#messyrelationships

[emotionalghostown]

The 007

This one is about Jake—a rich kid with hazel eyes and a magnetic pull I couldn’t resist. I met him through my mentee at a house party in the fanciest part of the city, the kind of party I’d only seen in movies. His apartment was sleek and spacious, practically begging for trouble, filled with people whose effortless wealth radiated from the walls.

His friends were textbook bourgeois. I’d been around snobby rich kids before, thanks to my private school scholarship back home, but this was a whole different level. These people weren’t just rich—they were powerful. They knew it, and they made sure everyone else did, too. The men wore their privilege like it was a family heirloom, and the women around them were all perfectly slim, polished, like they’d been cut from some expensive mold. I felt like Ginny Humphrey when her dad married Lily: what in the Gossip Girl was I doing here?

But thank the lord for my Scorpio rising. I had piercing black eyes and a razor-sharp wit to match. My private school education had taught me how to blend in, how to be a chameleon in any social setting. So, I played the part, fighting my way into their world with a smoothness I’d perfected over the years. I could laugh at their jokes, volley back their sarcastic comments, and make them think I belonged. But the whole time, I was thinking, This is a game, and I’m damn good at it.

Jake, though, was infuriatingly aloof. He didn’t flirt, didn’t even give me a second glance in public like he had an image to uphold. Still, I could feel the tension when we walked to the party, a silent pull that made my blood boil. By the time we got there, I was ready for something to happen.

Fueled by the frustration (and half a bottle of Monbazillac), I found myself wandering to the kitchen to grab water. And then I felt him behind me, close enough that I could sense his presence before I turned around. He was standing there, looking at me with those impossibly sexy hazel eyes. I started to walk away, but he leaned in and asked if he could kiss me. I laughed, partly from nerves, but he leaned in closer, his voice all smooth and quiet, and asked, “Don’t you want to?”

Oh, I wanted to. And that was all it took. We made out right there, and soon we found our way to his room, where we had the kind of soul-shattering sex that makes you believe in cosmic connections. That night turned into a week, and then into months. Every time he was in town, we would meet up, and the same thing would happen. It was primal, physical, just pure raw lust. I didn’t know anything about his life, and he didn’t know much about mine. We rarely spoke, but when we did, it was as if words only got in the way. It was freeing, easy, and insanely pleasurable.

But you can feel the but coming, can’t you?

One summer night, I was out with a friend at a bar when my phone rang. I checked the caller ID and saw Jake’s name. Now, you have to understand—he never called. We’d been doing this thing for over a year, and all we ever did was text. So when his name showed up, I knew something was off. I picked up, and right away, I could tell he sounded drowsy and a little paranoid. I asked him what was wrong, and he laughed, saying, “Damn, how’d you know?” He asked if he could come meet me, and, feeling curious, I told him to come by the bar.

When he arrived, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. I immediately knew something was wrong, and he looked me dead in the eyes, saying, “You know me as Jake, that is my real name but that’s not the full story.” I raised an eyebrow and joked, “What are you, CIA or something?” He smirked, but this time his face was dead serious. “Yeah, actually, good job. And tonight, I think I blew my cover.”

I laughed, thinking he was joking, but his face was dead serious. He told me he actually was CIA and that he’d messed up on an assignment that night. He looked me in the eyes, and I realized he wasn’t kidding. He said he needed me to help him clear his head, that I was detached enough from him and smart enough, and he just wanted to be in my arms tonight.

So there I was, walking him home, feeling like I’d fallen into some bizarre, high-stakes spy thriller. He started telling me details I’ll never repeat because, frankly, I’d like to avoid jail time. When we got to his apartment, we kept the lights off and tiptoed to his room. And as I turned to get ready for bed, I saw him in the moonlight. He was checking a gun, making sure it was loaded before he slid into bed beside me. He held onto me, practically trembling, and I stroked his hair, trying to calm him down.

I stayed awake, terrified out of my mind, listening to his breathing slow as he drifted off to sleep. Guns aren’t exactly common here in Europe unless you’re law enforcement or someone in deep, dark places, so the whole situation felt surreal, like a scene from a smut novel gone terribly wrong. I lay there in the dark, trying to make sense of everything, but I couldn’t shake the fear.

And that was the last time I ever saw him. He vanished just as mysteriously as he’d appeared, leaving me with a night of secrets and a story no one would believe.

[candygirly06]

baby i might be crazy, but i'm yours 💋

My Dear Upper East Readers, When you think you've healed from something, the universe tests you by throwing itself at you, if you pass, you pass, and if you fail, well, good luck trying again and again until you do. I hadn't realized this back then when I had come out of my second or rather my first real relationship, I had taken some time to gather myself again, pick up my pieces, and find out where exactly I started falling apart. I was doing pretty good, of course, until he showed up.

