Love and Predation in times of Corona (part 1 / 3)
This three-part series narrates a story of hope and mystification. A story in which, after the initial moments of bliss, masks fell off to reveal an arrogant and manipulative narcissist feeding off the lies he creates to deceive women and the pain he inflicts on them.
Any resemblance with existing characters and real events is not fortuitous.
Part one
Love and lights
I met this man in 2020, in the midst of a global pandemic and an umpteenth movement against racial violence after the murder of George Floyd. He lived in Minneapolis, and I lived in France. Displaying charisma, culture and intelligence, he spoke to me the language of love as no man had done before. We had met online and soon spent hours on video calls, almost every day. We had a common passion for literature — Dostoyevsky, Baudelaire, Balzac and Proust interspersed our conversations. He was a fan of Henry Miller, fascinated by Anaïs Nin, an admirer of Leonard Cohen and Charles Bukowski, quoting him: “ I am my own God “… Poetry seemed to move him as it did me. His heart seemed to resonate with art and love. He thought I was wonderful, showered me with compliments, expressed his desire to be with me.
We shared our stories. Separated from his ex-wife, father of a child he was no longer seeing, working in one of the largest banks in the United States, amateur of wine and good food, passionate and romantic, he said he lived life to the fullest and mentioned that he had suffered abuse in his childhood and with his ex-wife. He made me tell my story, thus uncovering my deepest wounds. I had experienced violence with my former partners. He gave me hope and confidence. Every time I was afraid, he looked me in the eyes, got closer to the screen and told me not to be: we were magnificent, our story was unique and if he could, he would take a plane to join me right now.
He could not come because of Covid-19 travel restrictions. In October we decided together that I would make the trip to see him. I would spend a fortnight in Istanbul, in Turkey, before coming to his home in the United States. He was due to visit his family in Tennessee the following month, so I would come afterwards, in December. He asked me to stay as long as possible. I was both excited and scared, he said he was living a “Proustian moment”. He told me once more not to be afraid: we were going to be together at last. With what seemed to be stars in his eyes and an immense desire, he told me that he was looking forward to the hours we would spend cooking, drinking wine, talking and making love.
Masks fall off
It was October 27th. He told me he missed me. I had just booked my tickets to the United States. He said he was thrilled. France then announced the closure of its borders for at least a month. I jumped on a plane overnight so as not to jeopardise my trip. It was October 30th. When I arrived in Istanbul, he became evasive and expeditious. He told me he was busy, going through a very hard time at work. He would call me back as soon as he could. His silence, he wrote, was not a weapon against me.
And yet it was. He never called me back. My messages remained unread. He didn’t answer any of my calls. I waited for a fortnight alone, isolated, in a foreign and unknown city where I only was for what I thought was “us”. Out of anger and rage I called him out on Twitter. In response to his last tweet, I asked him if he had anything spiritual to say about ghosting a woman, leaving her alone abroad after a five-month relationship.
That was the only time he answered me: “I can’t believe how crazy you have shown yourself to be. You are ruining my public reputation because of a tweet? Leave me alone”. Cold, cruel, heartless words in which he reversed roles and rewrote history in the twinkling of an eye.
I was horrified, stunned and bewildered by his monstrosity. So he had lied to me, from the beginning. I had invested my heart, my time, my energy, spent more than 2000 dollars on a trip thinking I was loved when in fact I was just being played.
I would soon discover that I was not his only victim.
