I feel like I’m living a nightmare. Things with me and Jerry were going so well — we had just celebrated our three month anniversary, and in Claremont, that’s like, five years — but something’s changed. Last night, in his sleep, he mumbled something about how much he loves this girl, “Serato?” And when I saw that Pioneer Controller under his bed… I knew it was over.
I’m astonished that he would betray my trust like this. I feel like we set some really healthy boundaries: I didn’t care if he was really into “acid house” just so long as he never talked about it to anyone ever.
I always figured it was a coincidence that every time he canceled one of our dates, “DJ Phreaky Boy” would post an Instagram story about doing a UK Garage set in Doms Lounge. Sometimes I’d check Fizz and I’d see all these posts about how “DJ Phreaky Boy is ass” and how “DJ Phreaky Boy never takes my requests to play any Brat.” So embarrassing.
I really should’ve known something was up when he deleted all the SZA from our sex playlist and replaced it with two and a half hours of liquid drum and bass. He won’t stop thrusting in time with the music, and he insists he’s just “manually beatmatching,” whatever that means.
I miss when men played instruments.