I would've given him a name but I honestly don't think he's worth all that trouble, taylor swift writes songs about the horrid things men have done, and I write about it. It all started when I was on my way home from college and he came up to me to ask me and I remember his exact words, "Hey, do I know you from somewhere?", I should've known, my intuition was telling me he was bad news, I felt very nervous to be approached by him and yet I choose to ignore it all, I was still smart enough to evade him and say "nope! bye!" and hid in the bathroom for a while.  As I was walking, I realized he was right ahead of me, meaning we'd probably live in the same area. Hence, I couldn't avoid him, so I did the one thing I knew I was amazing at, hurriedly walking ahead of him as I was running to go home. Still, he got the better of me and he striked up a conversation again, I didn't know how else to avoid him so I just bared through it until I reached my place. I realized he was actually a pretty sweet guy, he knew a lot of my interests, he read me like an open book ( which frankly should've scared me considering this was the first time we ever met) and he was pretty charming and a way with his words. 

Now that I'm writing about it, I realize I had so many chances to realize he was a major red flag, but we're all colorblind to selective men, aren't we? we exchanged ids' and had a lot of conversations, I started to realize he was super clingy and wanted to meet every other day, I don't mind clingy-ness but my college was having this huge event and I was actually quite busy to make time for a situationship. Granted he did ask me out the next day (over text might I add) and his words were "hey you seem really interesting, do you wanna go out?" and I was like "oh my gosh, a guy is taking the time out of his day to talk to me and ask me out?? how blessed am I??" Well clearly, a lot considering the lesson you are about to learn.

Alas, it didn't really work out because of our hectic schedules and both of us taking equally long to reply to each other's texts, so we decided to cut it off, or rather, I decided to end it by blocking him. But we live in the same area, our colleges are in the same area, how could I not run into him again? And this time, I was taught a lesson I will never ever forget in my entire life, never go anywhere with a man without letting anyone know your location or whereabouts.

As always, it was lovely writing to you, my dear Upper East reader.

Until next time,

stay chic and candy,

xoxo candygirl 💋

[emotionalghostown]

The awakening

He wasn’t just some random stranger; he was a piece of my past. Let’s call him Alex. Alex knew me before life twisted me into someone unrecognizable. He drifted back into my world just as I was pulling myself out of the wreckage that blue-eyed disaster had left behind—the one I’d let break me twice. I was healing, scarred and shattered, struggling to find myself again. And then, like a storm rolling in from nowhere, there he was. Alex.

We started with texts. They were small, tentative at first, just friends reconnecting. But somehow, he managed to reach into my soul faster with each message, reminding me of who I used to be. He could call me out in a way that cut through the mess, showing me parts of myself I’d forgotten. It was like he’d always known I was more than the broken girl my last relationship had left behind. He saw me—even when I couldn’t.

Of course, I fell for him. He revived parts of me I thought I’d lost. And just when he started to show me what it felt like to be valued, to be cared for, he got colder, like he was already slipping away. I felt the storm brewing inside me all over again—the familiar feelings of insecurity, abandonment, confusion.

So I returned to this chaotic, handwritten letter I’d written to myself—a way to make sense of the pain, the rage, the heartbreak. And yet, Alex lingered like a shadow, a reminder that I’d tasted something real, something that felt like love. I spiraled, caught between feeling abandoned and missing him, torn between anger and sadness. He’d promised me the world, and then, as if it were nothing, he was gone, too.

He finally texted me back after days of silence. I’d been there waiting, checking my phone obsessively, feeling the anger and hurt bubble up inside me with each unanswered message, each day that passed. And then he was there—an image, an audio clip, a simple response. I knew, deep down, things were unraveling. He’d talked about engagement, a future, just days before the silence. I wanted to believe him, but my gut knew this was the end.

I loved him, though, with a reckless, desperate kind of love. I dreamed of him, replayed his words, felt the ache of his absence like a phantom limb. I wanted to wrap myself around him, to say all the things I’d held back out of fear of being broken again. But reality had other plans. His life was moving in a different direction, and all I had left were fragments—conversations that once made my heart race but now felt hollow.

For a while, I held on, still trying to text, to call, hoping there was something left. But his replies grew fewer, shorter, until there was nothing at all. I told myself I didn’t need him, but the memories clung to me. I remembered the way he’d make me laugh, how he cried at sad movies, how his eyes lit up when he talked about the things he loved. I remembered the nights he’d hold his phone, whispering words of love that might’ve been lies, but filled me with a warmth I hadn’t felt in years.

And then, he left for good. He faded like a character in a story I’d stopped writing. I waited, hoping he’d return, but somewhere along the way, I realized he was gone. And just like that, the hope I clung to turned into anger—not at him, but at myself. I’d let another piece of me slip away, trusting someone again, only to be left shattered.

Alex was a moment of clarity, a spark in the darkness. Now he’s a memory, a part of my story that taught me more about love than I’d known, even if I wasn’t ready to receive it. I healed, I moved on, but a piece of me will always be his, no matter how many times I rewrite the ending.