How I Met James

The morning after their argument,  Queen sat alone in her office staring at a property file, she hadn’t read in twenty minutes. Her  mind kept drifting back to the previous night. Back to his words. Back to the look on his face when he told me he struggled to desire me. The pain was still fresh.

But what hurt even more was knowing there had been a time when James couldn’t get enough of her. And James used to be everything she thought she wanted.

Before James,  love had never been kind to her. she wasn’t one of those girls who had boys fighting over her. She wasn’t the girl who got asked to prom by three different guys. She wasn’t the girl men described as stunning. she was the plus-size girl. The class clown. The smelly dirty girl. The girl men liked talking to but rarely wanted to be seen with. Her first boyfriend taught her that lesson. They dated for  3 months.

Every time she suggested taking pictures together, he’d find an excuse. Every time she wanted to meet his friends, he’d change the subject.

She  didn’t understand why until she accidentally saw a text message. His friend had asked him why he was dating “the big girl.”

Instead of defending her, he replied with a laughing emoji.

A laughing emoji,that he wanted to know how fat girls taste, my heart shattered. That was all it took for me to realize what I was to him. A joke.

I cried for weeks after that breakup. Then came Eric.

The boyfriend who nearly turned her into a charity organization. When she met Eric, he was charming, funny, and ambitious.

At least that’s what he claimed. In reality, Eric was unemployed most of the time.

And somehow his problems always became my responsibility.

His rent was due? I paid it.

His electricity got disconnected? I fixed it.

He needed money for transport? I transferred it.

He needed groceries? I bought them.

Looking back, I don’t know if he loved me or just loved the fact that I never said no.

For two years I carried that man on my back.

Then one day he sat me down and told me he needed someone who inspired him.

Someone who motivated him. Someone who took care of herself.

A week later he was dating a fitness instructor. The irony almost killed me.

After Eric, she stopped believing in love. Completely.

She focused on work. Focused on helping her mother. Focused on building a life that didn’t depend on a man.

Then she met James. And everything changed. It happened on a rainy Tuesday morning.

She  was running late for work. My hair was a mess.

 makeup was barely done. And  was arguing with myself about whether I could afford an overpriced coffee.

I finally bought one. Then immediately spilled it all over a stranger.

“Oh my God!” I nearly died of embarrassment.

The coffee had splashed across the front of his white shirt. I couldn’t even look at him.

“I’m so sorry.” When he didn’t respond immediately, I became convinced he was about to yell at me.

Instead, he laughed. Actually laughed.

I looked up. He was smiling.

“It’s okay.” I blinked. “What?”

“It’s coffee.” He shrugged. “Nobody died.”

For a second I forgot how to breathe. He was gorgeous. Tall. Handsome. Confident.

The kind of man women turned around to stare at.

The kind of man who usually dated women who looked nothing like me.

“I’m James.” His smile widened. “And you are?”

“Queen.” “Queen.”

The way he said my name made it sound important. Beautiful.

Like it belonged to someone special. “Nice to meet you, Queen.”

I spent the rest of the day thinking about him.

Then I got angry at myself for thinking about him. Then he somehow found me again.

A week later, James walked into T&B real estate firm where I worked carrying flowers.

Flowers. No man had ever brought me flowers before. Not because he wanted to.

Not because he was trying to impress me. Not because he thought I deserved them.

Yet there he stood. Holding a bouquet and looking ridiculously proud of himself.

“You’re stalking me.” He grinned. “I prefer persistent.”

I laughed.  And that was the beginning. Dating James felt like stepping into a dream.

He held my hand in public. Introduced me to his friends. Introduced me to his family.

Posted pictures of us online. The first time he uploaded a picture of us together, I cried.

Not because it was romantic. Because I wasn’t used to being chosen.

James noticed. He always noticed back then. “What are you crying for?”

I laughed through my tears. “You’ll think it’s stupid.” “Try me.”

I hesitated. Then finally admitted the truth. “No one has ever shown me off before.”

The look on his face broke my heart. He pulled me into his arms immediately.

“Queen.” I buried my face in his chest.

“You are not something to hide.”

At that moment, I believed him. Completely. A few months later he started talking about marriage. Marriage. The word felt unreal. No man had ever talked about forever with me though  It's been 4 years now and we are still not married.

“One day you’re going to be my wife.” I smiled for days after hearing that. 

Maybe that’s why I ignored the warning signs when they came. Because they came slowly.

So slowly. At first it was harmless. “We should start eating healthier.”

“Let’s join a gym.” “You’d look amazing if you lost a little weight.” I didn’t think much of it.

Then the comments became more frequent. More specific.

More personal. “You know you’d be stunning if you dropped a few sizes.”

“I just want you to look healthy.” “I’m saying this because I love you.”

Every criticism came wrapped inside concern. Every insult came disguised as advice.

Every wound came with a kiss. Then one day James said something that changed everything.

We were having dinner with his friends when he looked across the table and smiled. “I can’t wait until you reach your goal weight.” I frowned. “What goal weight?”

“The one we’re working toward.” The way he said it made my stomach twist.

“We?” “Of course.” He laughed.

“I want the best version of you.” At the time, it sounded sweet.

Now I realize what he meant. James wasn’t in love with the woman sitting across from him.

He was in love with the woman he hoped I would become. And the closer I got to realizing that, the harder he pushed.

The diets became stricter. The comments became sharper. The comparisons became constant.

Especially when Victoria entered the picture again. Victoria Sam.

My childhood nightmare. The girl who spent years making fun of my weight.

The girl who laughed whenever I entered a room.

The girl who somehow grew up to become one of the most successful models in the country.

And one of James’s favorite clients. Every time her name came up, I felt sixteen again.

Awkward. Embarrassed. Unwanted. “Victoria is so disciplined.” “Victoria works hard.” “Victoria takes care of herself.”

I hated hearing her name. Mostly because I knew what he wasn’t saying.

Why can’t you be more like Victoria? My phone vibrated against my desk.

The sound pulled me back to the present. James.

My heart reacted instantly. Stupidly.

James: Good morning, beautiful. I stared at the screen.

Beautiful. Last night he had reduced me to tears. Yet one text message still made my chest tighten.

Another message appeared. James: I love you. I closed my eyes. There it was.

The hook. The reason I stayed. The reason I kept forgiving him.

Because every now and then, the old James returned. The man from the coffee shop.

The man with the flowers. The man who made me believe I was worth loving.

And every time he appeared, I convinced myself the cruel version wasn’t the real one.

Maybe that’s why leaving felt impossible. Because I wasn’t holding on to the man James had become. I was holding on to the memory of the man he used to be. The man who promised forever.

The man who called me beautiful. The man who looked at me like I was enough. The man I kept waiting for. The man who, perhaps, had never truly existed at all.