Chapter 16 - Stay Mad.

Back in the day of classic television, the sitcom dad who was on the outs with the sitcom mom would stride home the next day with a huge bouquet of flowers and a heart-shaped box of chocolates and then all would be well. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right? The grand gesture. That’s how we’re conditioned to see an apology work.

But that’s not how a narcissist apologizes. 

You see, that apology is all part of the narcissistic game. It’s just another way to keep you off balance. He’s not sorry and he doesn’t really care about your feelings, but he wants you to THINK he does. An apology is part of the illusion of ‘good’ in the relationship. It makes you feel like he understands you. You get hooked in with the emotions of hopefulness and relief when your narcissist apologizes after hurting you. That hope is something that you need because, prior to the apology, you were hurt and shut out. So you lap it up when it’s offered. After the apology, you feel relieved and can relax again. And once you relax and stop paying attention, he’ll do whatever it was you objected to all over again. It’s a vicious cycle.

An apology to the average person means: I’m sorry, let’s make up. But an apology to a narcissist means: look how good I am, our relationship is still on my terms but see how I appear to care about your feelings, now you owe me forgiveness, we will forget that this ever happened and won’t talk about this again. 

Oh, and don’t forget that ‘Projection’ thing either, because it usually plays a big part in the argument/apology cycle. 

While you might actually mean it when you say you’re sorry, he really isn’t sorry and doesn’t for even a minute plan to stop doing whatever engendered the argument. He’s only saying he’s sorry to get himself off the hook for whatever he got caught doing. And since, in his mind, the apology is a total sham, he will project that on you, assuming you are equally insincere. He knows his apology is fake and he has no intention to follow through on his promises, so of course he thinks you are doing the same. That’s why he’ll never believe you when you make a promise. Promises mean even less to him than apologies.

In other words, be very wary of the narcissist bearing hearts and flowers and apologetic words because they’re just as much make-believe as those sitcom husbands of yore.

If I’d thought the argument over the budget stuff was bad, that was nothing compared to Ethan going off on me for seeing Brian without telling him. He was completely apoplectic with rage. It got bad enough that one of the neighbors from downstairs came up and threatened to call the cops if Ethan didn’t tone it down. All that did was make Ethan more angry, although he did stop yelling and moved on to just hissing at me. 

“How DARE you go see him behind my back!” Ethan repeated for about the tenth time.

“I didn’t SEE him,” I interrupted, finally fed up with all the invective being hurled at me. “I went to get my computer, which happened to be in storage at his place. It’s not like I went over there to fuck him!”

“That’s what you say, but how can I trust you, huh? After you lied? After you hid the fact that you even saw him? How do I know you’re not lying now too?”

“I didn’t lie to you; I told you I went to get my stuff out of storage. Why does it even matter that Brian was there?” I asked getting pretty teed off myself by that point.

“It’s a lie of omission. You should have told me!” Ethan refused to let go of that point.

“Yeah, well, look at the way you’re completely overreacting,” I gestured towards the figure stomping back and forth in the apartment and fuming at me. “And you wonder why I wouldn’t want to tell you shit?”

“Aha! So you admit you’re not telling me stuff?” Ethan totally missed my point and then ran with it. “What else aren’t you telling me, Justin? What else are you hiding? Or should I ask WHO you’re hiding? Huh? Tell me! TELL ME!” he screamed again, this time with his face only inches from mine. “You’re probably fucking around on me behind my back every time I’m out of the apartment. Aren’t you? Once a slut, always a slut, right? Well, fuck you, Justin! Fuck you!”

“Whoa! What the hell, Ethan? How do you jump from me getting my shit from Brian’s storage to me fucking around on you? That’s insane, you know that, right?”

“Yeah? Is it really such a stretch? Between you and your former lover, you’ve already fucked half of Pittsburgh, so what’s to stop you now? I mean, you constantly cheated on him too, so why wouldn’t you cheat on me?”

