3 months ago, Malcolm started calling his behavior just jokes whenever I questioned anything. The pattern began in September when I asked him not to flirt with girls at parties. He laughed and told his friends I was obsessed with him. Dean, Randall, and Curtis all found this hilarious. They started making comments about clingy girlfriends whenever I was around.
Malcolm began testing boundaries. He would dance with other girls at bars and wink at me across the room. He started giving out his number to random women right in front of me. When I confronted him later, he said I was being completely dramatic about normal social interaction.
“It’s just dancing,” he would say, shaking his head like I was completely crazy.
His friends backed him up every single time without fail.
At Curtis’s birthday party last weekend, Malcolm’s ex, Sabrina, showed up wearing a tight red dress. She had been messaging Malcolm for weeks, but he claimed they were just being friendly. I watched her touch his arm while talking, running her fingers along his bicep. Malcolm kept glancing at me, smirking. His friends, Dean and Randall, positioned themselves nearby with their phones out, recording everything.
The party was packed with people from our college and nearby schools. Malcolm had been drinking steadily since we arrived at 8. He kept buying Sabrina drinks and completely ignoring me for hours. Every time I tried to join their conversation, he would turn his back to me or change the subject entirely.
Around 11:00, Malcolm grabbed Sabrina by the waist and pulled her close. He kissed her with full tongue, hands gripping her hips. The kiss lasted at least 30 seconds. Dean and Randall started chanting immediately.
“She deserved it. She deserved it.”
They yelled, pointing their cameras directly at me. Other people turned to watch the spectacle. Some laughed. Others looked uncomfortable but said nothing.
Malcolm pulled away from Sabrina and stared straight at me.
“Just a joke, babe,” he called out, grinning.
Sabrina giggled and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and squeezed her waist again.
I walked through the crowd toward the front door. People moved aside and stared. My phone started buzzing before I reached my car. Text after text appeared on my screen. Malcolm was sending them faster than I could read, 15 messages total by the time I got home.
“You’re ruining my night.”
“Come back right now and apologize to Sabrina.”
“Stop being so dramatic about everything.”
“Everyone at this party thinks you’re completely psycho now.”
“This is exactly why guys don’t want serious girlfriends.”
“You totally embarrassed me in front of all my friends.”
“Learn to take a harmless joke for once in your life.”
I drove home and turned off my phone completely.
When I checked it Sunday morning, Malcolm had posted six Instagram stories between midnight and 3:00 a.m. videos of him grinding on random girls at the party. Close-up shots of women dancing against him. Each caption read variations of,
“This is what happens when you try to control me, and freedom feels so good right now.”
The final story showed Malcolm doing shots with three different girls. The caption read,
“Single life hits different.”
He had tagged Dean, Randall, and Curtis in every single post.
Malcolm showed up at my apartment building at 3:00 a.m. Sunday morning. He pounded on the front door for 5 straight minutes, yelling my name loud enough to wake up neighboring units. When I finally opened it, he rire of alcohol, cigarettes, and multiple different perfumes. His button-down shirt was wrinkled and stained with something dark, his hair stuck up in random directions.
“You’re a psycho girlfriend,” he said, swaying in my doorway. “Every guy cheats on their girl eventually. At least I did it to your face instead of sneaking around behind your back like some coward.”
I told him to leave immediately. He laughed and leaned against the door frame.
“You’ll forgive me by Tuesday like you always do,” he said. “Remember when I made out with your sister’s friend at Christmas? You got over that real quick?”
Then he stumbled back to his car and drove away.
Monday afternoon, Dean sent me a private message on Instagram.
“You’re way too uptight about everything. Malcolm was teaching you an important lesson about trust and boundaries. You should be grateful he cares enough to help you grow as a person.”
I read the message twice, then closed the app.
20 minutes later, Celeste sent me a message. She’s Curtis’s girlfriend and had seen the group chat on his phone. She forwarded me 23 screenshots from their conversation since Sunday night. Malcolm was bragging in detail about putting me in my place.
“She’ll come crawling back like always,” he wrote. “They all do when you show them who’s really the boss.”
Randall replied with crying laughing emojis. Curtis wrote,
“Savage move, bro.”
Dean added,
“She definitely needed that reality check.”
