately, Rory, from Saturday’s party, was one of the new arrivals that had joined us. There was something about the guy that just totally creeped me out. The way he kept staring at me was disconcerting. I mean, I was used to appreciative looks from men - after two years as Brian Kinney’s arm candy, I had mostly become inured to those sorts of looks - but this was something more. There was something knowing in those looks. Something threatening. To be honest, it freaked me out.

I moved my chair so I was sitting closer to Ethan, but my boyfriend wasn’t much comfort. Instead of telling his leering friend to fuck off, Ethan seemed to be egging Rory on. He kept making bragging comments about my looks that, maybe, he assumed would be flattering, but just felt out of place. He even went so far as to make up a little story about how I’d agreed to grow my hair out because he’d told me I would look much better with long hair; something we’d never even discussed, but whatever. 

And then, I’m not sure how, but for some reason the conversation migrated back to Ethan again bragging about having ‘rescued’ me from Brian’s nefarious clutches. He was embellishing the story, of course, making it sound almost like Brian had been pimping me out to all the men in Babylon’s backroom. I might have corrected him but I really didn’t know any of these people and I didn’t feel comfortable discussing my sex life with them; it didn’t seem appropriate to start explaining that I actually didn’t mind public sex or even the occasional thee-way. Suffice it to say, though, that this particular topic of conversation did nothing to quell Rory’s prurient interests.

“That bastard never appreciated Justin's true beauty or his talent,” Ethan summed up his argument, putting his arm around my shoulders and giving a proprietary squeeze. “Not like I do. And, thankfully, Justin finally realized it too. Now he’s got me to protect him. Right, Babe?”

“Uh, yeah,” I answered, wishing I could disappear.

“And quite a prodigious talent it is, too, from what I can see,” Rory added with a suggestive wink.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it, Roar!” Ethan chuckled. “Justin’s by far the MOST talented boyfriend I've ever had . . . And his art isn’t bad either.”

The entire table burst into raucous laughter. The uproar was so boisterous that it caused neighboring tables to look over. I blushed so hard it felt like my cheeks were on fire. Ethan seemed to think it was all hilarious, and leaned over to deposit a kiss on my cheek, which only earned us more clapping and laughter. I don’t think I’d ever been more embarrassed in my life.

Which was a strange reaction, right? Because I’d never been ashamed when I’d been with Brian. I’d had more public sex in my short life than almost anyone I knew and never felt the least bit embarrassed about it. Hell, both Brian and I had been known to brag - explicitly and with graphic details - about some of our juicier exploits. And Brian’s friends had always teased us relentlessly about our sex life. So what was different now? Why did Ethan’s fairly tame words make me feel so mortified? Maybe it was that Brian, when he’d been bragging about us, had always sounded proud of ME, whereas Ethan sounded proud of HIMSELF for having acquired me? I’d never really felt like a mere accessory around Brian, despite some people assuming that’s all I was, but Ethan seemed just fine with categorizing me in that light to his friends. 

Either way, Ethan’s words made me uncomfortable enough that I scarfed down the rest of my lunch and immediately left without further comment.

I’d meant to bring up the subject later that night but Luke called me just as I was leaving my Life Drawing class, saying somebody had called in sick that night, and offering me the shift. I jumped at the opportunity. I’d never needed money so badly in my life, so I wasn’t going to turn down any work. And by the time I got home that night, Ethan was already asleep. 

Somehow, the discussion about both the money issues and the Rory thing just seemed to get forgotten in the hustle and bustle of the rest of the week. 

The only other significant development that week had occurred on Friday, when Debbie Novotny managed to track me down on the PIFA campus.

I’d just left the studio after spending some time working on a project that was due on Monday for my Contemporary Painting Techniques practicum when Ethan‘s friend Jeff came up to me. “Hey, Taylor. There’s some weird lady wandering around campus looking for you,” he announced.

“Weird lady?” I repeated, completely taken off guard.

“Yeah. Real loud, plus sized, red hair, wearing a shirt that says ‘Got Lube?’”

“Ohhhhhhh.” Anybody who’d ever met the woman would recognize Debbie from that description.

“I told her, if I saw you, I’d send you her way. She’s waiting outside the west entrance,” Jeff pointed me in the right direction and then hurried along on his way.

