Why Hot People Are Sometimes Single

Story Sent in by David:

Kelsey was a singer who I first encountered at a small concert venue. She was performing with two guys, and I thought that she was beautiful and that her voice was great. Someone like that had to have a boyfriend, I thought, if not several. But when I caught up with her after the show and bought her a drink, I was surprised that she not only gave me the time of day, but that she also remained talking to me for almost two hours.

We went on a first date that went great. Really great. On my way home from it, she sent me a text that read, "You aren't seeing any other girls tonight, are you? ;)"

I wasn't, and I wrote back that I wasn't. Still, it was the first indication that something wasn't quite right.

The next morning, I woke up to two texts from her, one of which read, "You're not with someone else, are you?" and the other one, sent about 20 minutes later, read, "Is that why you're not responding? You're with someone else."

I didn't respond because she had sent the texts at three in the morning, and I had been asleep, alone in my room.

I texted her back to inform her of that, and didn't hear from her that day or the next. I wrote her again, just a quick message to ask if she was okay.

She wrote back that she wanted to see me that day. I was working that day, and I told her so, but she wrote me back that I should "find time," so I made plans to meet up with her after work.

When I showed up to the restaurant where we had agreed to meet, she arrived looking like she hadn't slept in days. Her entire face was puffy, her eyes had major bags and were red, and her hair was tangled. I asked her if she was okay, and she said, "I saw you with them."

"Who?"

"All those other girls."

"I haven't seen any other girls."

She grunted and shook her head. "Liar. I saw you with them. You had one on your lap and you were laughing and I think you chased another one around a table. In my dreams."

I said, "You know that dreams are things that our brains make up, right? That they're not really real?"

She said, into her lap, "All I know is that I don't want you doing that again. I will seriously hurt them. I'll follow them home and hurt them. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "I understand. Excuse me." I stood.

"Where are you going?" she snapped.

"To the bathroom. I'll be right back."

I went straight home as quickly as I could. We hadn't ordered anything at the restaurant, so I didn't feel bad about leaving.

She sent me quite a few amusing texts after that ("Must be a hell of a dump," "You're not coming back?" "I will find you and hurt you."), and part of me felt (and still feels) bad about just leaving her there, but it had to be done.