Toxic Masculinity

Ted walked quickly from the bus stop. He glanced at his watch and sped up. He was going to be late. Again.

At twenty-five, tall and athletic with blonde hair hanging down over his left eye, he was dressed according to his imperfect understanding of what “business casual” actually meant. In this case, it was blue jeans, brown Chelsea boots, and a plain white T-shirt. Aviator-style sunglasses with mirror lenses completed the look. They hid his eyes, making him feel invulnerable.

He was anxious to get back to work, breaking into a sweat in the July sunshine as he neared a shiny glass and concrete office building set back from the road. He’d been working here as a junior software engineer for over six months, and he loved it. His colleagues, mostly male, were an odd bunch of idiosyncratic individualists, and for once, he did not feel out of place.

As he approached the glass door, he stopped abruptly, recognizing the young woman standing in Reception. She was slim with long dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She, too, wore sunglasses, with large black lenses that seemed to cover half her face.

“Fuck! What’s she doing here?” he asked himself under his breath. They had been on a date last night, and it had gone very well right up to the end of the evening, or so he had thought. He had taken her home, they’d kissed on the doorstep, and he’d attempted to follow her into the house. She had tried to stop him, and he’d lost it. It was as if his old life had caught up with him again. This wasn’t fair! He wasn’t that person anymore, not a loser.

All that money spent on the date for nothing. He’d pushed his way in against her best efforts to shut the door in his face.

“Ted, please,” she said as he closed the door behind him.

#

He wanted to forget what had happened next; he hadn’t meant things to go that way, but she wouldn’t listen. He had to show her she was wrong about him. And keep her quiet, because of the neighbours.

Afterwards, he tried to be nice. Clearing up the broken dishes, tidying the room. But she wouldn’t stop crying. He’d even brought her a cup of tea, but she wouldn’t even look at him. He put the tea down on the bedside table and started to retrieve her torn and discarded clothes from the floor beside the bed.

“I’m sorry, babe”, he’d tried, but the crying just got worse. Finally, he left, telling himself that he had done his best. It wasn’t his fault. He was a man after all, not to be trifled with, not now. That was his old life; things were different. Dad was gone and couldn’t punish him anymore. A brief smile touched his lips as he remembered the pain and surprise on the old bastard’s face at the end. It made him feel a little better.

Now she was here. What did she want? Had the bitch called the cops?

Then he noticed two other people standing a little further back in the reception area, a man and a woman, dressed like police detectives in worn suits that had seen better days. He knew they wouldn’t believe his side of the story. That was how it always went down. He turned on his heel and walked quickly away, avoiding eye contact with the people coming in the opposite direction.