I thought about doing a runner or maybe hiding in the studio until she’d left. I was reluctant to face the confrontation I was pretty sure was waiting for me. But if she’d gone to the trouble of tracking me down at school, it wasn’t likely she’d give up. So my options were to put this talk off till later, when she’d probably be even more annoyed at me, or just man up and go find her now. Now would probably hurt the least. At least that’s what I hoped.

She was right where Jeff had said she’d be, pacing back and forth outside the art building, the hood of her jacket pulled up to fend off the drizzle, and looking damp but determined. “Debbie? What are you doing here?”

“Trying to confirm you’re still alive, that’s what!” Debbie brayed as she rounded on me with a long red talon pointing admonishingly in my face. “Where do you get off quitting without even saying goodbye and then dropping off the face of the earth? Nobody even knows where the hell you’re living, Sunshine. I’ve been calling you for two weeks now. What the hell’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Deb,” I answered, but since she still didn’t look convinced I added, “I swear. I just . . . well, I didn’t think I’d still be welcomed after what happened so I just . . .”

“Not welcomed? What kind of crap is that? Why wouldn’t you be welcomed? You’re family, Sunshine. Of course you’re welcome. I don’t give a flying fuck what went on between you and Brian - that’s between you two boys - but it doesn’t mean I’m gonna care about you any less. Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

Deb cursing me out to prove she still loved me made me smile, at least until I remembered what Michael had said to me that last day at the Diner. “That’s not what everybody else thinks, I’m afraid.” Since Deb looked confused, I explained, “your son made it very clear that, now that I’m no longer with Brian, he didn’t need to see my face ever again.”

“Well, my son - that little asshole - doesn’t speak for me,” Debbie insisted with hands on hips and a stern look. “And judging by what happened at the girls’ party last weekend, I don't think he speaks for anyone else either.” 

“Something happened at the party?” My curiosity got the better of me and I had to ask.

“You could say that,” Deb shook her head disapprovingly before she explained further. “Michael, the meddling twerp, made an inappropriate comment and Brian ended up decking him.”

I gotta admit I was pretty surprised by that news; Brian might be a lot of things, but he was never violent. Growing up the way he had, with an abusive dad, had taught him to abhor violence. Brian might get mad and yell at you, but he’d never hit anyone.

“Seriously? What the hell could Michael say that would make Brian hit him?” 

“Well, nobody knew what he’d said at the time. All we saw was the fallout when Brian let loose with a right cross and totally floored Michael. You can be sure we were all pretty pissed off at him after that, too. The girls had Brian escorted out of the party pretty damn quick,” Debbie related. “But you and I both know, Sunshine, that it would take a lot to get Brian mad enough to slug his best friend like that, so it got me to thinking. Mind you, it took me threatening Michael with castration by way of the Diner’s rusty meat cleaver before he confessed. But when he told me what he said, *I* wanted to deck him too.”

I didn’t have to say a word - apparently the look of concern on my face was enough to get Deb to finally confess all.

“The little shit . . . I don’t know what the hell got into him, but you can be sure I gave him hell for it, Sunshine . . .” Debbie hesitated even then before finally fessing up. “He was spouting off about how he was glad you hadn’t come to the party, even though the girls said they’d tried to convince you to come. Then, apparently, he told Brian that he was better off without you in his life and . . . He said . . . He said that maybe everyone would have been better off if Brian had just left you lying there on that garage floor . . .”

That hurt. I mean, it really, really hurt. I knew that Michael was pissed off at me on Brian’s behalf, but shit . . . It’s not every day that someone you thought of as a friend announces that the world would be better off with you dead. Fuck Michael.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed off at Brian for punching my son, but I guess I can sorta understand why he’d do it,” Debbie continued, getting a thoughtful look on her face. “Brian still hasn’t completely recovered from you getting bashed, Sunshine. That . . . That changed him in ways I don’t think anybody’s fully realized yet.” And then she looked over at me with a sad expression. “But, just so you know, not everybody agrees with Michael.”

I really didn’t know how to respond to Debbie’s tale. I felt torn. I mean, it was painful to hear how deeply Michael hated me but, at the same time, it was good to know that Brian didn’t feel the same. We might have been broken up but he obviously didn’t totally hate me, even after everything I did to him, or he wouldn’t have belted Michael for what he’d said. But did that really change anything? Probably not. Just because Brian wasn’t willing to listen to Michael’s crass comments, it didn’t mean he wanted me back. Not when I’d cheated on him and then topped it off by embarrassing him in front of everyone in Babylon. It didn’t mean that Brian still had any feelings for me. 