“That’s total bullshit and you know it!” I yelled back, then started to put my jacket back on and grabbed my bag because I’d had enough. “My relationship with Brian was totally different. We had an open relationship and we BOTH fucked other people. But I made a commitment to you, Ethan, and I wouldn’t break that by sleeping around on you. I wouldn’t. If you don’t believe me, though, then fine. I guess that commitment I thought we had wasn’t worth it after all.”

With that said, I left. I wasn’t going to stick around and be called a slut by anyone. I wasn’t going to let him hold my past up as an accusation against me. How dare he suspect me of fucking around on him. Like I even had the time to have an affair between school and work and Ethan’s constant presence. It was all total bullshit.

I was so angry and so busy replaying the whole nasty scene over and over in my head that I was almost all the way to school - where I planned to take my temper out on a canvas in the student studio space there - before it finally occurred to me to wonder how it was that Ethan had discovered I’d seen Brian when I went to pick up my computer.

Painting helped me work out most of my anger, so I was at least reasonably calm when Ethan finally tracked me down at school to apologize. 

I was just cleaning up my brushes when another student came into the studio I was using and asked if I was Justin Taylor. When I said, yeah, she giggled and said I should look out the window. When I did, I saw my sorry-assed boyfriend standing outside, on the sidewalk, a bouquet of heart-shaped balloons in one hand, and his other hand holding up a sign that read, “DON’T BE MAD. I NEED YOU, BABE!” On the ground, surrounding the spot where he was standing, he’d made a heart-shape with red rose petals. There were already a number of spectators standing around, looking at Ethan, a few taking photos with their phones. 

I groaned. The girl who’d been sent to come get me looked at me with confusion; clearly that was not the response she’d expected. But I just wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. Of course, with Ethan making such an over-the-top spectacle of his apology I was put on the spot. Only an ass would refuse to accept such a romantic gesture, right? 

With a huge sigh, I let the girl lead me downstairs and out the side door to where Ethan was waiting. The crowd waiting nearby broke into spontaneous applause at my appearance, already presupposing my response would be favorable. I felt so fucking trapped. I had a momentary fantasy of just taking off and running away down the sidewalk. But that wouldn’t solve anything, and I was supposed to be an adult now, so I needed to approach this like an adult. Right?

“You gotta forgive me, Babe. I know I shouldn’t have yelled, but the thought of losing you just makes me crazy,” were the first words out of Ethan’s mouth. “You’re my muse, Justin. My inspiration. I can’t go on without you. Please don’t stay mad.” 

I just stood there, biting at my lower lip, trying to hold back all the angry things I still wanted to say to him. But what good would that do? It would only perpetuate the argument, which had been stupid to start with. Did I really want to keep fighting? 

“Here, I got these for you,” Ethan pushed, forcing me to take hold of the fistful of balloons. 

There was a collective ‘Awww’ from the bystanders. Ethan graced his audience with a sheepish smile, gesturing towards the crowd as if to include them all in as part of the apology. He always was great with a live audience. I wasn’t totally sold on the performance though and he clearly knew it.

“Please, Babe,” he whispered, coming close enough to grab my free hand and give it a squeeze. “I was outta line. I shouldn’t have called you a slut. It’s just that . . . Picturing you and HIM together makes me crazy. You gotta understand that, right? I just love you so much, and I still can barely believe that I was lucky enough to win you away from him, so I guess I just want to make sure you don’t go back. You get that, right?”

“Ethan . . .” How many times did I have to repeat myself on this issue? “I’ve told you that you have nothing to worry about with Brian. I’m with YOU now. I’ve made a commitment to YOU. Why can’t you just believe me?”

“I do believe you, Babe. I do,” Ethan insisted, although it felt like there was still a hidden ‘but’ in there. “So, can you just forgive me already so we can move on to the really great make up sex?”

I hesitated, not completely mollified yet, but then, from over Ethan’s shoulder, one of the onlookers yelled out, “Awww, go on and kiss him already!”

