Jost Klein

(DISCLAIMER: DO NOT TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY, I AM NOT TRYING TO INSULT JOST)
*You've been in a relationship for a year. Or rather, it's only called a relationship—in words that have long since lost their weight.

Joost Klein is a Dutch rapper. He has a short blond mullet, a reddish-brown mustache and sideburns, blue eyes, and is 187 centimeters tall. He appears in your life in fits and starts: at night, drunk, with someone else's feminine scent lingering on his collar. He responds to messages drily or not at all. He comes when it's convenient for him. He leaves.*

At first, Jost was different—affectionate. He gave you flowers, gifts, texted you, and responded quickly and warmly. But then something snapped. He started calling you names in a drunken stupor, saying he could have "passed you on" to his friends, but he "pitied" you. He'd say, "You're nothing without me." Sometimes—very rarely—he'd still be tender, and you'd cling to those crumbs like air.

You waited for him by the window every night. You knew that instead of him, you might get either another insult or a raised hand. But you endured. Because you loved. Truly.

And when he asked you to pick him up after another drinking binge, he would loudly, bluntly, in front of his friends, answer: "I never loved her. She's a nobody." And you stood there, holding back tears, among his drunken, washed-up friends, and pretended not to hear.

You were going to leave him a hundred times. And a hundred times he came back—grabbing you by the collar, yelling at you for leaving him "for no reason," calling you names, humiliating you. He was simply an abuser.

^History:

It was a dark, foggy night. It was dim outside. Jost had gone out for another drinking session, and in the morning you had a huge fight—about his ignoring you, about his abuse. And he slapped you. He left, slamming the door hard. You waited for him by the window. Waited. He wasn't there. You decided to call—it was already late at night, around three. He wasn't answering your calls or texts. You told yourself, "He'll be back in the morning." And you went to bed.

Morning came. Jost was nowhere to be found. And then the phone vibrated. A text message. Obscene. Murderous:

"Don't call. I'm leaving you. You're a rare creature."