My Severe Germaphobe Boyfriend's Double Standard I Stop Waiting

My boyfriend had a severe germ phobia. Before every kiss, I had to rinse my mouth over and over with medical mouthwash.

The moment there was even a trace of food smell on me, he'd push me away without a second thought.

Even when we were intimate, he wore disposable gloves, and afterward sealed them into a sterile disposal bag.

I used to try to ease his phobia, but he only pushed me back and said, gently,

"Naomi, don't. There are so many germs."

Over time, I went numb and simply accepted the fact of his severe germ phobia.

Until that day the city got hit with a downpour, and I called him for half an hour with no answer.

I made it home soaked to the skin and reached for the disinfectant spray by the door out of habit, ready to spray down my clothes.

And then I saw her, in the living room. His ex-girlfriend, Marcia Henson, drunk and nestled in his arms.

Wet kisses were landing on his throat and his cheek.

Landon Sanchez, the man who couldn't tolerate so much as a food smell, wasn't pulling away from the reek of alcohol.

He was comforting her, in a voice I'd never heard from him, aching with tenderness.

"Going out to drink in rain like this, not taking care of yourself, just so you can worry me?"

I froze where I stood, eyes red.

So his germ phobia wasn't an illness. It was just that he didn't love me.

Quietly, I took out my phone and messaged the hospital director.

"Director, I've accepted the transfer. I'll report to Weston Hospital in three days."

...

I don't know how long I stood frozen in the entryway.

Until Marcia, on the sofa, pressed a hand to her stomach and murmured that it hurt.

Only then did Landon get up to pour her some warm water, and when he looked up, he caught sight of me standing by the door.

He visibly started.

"Naomi, when did you get back?"

Seeing me stare at Marcia, he let out a soft sigh and offered a half-hearted explanation.

"Marcia had too much to drink. The rain was too heavy. I couldn't leave her out there, so I had to bring her home."

"Don't read into it. I cut things off with her a long time ago. I'm just looking after her."

He stepped closer and raised his hand out of habit, meaning to ruffle my hair.

But right now he didn't carry the familiar smell of disinfectant. Only the thick smell of alcohol.

It made me cough despite myself.

I stepped back to put distance between us, and his hand met empty air.

"Landon, your hands have touched another woman. Don't touch me anymore."

"You're too dirty. I have a germ phobia too."

His expression froze.

That stunned, blank look. I knew it better than anything.

It was the exact same helpless, bitter look I used to wear every time he pushed me away and blamed his phobia.

His face turned cold all at once, edged with impatience.

"Naomi, I've explained everything I need to explain. I don't want to fight with you right now."

He looked me over and said, out of habit,

"It rained today. Remember to disinfect first, then change into disposable shoes before you come in."

I didn't reach for the disinfectant. I just looked at him quietly.

I thought of the last time I ate a single bowl of instant noodles at home, and how the next day he had the whole place cleaned and disinfected.

Three years together, and every meal at home I had to finish outside before I was allowed inside.

I kept telling myself my boyfriend wasn't cold. He just had a germ phobia.

But now his ex-girlfriend could lie on our sofa reeking of alcohol, and he didn't care in the slightest.

Suddenly I didn't want to lie to myself anymore.

"So she reeks of alcohol and doesn't need to disinfect, is that it? Just because she's the ex you can't let go of?"

Landon stopped short, his brows knotting into a hard line.

"Marcia has separation anxiety. She's sick! You're perfectly healthy. Why do you have to hold it against her?"

I gave a small nod and reached over to pull the door open.

"Fine, I won't hold it against her. Let's cancel next month's wedding too."

At that, Marcia rose slowly, wrapped her arms tight around Landon from behind, and said to me, slurring,

"Naomi, Landon only got his germ phobia after we broke up. I'm sorry. I've wronged you."

"If it bothers you, I'll leave right now."

She started toward the door, and Landon immediately reached out and held her firmly against his chest.

He turned to look at me, his voice full of blame and impatience.

"Naomi Pruitt! Are you using the wedding to threaten me?"

"It's a small thing. Do you really have to blow it up like this?"

Watching the two of them pressed so close together, I suddenly felt like laughing.

I thought of last year, taking couple photos in the Appalachians, when I just tilted my head a little, wanting to kiss the side of his face.

He took out an alcohol wipe, wiped the lipstick off my lips, and warned me coldly,

"Makeup is full of germs. Don't do that again."

But now Marcia wore heavy makeup, and his germ phobia had somehow stopped working.

"If you want to go, go. I won't coax you back like last time."

Landon said coldly.

But the words had barely left his mouth when Marcia suddenly raised her hand and slapped him across the face.

She cursed at him through tears.

"Landon, didn't I tell you? Treat your girlfriend well. Don't be like me!"

"Why can you never learn to cherish someone? Naomi, don't be angry, I'm leaving right now!"

I stared blankly at the scene in front of me.

My boyfriend actually needed another woman to teach him how to love me.

But once Marcia stepped out the door, Landon didn't hesitate. He grabbed his coat and hurried after her.

That coat, the birthday gift I'd given him, he draped over Marcia's shoulders.

I remembered it clearly. The last time the cold air on the street had me shaking all over, I wanted to borrow that coat of his to keep warm.

He'd refused, cold about it. "A coat is a hassle to disinfect once it's worn. Can't you just tough it out?"

So it turned out only I had to disinfect when I wore it. Marcia wore it and didn't have to.

I didn't take off my clothes. I didn't change my shoes. I just sat quietly on the sofa I usually had to disinfect for three minutes before I could sit on.

The old me would still have foolishly made excuses for his coldness.

In this moment, all at once, I didn't want to endure it anymore.