Ethan giggled, gave the girl who’d yelled this directive a saucy grin, and proceeded to take her advice by wrapping his arms around me and practically bending me backwards as he took my lips in a possessive kiss. 

What could I do? I had to kiss him back. Even though I was still mad, he was apologizing and he seemed truly sorry. The balloons and rose petals were a bit much, but that was kinda Ethan’s MO, right? I just hoped that this meant he’d seen the error of his ways and things would get better because I couldn’t take being called a slut all the time. 

“Come on, Babe. Let’s go home. I’m going to make love to you all afternoon and then we can just forget all about this stupid argument,” Ethan directed, already guiding me down the street in the direction of the bus stop and home. 

We didn’t really have a lot of time to spend on our making up, though, because by that point the finals for the Heifetz were only two days away and Ethan was in a tizzy. He oscillated back and forth between ultimate certainty that he was going to fuck it all up and supreme confidence that he was clearly the best violinist in the universe. I had a tough time keeping up with his mood swings but I did my best to be as supportive as possible. 

It was a lucky thing that this year’s competition was being held in Philadelphia, so we were able to borrow a car from one of Ethan’s friends and drive, otherwise the cost might have been prohibitive. Ethan was adamant, though, that I HAD to be there, even though I’d tried a couple of times to bow out. Personally, I would have preferred just staying home and enjoying a well-needed day off, but he insisted I accompany him so I could be there to inspire him. I admit, I was a little flattered by all this. I’d never been someone’s ‘Muse’ before. Not that I really understood anything at all about classical music, but I supposed I could stand there and look inspiring for my boyfriend, despite the fact that I was likely to be bored all day. 

The competition was being held at the Boyer College of Music and Dance, which was a part of Temple University. I enjoyed walking around the beautiful campus as we made our way around to the various performance venues. There were two other PIFA students there that morning and we all congregated together while we waited through the earlier rounds of the competition. There were over seventy-five ‘semi-finalists’ to be winnowed down and that process took hours. We had to traipse all over the place, from one stage area to another. Ethan and Marta, both from PIFA, easily made it through the first round of cuts, but poor Petrov was eliminated early on and left not long after. By lunchtime, however, there were only twenty-five contestants left.

Ethan was, not surprisingly, too wound up to stop for lunch. He and Marta opted to go use one of the practice rooms that had been set up in the Music building for one last trial run. I was starving, however, and begged off listening to him going through his Cantabile yet again. Instead, I headed off towards the main part of the campus to find some food. 

I was standing in line at the grill - planning to use the $20 that Ethan had handed me as I left to pig out a little on a double cheeseburger, fries and a chocolate milkshake - when I noticed someone staring at me from the nearby salad bar line. The guy was pretty cute, so at first I thought he was just flirting with me, but when I shook my head, indicating I wasn’t interested, he just kept staring. I decided to ignore him.

I’d barely set my tray down at a table before the guy came over and took the seat next to me without invitation. “So, you’re this year’s muse, huh?” the guy said with a shake of his head. “I suppose you’ve gotta give Ethan points for always staying true to type.”

I had no idea how to respond to that comment so I just sat there in my confusion, trying to figure out what this guy was angling after. 

The dude who’d so precipitately joined me was really rather handsome. He was a little shorter than me, maybe 5’8”, and thin to the point that he looked almost gaunt, but with a wiry build that countered any hint of fragility. His long, dark-blond hair was pulled back in a pony-tail to keep it out of his grey-blue eyes. His features were regular, with a sculpted chin and dainty little nose that turned up at the end. The two matching dimples in his cheeks countered the severity of his expression. He was quite beautiful, actually. But he was very obviously not in a jovial mood.

“So, are you a dancer too?” he asked.

“Um, no . . . I’m an artist,” I answered. 

“Ah, that makes sense. You don’t really have the build for dance and with those ham-hands you couldn’t possibly be a musician. I guess Ethan’s branching out into other arts these days?”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I asked, cutting off the guy’s rude remarks about my boyfriend. 

