Done Being a Simp

In the sixth year of our relationship, I broke up with Sloane Walton.

The reason was that I found cat hair in her car.

She never allowed my cat in her vehicle, claiming she was a neat freak.

When I mentioned this, she shrugged nonchalantly. "Just because of that?"

It was because of that, but not only because of that.

It wasn't until later, when she begged me to get back together, that she understood what I meant.

1

I was getting ready to pick Sloane up from work.

As soon as I opened the car door, a familiar smell hit me. I shook my head, thinking it couldn't be.

I opened the passenger side and placed a bouquet of flowers in the glove compartment as a surprise.

But in that moment, I spotted a clump of orange cat hair.

How could there be cat hair in her car?

Sloane was a neat freak. I had a Ragdoll cat named Nala, but Sloane only allowed Nala to stay in a separate house.

After visiting Nala, I had to shower and change clothes before seeing Sloane.

I sat there for a long time, my fingers absently opening the dashcam.

I pulled up a possible time frame and saw the car parked in front of a university, silent for about twenty minutes.

A lively boy in athletic wear appeared in front of the car.

Then I heard a door slam. "Sloane, have you been waiting long? I had a file due today, so I'm late. You don't have to pick me up every day. Just come see me when you miss me!"

Sloane's laughter came through. "What can I do? I miss you every day."

I met Sloane back in college. She was two years ahead of me, already graduated.

She used to pick me up at the school gate sometimes, but she had no patience and hated when people were late.

Once, a professor kept me three minutes late, and by the time I got to the gate, she was gone.

"I hate waiting for people. An agreed time is meant to be kept. My time is valuable. If you can't be on time, don't bother making plans."

After that, her friend Danny Foster hinted that Sloane was in the early stages of her career, and driving back and forth was a waste of time. So I started picking her up from work.

It turned out she didn't hate waiting. She just hated waiting for me.

A cat's meow snapped me out of my thoughts. "Sloane, I saw a stray cat at school today. It's so pitiful. I want to adopt it."

Sloane didn't scold him. Instead, she said warmly, "Then keep it in the house I got you."

"Thanks, Sloane, you're the best!"

What followed was casual chatter. Sloane laughed often, and the atmosphere in the car was cheerful.

I quietly turned off the dashcam, my mind drifting back to when I first graduated.

My family had a Ragdoll, but four years ago, my mother got sick with asthma, so I took Nala to live with me.

One rainy day, I knocked on Sloane's car door, hoping she could take Nala in for a while.

She frowned. "I don't like cats. They leave a smell in my car that never comes out."

Before I could explain, she shut the door and drove off.

Later, I used my first paycheck to rent a small place for Nala.

Though Sloane invited me to live with her after graduation, every time I visited Nala, I had to shower and change before going home to her.

But yesterday, a stray cat left not just a smell but hair in her car.

Her principles could be broken, just not for me.

That clump of cat hair seemed to mock my years of unwavering effort.

I sat in the car, memories of Sloane and me flashing through my mind like a slideshow.

As a freshman, I fell for her at first sight, but the gap between us felt too wide. She was the campus beauty, cycling through boyfriends faster than I could juggle part-time jobs.

One night during my sophomore year, I was working at a bar when I saw her drunk. I took her to a nearby hotel, and she clung to me, crying for a long time.

I slept on the couch. The next morning, she woke up and asked me out.

Everyone said Sloane was serious this time, that our six-year relationship meant something.

But I knew deep down she never truly loved me.

2

After the initial sweetness faded, signs of her cheating became clear.

At first, it was small things, like dressing up every day and wearing perfume. Then she started taking her phone everywhere, even to the bathroom.

When I didn't react, she grew bolder, coming home late with no lipstick left.

I confronted her once, but my anger fizzled out when she said, "Deal with it or break up."

She had me figured out.

She knew I loved her and wouldn't leave.

But years of disappointment piled up, and I was exhausted.

Sloane's ringtone broke the silence. As soon as I answered, she unleashed a tirade. "Josh, you said you'd pick me up! How late are you? I told you I hate waiting. Don't bother coming. Don't ever pick me up again."

I stared blankly ahead. "Sloane, let's break up."

Her voice came through, stunned. "What did you say?"

"I said we're done."

"Why?"

"I found cat hair in your car."

"Just because of that?"

It was because of that, but not only because of that.

She didn't wait for my response and let out a light laugh. "Fine, Josh. If you've got the guts, don't come crawling back to me."

