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.

At midnight, Landon finally came home.

The hems of his pants and the tops of his shoes were soaked through, streaked with rain and mud.

I looked at him coldly. "I thought you had a germ thing. I thought you never went out in the rain."

His hand stopped mid-motion.

Once, when I'd spiked a fever on a rainy day, all I asked was for him to drive me to the hospital.

He'd refused. "Just take a cab. The rain makes everything smell rotten, my nose can't handle it."

After that, no matter how sick I got, on rainy days I always walked to the hospital alone under my own umbrella.

So it turned out the rain had never really kept him inside. I just didn't rate as his exception.

He gave the bag in his hand a little shake.

"I got worked up earlier. I was just scared something had happened to Marcia. You haven't had dinner yet, right?"

It was from that soup place on the west side of the city, my favorite.

Three years ago, he'd confessed to me there. It was also the only meal we'd ever eaten together.

Something in me still stirred, and I started to reach for it.

But Landon pulled his hand back, frowning.

"Did you sit on the couch without sanitizing first? Marcia's really sensitive to the smell on you."

"Last time you got into bed without changing, she couldn't sleep the whole night."

The words were out before he caught what he'd let slip. His voice softened. "Just eat out in the hallway. The smell's too strong in here, I can't stand it."

But I stood frozen where I was, the soup suddenly cold in my hands.

"All those days I was away on business, Marcia was living here in our home the whole time, wasn't she?"

Seeing there was no point hiding it, he just nodded, plainly.

"Marcia's family was pressuring her to get married and she developed an anxiety disorder. I've only been taking care of her. Don't read into it."

I swallowed down the ache in my chest. My voice came out flat and cold.

"So my fianc is sharing a home with another woman, and you want me not to read into it?"

"Landon, you still can't let go of Marcia, can you?"

He knit his brows, defending himself with pure impatience. "Why do you always think the worst of people?"

"She and I ended a long time ago. I just look after her like a little sister."

"You're too emotional right now. There's no talking to you."

With that, he put in his earbuds, turned, and went into the bathroom to shower.

It was always like this.

The moment I started to talk about being hurt, about being disappointed, about how unfair this whole thing was,

he'd shut me out.

Just then his phone screen buzzed on the table.

I couldn't help looking. It was Marcia's post.

She'd put up a video, captioned: Three years later, and I finally get to have soup my ex-husband feeds me again.

In the thirty-second clip, Landon patiently blew on the soup to cool it and spooned it into her mouth, one gentle bite at a time.

Even knowing the truth already, I made myself watch the whole thing, like I wanted the wound.

In three years, we had never once sat at the same table to eat. Even on dates, we ate apart.

Because he said he didn't like watching other people eat, and hated the smell of it even more.

But in that video, he not only didn't mind, he drank from the same cup as Marcia and ate with the same spoon.

Looking at that bowl of soup gone cold, I understood it hadn't been bought for me at all.

Marcia had wanted some, and he'd only grabbed a bowl for me on the side.

Even with my stomach cramping from hunger, I didn't want to pick up the spoon.

When he came out of the shower and saw the bowl sitting there untouched, he frowned.

"Naomi, you won't even eat the soup. How long are you going to keep this up?"

"Do I have to feed you now, too?"

I looked at him. "Go feed it to Marcia. I don't want her leftovers."

The remark landed where he didn't expect it, and impatience flashed in his eyes.

"Naomi, what are you throwing a fit about, day after day?"

"Marcia's sick. It's only right that I take extra care of her."

"I'm tired. I don't want to fight with you."

I looked at his face, a stranger's face, and nodded.

"Then let's break up. All we ever do together is fight anyway."

I turned and went back into the bedroom, locking the door tight.

Outside, his voice came, impatient.

"Can you try to be reasonable? All I did was look after Marcia. Do you have to threaten me with a breakup every single time?"

"We're getting married next month. Stop being so childish."

"I'm keeping the porridge warm for you. Remember to come out and eat."

I didn't answer. I pulled the blanket over my head and cried, pressing the sound down so he wouldn't hear.

The next morning, for the first time in ages, a post from Landon popped up in my feed.

It was a photo of him and Marcia sitting side by side in the car, watching the sunrise together.

So he hadn't come home all night.

The car was packed with snacks and drinks of every kind.

I used to imagine it so many times, the two of us driving off somewhere far, watching a sunrise together.

But in all the time we'd been together, I'd sat in his car exactly twice.

The first time, my blood sugar dropped and I ate one piece of candy in the car.

He threw me out on the spot, saying no food in the car, it would leave a smell.

The second time, I forgot to sanitize first, and Marcia got carsick.

It was pouring rain that day, and he still had the heart to leave me on the side of the road.

But now Marcia was eating in his car, and somehow his germaphobia didn't apply.

Numbly, I liked the post and left a comment: "Wishing you two a long and happy life together."