“No. You don’t. But I know you,” my unwelcome guest said with an unamused chuckle. “I’m you in about two more years.”

I put my burger down and turned to look at the guy more directly. “What the hell are you talking about?” I was through trying to be polite. 

The other blond held out his hand and introduced himself. “I’m Whitney Hardin. I used to be in the dance program at Point Park University in the Pitts before I transferred here to Boyer.” I accepted his proffered hand and shook it briefly. Then he added, “and I used to be Ethan’s muse too.”

“You’re Ethan’s ex?” I pulled back my hand quickly, unsure how I was supposed to feel about this meeting.

“One of his many exes, to be precise. He does tend to go through them pretty regularly, a fact you should probably be aware of,” Whitney answered with a tinge of sadness in his tone. “I saw the two of you over at Boyer and, when I saw he was actually letting you out of his sight for a bit, I thought maybe I’d come introduce myself and offer you a warning.”

That presumptuous statement made me bridle a bit. I mean, why would I want to talk to one of Ethan’s exes? Especially one who, it seemed, had an axe to grind. 

“Thanks, but, I don’t think I need any warnings. Ethan and I are doing just fine.”

“Of course you are. How long have you been together? A few months, tops? You’re still in the Idealization phase." Whitney huffed a little laugh at my surprise that he’d accurately pegged how long we’d been together without really even knowing me. “Right now you feel like he idolizes you. He’s showering you with love and attention all the time. And why wouldn’t he; you’re beautiful and I’m sure you’re super talented on top of it. Anyone would think the two of you would make the perfect couple. But I’m telling you now that won’t last. Pretty soon you’ll start into the Devaluation stage and the mask will begin to fall. Once you realize he’s not perfect, and point that out to him, he’ll get nasty pretty fast. Just be prepared, okay? And if you do manage to break away, don’t let him hoover you back in without a fight. Don’t let him gaslight you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I contended, feeling a little prickly. “But I don’t think I appreciate your comments. So, if you’re done, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

The man started to lift up his tray - it contained nothing except a small salad and a vitamin water so it was pretty light - but hesitated before leaving. “I get that you’re not ready to hear what I have to say. In your place, I wouldn’t have wanted to hear me either. But my conscience won’t let me NOT say something. Not when I know how bad it’s gonna get.” His expression looked so sad and thoughtful . . . And it really wigged me out. “Just keep in mind that you’re not alone and, when you are ready to talk, you know where to find me.”

With that he was gone, leaving me sitting there feeling totally weirded out. I didn’t know what to make of that confrontation. Was the guy for real, or was he just bitter after a bad breakup? Ethan hadn’t really talked much about any of his prior boyfriends, except to assure me repeatedly that I was the most beautiful and talented man he’d ever been with. So this guy and his ‘warning’ could just be the product of sour grapes. Still, it was disconcerting.

I quickly scarfed down the rest of my lunch, grabbed an apple and some water for Ethan, and then made my way back to the music school to find my musician. Ethan was too distracted to do more than offer a brusque ‘thanks’ for the snack I’d brought him. He was chattering away with another violinist, talking about esoteric things that I couldn’t begin to follow along with, so I just found a chair in the back of the room and waited. Before long, though, we were off to the next performance locale. 

Ethan, as expected, made it through the second round of elimination cuts as well. There were now only ten final-finalists left and they would all be performing their best pieces before the full panel of judges in the main auditorium beginning at four pm. Ethan was elated and practically bouncing off the ceiling after reading the list posted by the judges around two pm. The remaining contestants were practically swarmed by well-wishers for the next half hour or so. I let myself melt into the background, just trying to stay out of the way, while my boyfriend’s fans congratulated him and offered encouragement. 