“So what the fuck have you been doing with yourself, Sunshine?” Debbie asked, moving on. “And how do you get off quitting the Diner without even saying goodbye, huh? You could have knocked me over with a feather when Kiki told me you’d just up and quit without any notice.” That long red-enameled fingertip was poking in my face again, telling me that Deb was serious about her next statement. “By the way, your resignation is NOT accepted. You don’t get to quit by proxy. I’m still holding your job open until I get your personal explanation about what’s going on.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, Ma’am, but Justin’s already found another job,” Ethan announced on my behalf, coming up from out of nowhere and wrapping one arm possessively around my waist. “I managed to get him a job with the catering service at Carnegie Hall.”

“Well, la-dee-dah,” Debbie replied, sounding completely unimpressed. Then, addressing her next remarks to me, she asked, “this the new squeeze?” I nodded with a smile. “Cute,” she declared. “He got a name?”

“Debbie, Ethan. Ethan, Debbie,” I did the honors. 

“Nice to meet you, Ethan,” Debbie responded with the appropriately polite response but then added a directive. “You taking good care of our Justin here?”

“I’m trying my best,” Ethan confirmed.

“Well, you better,” Debbie ordered. “We expect our Sunshine to be kept happy and healthy.”

“Debbie, I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” I insisted adamantly. 

“You may not need it, but you still deserve it,” Debbie insisted. “Don’t ever forget that there are people who love you, Sunshine. And we won’t condone anyone,” she stabbed Ethan with a telling glare, “who doesn’t treat you with the respect that you deserve.”

“You don’t need to worry, Ma’am. I fully appreciate how lucky I am to have won Justin away from that asshole,” Ethan maintained. 

“Good. Make sure you do,” Debbie admonished waving one of her talons in Ethan’s face. “Well, I’m late for my next shift so I need to get going. But I won’t stand for you just up and disappearing, Sunshine. You’re still expected to come by every so often and check in. You hear me?”

“I will, Deb.”

“Good. Now, don’t be a fucking stranger, you hear?”

“I promise.”

Without any further drama, Debbie retreated, leaving me with a solid bear hug in parting. My boyfriend stood there watching the whole proceeding and then offered Debbie a polite smile and a nod of his head as she left. 

“Sunshine?” Ethan asked, with an amused flick of one unruly brow, the moment Deb was gone. “I like that.”

For some reason I didn’t like hearing the nickname on Ethan’s lips. There were only two people who’d ever called me that: Debbie and Brian. Nobody else was allowed to use that name. Besides, most of the time I really didn’t like pet names. 

“Deb’s the only one who can get away with that,” I advised Ethan. “I told you, I don’t like nicknames.”

“Okay, I’ll just stick with ‘Babe’,” Ethan teased with a wink.

I just sighed and shook my head but didn’t argue the point. I’d already told Ethan, about a dozen times, that I hated being called ‘Babe’, but he’d persisted. It seemed like a petty thing to argue about, though, so I tried not to let it get to me. And anyways, I’d prefer that he call me ‘Babe’ to using the name ‘Sunshine’, so whatever. 

“You ready to get out of here?” Ethan asked when I’d started walking away. 

“Yeah,” I picked up my bag and started to head towards the bus stop. “I’m bushed. It’s been a long week. But I want to stop and get a haircut on my way home so can you spot me $20 and I’ll pay you back on Sunday when I get paid?”

That brought Ethan up short. “A haircut? You don’t need a haircut, Babe. Besides, you agreed you were going to grow it out.”

“No I didn’t. I hate long hair. It’s already getting annoying; my bangs keep getting in my eyes and when I’m painting I can’t push it back without getting paint in it. It gets gross. Besides, when my hair gets too long I look like a girl,” I argued, demonstrating how long my hair already was by pushing one shank of heavy blond behind my ear.

“Well, I love it longer,” Ethan insisted, reaching up to free the tress of hair I’d just pushed back. “I love to grab hold of it while I’m fucking you.” His voice had gotten lower and more sultry and there was a glint of lust in his eyes as he emphasised his point by pulling on the hair he’d grabbed. Then he added, “You’re not going back on your promise to let it grow, are you, Babe?”

“I never promised to let it grow, Ethan,” I maintained.

“Yes, you did, Babe. You said it while we were making love that first night after you left the asshole. I told you I loved how your hair felt, how thick and heavy it was, and you said you’d let it grow out for me.”

I seriously did not remember saying anything of the sort, but Ethan sounded so sure of it that I started to doubt myself. I mean, you say a lot of shit in the throes of passion, right? Maybe I had said something along the lines of what Ethan was saying? I didn’t think so, because I really didn’t like it when my hair got too long, but I suppose it was always possible I said something vague about him pulling my hair and he just extrapolated from there? I didn’t know, although it didn’t sound like me . . .

“Anyway, we can’t do that tonight because I’m broke too, Babe. I’ve been too busy lately practicing for the Heifitz to play around town much. I’ll have to spend a couple hours busking this weekend and see what I can scrounge up for us. Don’t worry, though, I always manage to get by.” 

“Fuck,” I grumbled, unhappy that I’d have to put off a haircut for another weekend, but at least I would get paid again on Sunday so maybe I’d have time after classes on Monday? Too bad the catering gig rarely resulted in any tips, because if so, I would have at least had a few bucks in my pocket after the shift I was due to work that evening. “You know, maybe I should take Debbie up on getting my job at the Diner back,” I broached the topic to Ethan as we walked. “When you add in the tips, it definitely pays better than the catering job, and we really could use the money right now.”

“No. I don’t want you going back there,” Ethan was adamant. 

“Why? It was a good job and the customers there always tipped really well, especially if you worked the weekend brunch shifts.”

“I said, no, Justin,” Ethan responded, sounding a bit like my father forbidding me to do something. “I don’t want you getting mixed up with those people again. They didn’t care about you or how that bastard was treating you. You’re better off making a clean break from that whole scene.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, totally confused. “Debbie was always good to me. Hell, when my dad kicked me out, I even lived with Debbie for awhile. And she helped me out a lot after the bashing - held my job open for me and took it easy on me when I was having trouble with my hand - I’m not just going to make a ‘clean break’ from her.”

Ethan stopped walking and pulled my arm to get me to stop as well. Then he positioned himself in front of me so he could look directly at me. I could see from his expression that this was going to be one of THOSE talks - the kind where he was all no-nonsense and sincere. 

“Babe, stop and listen to yourself; the way you’re always defending them.” I started to interrupt, ready to argue the point, but Ethan wasn’t going to let me get a word in edgewise. “You seriously don’t even realize how codependent you are, do you?” My confusion must have been obvious because Ethan went on to explain. “Those people - those friend’s of Brian’s - they were all part of the problem. They were the ones keeping you there with the man who was taking advantage of you. They made you think it was okay to abase yourself like that in order to keep his love. That it was NORMAL. But it isn’t, Babe. You don’t need to lower yourself for any man. Brian made you think that joining him in his promiscuous lifestyle was the price you had to pay to keep his love and all the people around him went along with that fallacy. They didn’t have YOUR best interests at heart, Babe. And now that you’ve finally broken away from that degradation, you don’t need them either. They’ll only drag you back down.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Ethan. I’m not codependent,” I replied.

“Which is what every codependent victim always says,” Ethan smiled sadly at me. “At least until they finally take a step away and look at things from a healthier perspective. Until you’re ready to do that, though, I’m not going to let you get pulled back into that lifestyle. Which is why you just need to keep your distance from everyone in that old life.”

“Ethan, I think you’re way off base,” I started to argue some more but I could already see him closing himself off and knew I wasn’t going to win him over right then. “But even if you were right about me, it’s still a job that pays good money and we aren’t in a position to turn away money right now.”

“Things aren’t that bad. We’ll get by,” Ethan assured me as he began walking down the sidewalk again, as if convinced the discussion was already over. “Something always turns up.”

Well, you couldn’t fault the man for his optimism, I thought, as I trotted after him. There wasn’t much conversation the rest of the way home, though. He’d given me something to think about that I hadn’t ever contemplated before; was I really codependent? Were Debbie and the gang actually part of what had made me so unhappy those last few months with Brian? Had the people I always thought of as my friends actually been part of the problem? I’d never looked at it that way before, but maybe Ethan was right. Maybe, as an outsider, he saw things more clearly than I had? 

Ethan, at least, seemed so convinced he was right, that it made me rethink everything.