Number 5: The Fireman
I was young and dumb when I met Number 5, The Fireman. He was young and dumb too, but somehow, I always looked even younger and dumber compared to him. He both intrigued and intimidated me from the first moment we met, full of ideas and plans to “take over the world.”
I met Fireman at work, while I was dating Goth Boy. The three of us worked together initially, but then Goth Boy left to do the military thing… and you know how that goes at stupid years old. I was faithful to him, but rumours of Goth’s infidelities soon started to spread, so I found myself seeking stolen kisses from Fireman (and The Bad Memory, and The Actor) in revenge.
One day, Goth Boy and I parted ways for good, and Fireman soon filled the empty position.
The beginning
To say that Fireman worshipped me would be an understatement. He was absolutely obsessed with me. I reckon he’d have jumped off a bridge if I’d asked him to. Not that I ever would have done, of course; I was obsessed with him, too.
He was a total gentleman, walking me home after nights out, making sure I was eating/sleeping/taking care of myself, always ensuring that I came first. I thought it was the most romantic thing in the world, like he truly loved me – but looking back now, it was more than likely the start of some sort of control or manipulation.
It was a hurricane of a romance, filled with love and laughter and filthy fucking, but it was fraught with disaster, too. These days we’d call it a toxic relationship, but that term wasn’t even on the radar back then. Instead, we called it up-and-down or on/off. Thankfully, we were more on than we were off, but we barely managed to hang on by a thread at points.
The honeymoon phase lasted for a few months. Six or seven, something like that. Then, real life came into play, and we tried to avoid it as best we could.
The bedroom
We never left the bedroom. We avoided life by staying at home, under the duvet, and fucking all day and all night long. I’m not exaggerating. Ninety percent of our relationship was sex. We fucked all the time. It was amazing, but it also wrecked both of our lives.
We fucked so much that he lost his job, then I lost mine. We were always late, hungover, forgot shifts, stayed in bed for one more round instead of getting up and going to work.
He got another job, then lost it. I got another job, then lost it. All on repeat, until we were finally ‘off’ for good. We found ourselves living with his mother, incapable of even feeding ourselves.
All that mattered, was sex.
The drinking
We drank *a lot* for two broke young’uns with nothing but love and a dream. Between us, we’d worked in enough bars to never have to pay for drinks again, plus we had friends behind the bar who were more than happy to slip us freebies without the landlady seeing. She drank away the profits anyway; it’s not like she’d ever notice.
We’d drink, dance, party, have fun, laugh, love…
Until we got drunk. Then, we’d fight. Did I look at that guy? Did he look at that girl? Why did he keep bringing up that girl from his last job? Why doesn’t my mother like him? Why did I reply to that text, from that guy?
One of us always stormed off in the end, but we’d reunite back at home. That’s when we’d fuck like bunnies into the early hours of the next morning… at which point, we’d be late or not turn up for work again.
It was a vicious cycle, albeit not an entirely unpleasant one. Both the best and worst of times.
Then, of course, I went and fucked everything up. Royally.
The next instalment of The Fireman is right here: That Time I Cheated.
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
You can read all about The Fireman, from start to finish, right here.
If you’re in the market for something else to read, why not take a peek here:
