Though at the time he would have done anything to have her return his want, she had given him the gift of rejection, as she thought herself too good for him and still did. But she had been wrong, and she should have known it, because the only ones who came for her were users and liars, seeing an advantage, a convenient means to an end that was never in her favor. You see, there was nothing there for them to want, because she was not real. Her entire being was a role she had given herself, a public persona with no truth in her heart. Love was not a care she really had. Though she told herself it was all she wanted, when it came to her, it was repulsed by a hundred other shallow factors. No, she would repeat the same mistake she’d made her whole life, and he was glad not to be part of it. Even though she was atrociously fake, he did not want to see her tear herself down in the only way she knew how to live. The fact was that she was not better, and she had cost herself a life that, while not glamorous, would have, at least, been real. But real held no appeal to her, still fancying herself young and waiting for some man who’d destroyed his marriage in some way he would never completely divulge to her to come and “sweep her off her feet.” Of course, once they discovered what she really was, they would begin to treat her accordingly and she would swallow it as she always had. 

Her loss had brought him better opportunities for companionship, women who were far better than she, women who were who they were, not pretending for other people’s eyes. Three to be exact, and their overtures, unlike hers, were sincere. One, older than he, a one-time bombshell, who had a body that she could only dream of having as she ruined herself at the gym, was smart and sarcastic, but not sniping as she had been. This one was reserved, however, seemingly afraid to be too forward, fearing commitment, fearing rejection, but always watching him, hinting to him, asking him for advice. 

Another, a few years younger, who was similar to her in appearance, which gave him pause, but with an amazing rear that she would never achieve. This one locked onto him immediately, came up with reasons to approach him, sitting and standing near him when there was no reason, ensuring her perfume that she began wearing all of a sudden would reach him. She too was always watching him, smiling and reacting to what he was saying when he wasn’t even talking to her, putting her things on his desk and lighting up when he acknowledged her. He’d caught her staring at him numerous times. She had a beautiful voice, not the cancerous rasp of the one who thought herself too good.

The third, far too young for him, did her best to keep his attention, which he gave as a friend, a true friend, not what the other had feigned as friendship. This one would talk and talk, looking for points of likeness, hinting at what she did in her spare time. Smart, very, but far too young. Once when she had his attention, the first had walked by and given her a side eye that said far too much, knowing he could see it. 

Yes, he had better options. He was worth more than she let herself see. She would say she had better options as well, but all of her options, if any were real, were based in the pretense she showed them, nothing sincere, nothing without calculation and thoughts of material advantage. And they were based in her self-imposed worthlessness, for she did not want a man who adored her, as he had. She wanted a man who treated her as beneath him, one to heed in disgusting obeisance that belonged to another century. They were buying a spouse. She knew it, and they likely knew it. That was the price she was willing to pay for things. And that is why he wanted her to know that these women gave him his worth back, the worth she tried to steal, to let her know how horrible she really was, for he had nothing much to offer but himself and these women, unlike her, wanted him anyway. 

But, unlike her, he would not simply jump at a chance, however advantageous. He was not a selfish asshole, like her. If he developed feelings for any of these women, then he would make it known, subtly, as she had robbed him of any ability to be as honest as he’d been with her. If circumstances led to seeing one of them, he would allow it and see what happened. But he would not fake it as she did. He would not take attention only for its own sake and lie about his feelings. If something came of it, then so be it but he would force nothing and he would feign nothing. They would never be doormats to him, and he would never be hers. And unlike whatever she found, it would be real and meaningful, not some shallow fantasy. She’d had her chance, and she’d chosen to be a foul man’s possession, a doormat to a fancy building, in lieu of a beloved woman. 

And dear, you cannot build a real relationship from afar, online, without proximity to each other, even if you knew each other once, even if you’ve met again once or twice. And there is nothing organic about dating sites. They are actual markets for the unwanted. None of it is real, and the love stories are plays they only enact. But that is what you want. Still, you don’t know them, and what may seem wonderful at first, will only be you both pretending … until reality sets in and the world goes sour. 

I never would have soured.