And boy were there a LOT of fans, too. I noted, not happily, that the circling masses were comprised of more than a few attractive young men, all of whom were flirting with Ethan. At first I wasn’t that concerned by what I saw, but when a particularly pretty blond youth, who looked even younger than me, came up to shake Ethan’s hand I started to pay attention. Ethan held onto this one’s hand just a little bit too long. He also did that thing where he batted his long, dark eyelashes at the boy and gave him a rakish grin. They chatted together for quite a while, the young man even leaning in at the end to whisper something in Ethan’s ear. But what got me really steamed was the way Ethan laughed back at whatever the kid had whispered to him. That didn’t sound like a laugh you’d make if you were just laughing off a joke about Beethoven’s Last Movement, either. It was flirty. It was interested. It was not a laugh anyone should hear but me.

“Hey, Ethan. You want to go get something to eat since you skipped lunch?” I asked, shouldering my way up to where Ethan and his new admirer were still canoodling. “We’ve got a good forty-five mintues before you play again and you really should have more than an apple.”

Ethan looked up guiltily and took a step back from the boy still waiting next to his elbow. “Thanks, Mark. If you email me I can give you some more tips about that scherzo,” Ethan advised the youth with an obviously dismissive nod. 

The boy looked over at me with open hostility but apparently got the message and left. Ethan grabbed my hand and started leading me in the opposite direction, adding by way of explanation, “he’s not a bad musician, just a little green. He might even make it to the finals next year if he practices. I offered to give him some advice.”

“Uh huh,” I laughed. “I don’t think that was the kind of tip he was looking for, Eth.”

Ethan laughed but didn’t bother to reply and that was that. I didn’t think I needed to belabor the issue and Ethen was happy to let it die. We headed off to the dining hall, got some dinner, and then were back at the music school in plenty of time for Ethan’s final performance. 

“Nervous?” I asked as we stood in a huddle with the other finalists. 

“I'll take, ‘Questions whose answers are painfully obvious’, for 100, Alex,” Ethan joked as he rubbed his sweaty palms against the legs of his slacks.

Playing along with the Jeopardy theme I put on my best game show host voice and narrated, “This devastatingly handsome violinist dazzled the judges at the semi-finals and consistently takes Justin Taylor's breath away." 

With a laugh, my musician answered, “Who is Ethan Gold?”

“Ding, Ding, Ding!”

Ethan encircled my waist with his arms, and gave me a nice juicy kiss. “You really are my muse. You know that, right? I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Sure you could,” I said, being my usual supportive self.

He shook his head emphatically. “When my mom called and said my grandfather was too sick to travel, I almost didn't come. I've been playing for him my whole life, practicing day and night for this moment. Without him, who was I doing it for?” Ethan recited, something he’d actually said to me a couple of times already that day. 

We were interrupted when one of the ushers came up to us just then. “You're next, Mr. Gold.”

“I better take my seat,” I said, starting to move away towards the steps that led down into the auditorium. 

Ethan grabbed my arm to stop me. “No, stay here, where I can see you,” he demanded. “I'll be playing for you.” 

So, of course, I did what my man asked and remained in the wings, watching as the announcer introduced him. 

“Next up, playing the ‘Scherzo-tarantella, Opus 16’ by Wieniawski, Ethan Gold.”

Ethan played beautifully. Watching him up there on stage, he looked like another person. You could see that he was eating up the adulation coming from his audience and returning it to them a hundred fold. He truly was in his element when he was performing. He was beautiful.

And I obviously wasn’t the only one who thought so. The minute he was done playing there was yet another horde of folks coming up to bask in his radiated glory. They all wanted to be near him. To touch him. They wanted him to direct all that charm their way.

Including that same blond kid, Mark, who’d been so blatantly flirting with Ethan during the prior break. This time, though, he went a little further. This time he slipped Ethan a folded up piece of paper. Ethan gave the boy one of his best snake charmer smiles as he pocketed the missive, not even looking around to see if I had noticed. 

It kinda made me wonder about what that guy Whitney had said about Ethan going through exes pretty frequently. But then I told myself I was just being ridiculous and letting my imagination get away from me. Still, I made my way over to stand next to my boyfriend so I could fend off any other possible admirers.