The next second, the post was deleted.

A moment later, his voice call came through.

"Naomi, let me explain. Marcia posted that last night when I wasn't paying attention."

"She and I only watched the sunrise. I was helping her with her anxiety. Nothing happened."

I let out a low laugh.

"Landon, your germaphobia only ever applies to me. Never to Marcia. Am I right?"

The line went silent at once.

Marcia grabbed the phone and apologized to me.

"Naomi, Landon and I really are just friends now."

"He told me you like porridge. Let me make some tonight, as my way of apologizing to you. Okay?"

I wanted to refuse, but then I saw the transfer notice on my phone, with only one day left on it.

This was my chance to end things with Landon for good, face to face.

After I hung up, she sent me an address.

Looking at that familiar address, my nose stung.

The villa she lived in was less than five hundred meters from Landon's company.

And that villa was the one I'd spent most of last year crossing half the city to find.

At the time, Landon told me he was going to buy it and give it to me as a twenty-fifth birthday present.

Except in the end the place got reserved by someone else.

So it wasn't reserved at all. He'd just given it to someone else.

By the time I reached Marcia's place, I thought I'd braced myself for it.

But once I was inside, I still stood there at the entrance, silent.

Compared to our home, with its constant smell of disinfectant, there wasn't a single odd smell here.

A matching pair of his-and-hers slippers sat by the door, black and white, and on the sink stood a matching set of couple's cups.

And the wall right past the entrance was covered with photos of the two of them.

Cherry blossoms below the Rockies, the aurora spilling across the Arctic sky, a wooden boat on the slow rivers of New England.

They'd traveled all the most romantic places in the world.

While Landon and I had been together three years, and the farthest we'd ever gone was the amusement park downtown.

All because he said he had germaphobia.

Landon hurried over to block the photo wall, explaining in a rush.

"Those are all old photos, from before we broke up."

"If it bothers you, I'll have her move out right away. I'll take you to take photos like these later."

I shook my head and said calmly,

"It doesn't matter anymore. I don't want anything of yours now."

He froze.

"Naomi, you've gotten hooked on the drama, haven't you?"

"We're getting married next month. Do you have to pick a fight with me every single day?"

He came to my side to comfort me, and I pushed him straight away.

"Don't come near me. I told you. You're too dirty."

Landon froze where he stood.

He'd probably never imagined that one day I would be the one to push him away.

Just then Marcia called out from inside.

"Landon, I just finished the stir-fry, hurry up and make the grilled fish, I've been craving yours so much these past few days."

She came running out and wrapped her arms tight around him from behind.

She was covered in the smell of cooking grease, and Landon didn't mind in the slightest.

"Naomi, Landon's such a good cook, you must get to eat his grilled fish every single day at home, right?"

That one sentence stiffened his face even more.

I watched him in silence.

I thought of my last birthday, when all I'd asked was for him to make me a bowl of birthday noodles.

He'd refused, disgusted. "The smell's too strong. It's not that I don't want to, Naomi, it's my germaphobia."

I didn't answer. I just looked at him for a few seconds.

So a man who couldn't stand even the smell of food at home could, it turned out, cook for someone else with his own hands too.

Looking at the man I'd loved for three years, I felt like I was seeing him for the first time.

I turned to leave.

But Landon caught my arm and pulled a velvet box from his pocket.

Inside was a pink diamond.

"All right, stop sulking. I was going to give you this ring next month, when we got married."

"I'll give it to you now instead, my future Mrs. Sanchez."

It was the style I'd once mentioned liking in passing, and I hadn't thought he'd actually bought it.

He lifted my hand to slide it on, but the ring was a full size too big.

The moment he let go, the pink diamond dropped straight to the floor with a bright little clink.

I curled my lip in a bitter smile. "This was meant for Marcia all along, wasn't it?"

Landon went blank for a second, then rushed to explain.

"What are you talking about? I just got the size wrong. I'll have it adjusted tomorrow."

Then he added, offhand,

"Oh right, tomorrow I'll have Marcia come to Europe with us to pick out the wedding dress."

"She studied abroad, she has good taste, she can help you make sure it's right."

I cut in. "No need. I'm not going."

He didn't notice I'd already given up. He just laughed, unbothered.

"It's fine if you don't come. Let Marcia pick for you."

"When we're back, we'll go do the wedding photos."

I didn't nod, didn't answer. I only found it funny.

I was the bride of this wedding, and even my dress was to be chosen by another woman.

In that moment I finally understood. Maybe I really didn't love him anymore.

While he went into the kitchen to make the grilled fish, I turned and left without a sound.

I went home alone and packed all of my things.

Early the next morning, out in the cold, I hurried to the hospital and signed off on every last transfer document.

Landon sent more than a dozen messages. I didn't read a single one.

Before boarding, I snapped in half the personal SIM card he'd given me and dropped it in the trash.