You Wanted Me to Beg Before Marriage? Too Bad, I Walked First Chapter 07

You Wanted Me to Beg Before Marriage? Too Bad, I Walked First Chapter 07

After I moved out, Evan called me constantly.

“Maya, you’d better come back on your own before I run out of patience, or we’re done for good.”

“Maya, you left a bunch of your junk here. If you don’t come get it, I’m throwing it all away.”

Then he sent me a photo of a jar filled with folded paper stars.

The summer before our senior year of high school, we had made plans to meet at the library, but he overslept and showed up late.

I was angry and refused to speak to him.

He wrote apology after apology on pieces of paper, folded each one into a star, and gave the entire jar to me.

He asked me to promise that no matter what happened between us, whenever I saw those stars, I would give him one more chance.

Back then, I had smiled so brightly.

“No matter what happens, I’ll always give you another chance.”

I did not know whether he still remembered that promise.

All I felt now was exhaustion.

Perhaps another chance was simply an excuse we gave someone because we still cared about them.

But I did not think I cared about him anymore.

I blocked one number after another.

Once he ran out of numbers I had not blocked, he began creating new accounts and sending me friend requests on social media.

His messages were always the same.

“Maya, I’ve been living on takeout because you won’t cook for me, and now my stomach is wrecked.”

“Maya, if you block me again, I’ll show up at your office.”

“Maya, did you put a hex on me or something? Why has everything been going wrong for me lately?”

He was beginning to realize how poorly he was adjusting to life without me, and that struggle was causing him pain.

Looking back on the fifteen years we had known each other, I thought we were both at fault.

Every time I gave in, I taught him that he could ignore my feelings without consequences.

I treated every passing emotion of his as so important that he eventually believed everything about him should always come before me.

By constantly coddling him, I had helped create the very person who hurt me.

Fortunately, I somehow slept better now with his endless complaints in the background.

After Evan spent a month bombarding me on social media, I received a call from an unknown number one night.

A concerned passerby told me that my boyfriend was on the George Washington Bridge and would jump into the Hudson if I refused to take him back.

“I’m not trying to scam you,” the man shouted. “He’s really going to jump. Come see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“He won’t listen to anyone. The wind is brutal up here, and if he loses his grip, he could actually fall.”

More calls began pouring in.

Some people condemned me without knowing anything about the situation, accusing me of rejecting a man who loved me.

Others urged us to reconcile. They said it was not easy for two people to find each other, that we should give the relationship another chance, and that I should not wait until I lost him to regret it.

Even one of the responding officers asked whether I could come to the bridge and help talk him down.

“Put Evan on the phone,” I said.

When Evan took the phone, his voice was remarkably calm. He sounded nothing like the emotionally distraught man the stranger had described.

“Hey, Maya. Were you asleep?”

“I was resting. A lot of people have been calling me.”

“Sorry for bothering you.”

“Okay.”

The wind was clearly audible over the phone.

We remained locked in a silent standoff, neither of us willing to say another word.

Eventually, Evan broke the standoff.

“I’m on the George Washington Bridge. The Hudson is right below me.”

“Evan, are you threatening me?”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m not pathetic enough to pull something like that.”

“Maya, tell me something. Would you be sad if I died?”

I thought about it.

I probably would be.

But it would have nothing to do with who he was. Even if a complete stranger suddenly died, hearing about it would still make me feel some sadness.

Evan was not dead, though.

He was alive and speaking to me on the phone.

He had put me in the line of fire and exposed my phone number to strangers.

A worked-up passerby had just berated me, and I still had not calmed down.

Evan always found a way to dump every ugly emotion onto me, then step back and play innocent.

“Evan, it’s late,” I said. *Stop this.”

“I’m not playing around.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“I just… I wanted to apologize.”

His voice suddenly dropped when he added, “I’m sorry,” and he mumbled the words.

“Maya, will you come back?” he asked. “Can’t we go back to how things used to be?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll jump.”

“Do whatever you want.”

“Maya! I said I’m going to jump! I’ll kill myself, and then you’ll see!”

“…Do whatever you want.”

A tremendous splash came through the phone.

I shot to my feet.

Had Evan actually jumped?

Panic tore through me, accompanied by an irritation I could not put into words.

Even with his life on the line, my first thought was that he was still behaving like a child who had never grown up.

By the time an officer called me, some of that frustration had crept into my voice.

The officer described what had happened, saying Evan had suddenly lowered his head in despair, thrown his phone into the Hudson, and then jumped in himself.

The officer still could not resist blaming me.

“You knew he was going to jump. Why didn’t you try to talk him down?”

“You told him to do whatever he wanted. Do you realize that could be construed as encouraging him to kill himself?”

I lowered my head.

“If that’s what you believe, I’ll contact an attorney right now.”

“You two were in a relationship. You don’t have to be this cold.”

“He was rescued, wasn’t he?” I said. “If he actually dies, then you can come blame me.”

Evan had jumped, but he survived.

He was pulled out almost immediately and had only choked on a little water.

Yet people still condemned me as though I had already killed him.