No, I wasnâ€™t Bonnie to his Clyde. He didnâ€™t wear silk suits, black ties, or a fedora. We didnâ€™t delicately orchestrate shoot-outs at banks or on trains. He didnâ€™t buy me furs or take me dancing. That bastard.
We were inseparable throughout our teen years. Flash forward: four years of on-again off-again dating. Our relationship was as volatile as the economy. He kept his job a secret and had odd hours, secretive phone calls, and impromptu â€śbusinessâ€ť trips. I didnâ€™t think anything of it until he (along with 3 of his closest friends) was arrested for dangerous driving, cocaine possession (with intent to sell), and assaulting a police officer. I went to his bail hearing and had the pleasure of hearing about his lengthy criminal record of break-ins, possession, and assault. I was shocked. Where the hell was I during all of this? Our relationship was exposed as one bizarre lie after another. It was so humiliating.
He was eventually released on bail and I was known as Johnnyâ€™s* ex-girlfriend. Oh you know, Johnny, the guy that punched a cop in the face and went to jail. Stay classy, Johnny.
He was like Gossip Girl. People sent him tips and he would often show up where I was. It was a nightmare. He ruined two dates with one really great guy I was seeing. The first time, he sat down at the next table and just stared at us, until my date and I got so uncomfortable we just left. The second time, he sat somewhere else and gave me a play-by-play commentary of my date. Your date is wearing a striped scarf, five points for Gryffindor! Needless to say, it was creepy.
I started ignoring him completely as punishment for his pathological lying throughout our relationship and of course, for being a total jackass. I ignored his MSN (if you remember using this, youâ€™re old), Facebook, and text messages. I didnâ€™t answer his calls. I was so proud of my willpower and (not-so-secretly) thrilled that the more I ignored him, the more desperate he was for contact. Feeling that way is a bad move when your ex-boyfriend is a sociopathic pathological liar who has been to jail.
Soon, he started stalking me. No, not like you â€ścheck upâ€ť on your ex and his new girlfriend Facestalkingâ„˘, but actual stalking–in the bushes with binoculars stalking. It all happened one night when I was out drinking and dancing with a girlfriend. I was in charge of man-handling her cell phone that evening, since she tends to seductively desperately call/text her ex-boyfriend after a drink too many. Nobody was man-handling my phone, so when he called me for the umpteenth time, I happily answered. I agreed to meet him and â€śtalkâ€ť, while he agreed to make the drive downtown and pick me up. Upon realizing the horror that was on its way, I hailed a cab and quickly went home.
He called me twenty-four times. I didnâ€™t answer, but my best guess is a) he was at the club, b) he couldnâ€™t find me, c) he wanted to know where the hell I was, or d) he was going to kill me. He decided to make a house call, and instead of knocking on my door or ringing my doorbell, as is customary when visiting someoneâ€™s home, he decided to climb the side of my house. Let me repeat that in case you missed it. He. Climbed. The. Side. Of. My. House.
I was in absolute terror when I saw him crouching on my dadâ€™s shed, pressed up against the window. It was from that moment forth that I had deeply regretted dating a criminal. Obsessive criminal ex-boyfriends arenâ€™t afraid of trespassing on your property, climbing the side of your house, and watching you through a window. Theyâ€™re also nonchalant about scaring the bejesus out of you. While Iâ€™ve changed my number and moved out since then (three years have passed), I still look over my shoulder from time to time and wonder if he inadvertently spies on my parents.
There are still some people who refer to me as â€śJohnnyâ€™s girlâ€ť, but I pretend they donâ€™t exist.
*Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.