Then came the mechanical thud of the call ending.

I silently stood up, went upstairs, and packed my things that night, moving out.

After four years of living there, I realized I didn't own much.

Even the few clothes in the closet were the sporty, youthful ones Sloane liked.

At twenty-six, what youthful spirit did I have left? I couldn't help but mock myself as I quietly closed her door.

My job wasn't bad. I'd been promoted twice in four years.

Just a few days ago, my boss, seeing my dedication, offered me a role managing a new branch, but I turned it down because of Sloane.

Thinking of this, I called him. He readily agreed, telling me to wrap up my current tasks and start next week.

Carrying my luggage back to my rental, Nala ran up and clung to me.

As I lay on the bed holding Nala, I realized leaving Sloane was easier than I'd thought. I expected sadness, but I felt mostly relief.

In the middle of the night, a groggy call came through. "Josh, Sloane's drunk. We're at the usual bar. Hurry up. Oh, and make some hangover soup-two bowls. I'm crashing at your place."

It was Danny Foster.

Before I could respond, the line went dead.

In Danny's eyes, I was Sloane's kept man, or more accurately, her live-in housekeeper.

She always preached female independence, citing studies that men were better suited for chores.

So I handled the laundry, cooking, cleaning, and making Sloane's three meals a day.

Of course, I also had to have my own job, or I'd be a freeloader, a gold-digger after Sloane's money.

Before work, I prepared breakfast. After work, I tended to Sloane's needs. Often, I'd pick her up from the bar late at night, sometimes with Danny in tow.

Even when she flirted with others at the bar, I couldn't complain, or I'd be petty and incapable of big things.

In her words, these were the standards of a good man.

I hung up the phone, thought for a moment, and decided to go.

Two women drunk at a bar wasn't safe. In all these years, Sloane, obsessed with chasing men, had few real friends. Even if I wasn't her boyfriend anymore, I couldn't leave her there alone.

Panting, I took a cab to her favorite bar, only to see her and Danny surrounded by a group of men, one with his arm around Sloane's waist.

Seeing me at the door, Danny gave a knowing look. "See? I told you, when my girl wants men, they line up!"

I frowned slightly. Another one of their games.

Danny loved doing this, using me as a pawn in their antics.

When Sloane and I first got together, Danny pulled me aside for a talk.

She said with Sloane's status, she could have any guy and I should be grateful. She said Sloane's job was tough, so I should pick her up from work and cook.

Danny was strange, almost like she didn't want Sloane and me to be happy.

Whenever Sloane hung out with Danny, our sweetness turned sour, and our arguments escalated to breakups.

I remembered some happy times early on, but Danny always stirred trouble.

Even after Sloane's cheating was exposed, Danny insisted I didn't deserve her and that her having multiple men was normal.

Later, when they went drinking, they'd call me out of the blue, saying Sloane was in trouble and I needed to pick her up.

After enough calls, I suspected they were messing with me, but I went every time, just in case.

Danny saw me as Sloane's housekeeper, driver, and errand boy-her dog.

I was supposed to obey, not think, and definitely not expect Sloane's love.

I glanced at Sloane. Her clear eyes showed indifference, like none of this concerned her.

I felt disgusted for the flicker of hope I'd briefly held.

Moments later, another man rushed in, panting.

Unlike me, he didn't linger at the door. He hurried in, crouched in front of Sloane, and said, "Sloane, drink less, okay?"

Sloane patted his head, downed several shots of whiskey, kissed the boy, and laughed brightly. "Good boy, my sweet Kaiden. I'm happy today. Tell me what reward you want!"

Kaiden tilted his head, then pointed at the bracelet on her wrist. "You always wear that. How about giving it to me?"

Sloane glanced at me, just for a second, then smiled and slid the bracelet off, handing it to Kaiden. "It's not a big deal. If you like it, it's yours."

That was the bracelet my mother gave her when I took her to meet my family, passed down from my grandmother. She knew how much it meant to me.

I couldn't hold back and rushed forward. "Sloane, don't go too far!"

A man blocked me. I could only watch from a distance as she gave my mother's jade bracelet to a stranger, powerless to stop it.

I struggled wildly, but it only hurt me.

The next second, she vomited. Kaiden frowned, grabbed a few napkins to wipe her mouth, then carried her out with a hint of disgust.

With Sloane gone, the other men left too.

Danny's heels clicked as she stepped close, mocking my dignity. "Someone's hangover soup went to waste tonight!"

The farce ended, leaving me alone, defeated.