nycandlove blog

I had a relapse.

Remember the Hamburglar? I was so strong and ended it. Ummm not so much.

After I told you all about the Hamburglar here and here, I erased his number from my phone and began moving on with my life. And then I was in a bind one day and needed some help picking up heavy things and bringing them to my apartment. It needed to be done right away and I reached out to someone whose phone number I might have erased but whose screen name remained on my buddy list. Yes. The Hamburglar.

He said he could help me. I assure you all, this was important and I really didn’t have any other options. So he helped me with what I needed (after a quick, ahem, shower on my part) and then back at my apartment I closed off my room and waited for the Hamburglar to leave. Except he did not leave. Instead he pushed open my bedroom door and parked his cute tush in the middle of my messy, clutter-filled, clothes-strewn bed.

“Wouldn’t you rather . . . go back to your apartment so we can talk?”

Apparently, he would not.

We did it on my bed. I say on and not in, as my apartment is so small that my bed truly is a storage place. I sleep in a corner all curled up. The sex was not comfortable. In my defense, we talked and cuddled for a long time before doing anything, having the most honest discussion we’d ever had — aside from the day I told him how I felt. Of course, honest discussion is not what I need from the Hamburglar. When we talk and connect like that, it makes me want him more. Because now I think he cares about me. Also, he said he cares about me.

“I’m so sorry if I hurt you. I never meant to hurt you.”

I told the Hamburglar that he did nothing wrong. But really, helping me in a bind is one thing. But isn’t f*cking me after, knowing how I feel about him when he does not feel the same way, hurting me by definition?

We went out for pizza after that, where he was sweet and considerate and we joked and laughed and . . . ugh. Just, ugh. I know how unhealthy this is. I know. I know.  And of course it didn’t end there. Because he always offers to help when I need him. And the other day I needed a big favor and he was once again there for me. And once again it involved sex and LOTS of laughing. So much laughing, so much fun, such great sex, and a big favor from the Hamburglar to myself.

It is no wonder I can’t escape. And part of me doesn’t want to. But I will. Very soon. Promise.

Have you ever been in a situation like this? How did you get yourself out of it?