Flavor of the Week: Crazy In Love

So what if she was desperate, psychotic and completely ruining my long-dreamed of vacation to Central America? all that mattered to me was that i had a stalker! and it didn’t even matter that my stalker started stalking me the day after her previous victim successfully left town aboard a helicopter in the middle of the night, leaving no trace of his whereabouts. Nope, all that mattered was that i was the object of some screwed-up chick’s obsession and that i must admit was pretty cool.

We met at a cheap hostel in Leon, Nicaragua. i had been drinking all day and was tired from a week of bus travel and cheap hotels, so my pick-up line was completely devoid of charm: “You look, uh, good,” i slurred. She smiled, and two hours later, we were going at it in my roach-infested, $7-a-night room. whatever energy i had left by the time i figured out how to open the condom wrapper was gone and i was horrible in bed. i felt nauseous and dizzy and had to give up in the middle of the not-very-sexual act to go puke in the bathroom. Moments later, i passed out on the rickety bed with nothing on but mismatched socks and a used condom. any normal woman in the world would have absolutely no desire to see me again—i was drunk, charmless, uninteresting, bad in bed and not all that attractive or interesting, even when sober. So, when i woke up the next morning and she wasn’t there, i wasn’t surprised.

But just when i got out of the shower, there was a knock at the door. it was her, with a bright smile and take-out breakfast from a nearby restaurant. “feel oK?” she asked. She looked good, better than i remembered, with blonde hair, softly tanned white skin, a pretty face and a good figure inside a cheerful, bright blue summer dress. She also had an accent, which reminded me that i couldn’t remember where she was from or what her name was. But she seemed to have read my mind regarding this and gently reminded me. “i’m Marta from austria. You were a little drunk last night,” she laughed, forgiving and accepting my irresponsible behavior from the night before with a simple sentence and smile.

Not only was she cool, but she was sexy and foreign.

If it wasn’t for the pounding in my head, i think i would have felt true love right then and there.

I invited her in and we had breakfast in bed. afterward, we took a stroll around the town and, upon finding out we were both traveling solo for an extended period of time, made plans to visit another part of Nicaragua together.

It was a backpacker romance made in heaven.

But then the weirdness started. when we went back to the hostel to grab our things and check out, a guy i’d been drinking with the night before took me aside. “Mate,” he said. “i heard you got lucky with the psycho last night. Be careful. She’s completely loony.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,”” i said. “You’re just jealous.”

“No,” he said. “Not that at all. i’m telling you, she’s a fuckin’ psycho who followed some french bloke around Central america for a month. they shagged one night when he was wasted and then made his life a living hell for the next 30 days. She turned completely batty and he couldn’t get rid of her. She’s bloody whacked in the head, mate. and

by the looks of it, she’s yours now!” he laughed as he took a drink from his beer can, spilling a little on his chin as he gave me the news. i knew he wasn’t lying because it just made too much sense.

I started replaying the conversations we’d had during the day and it was true, everything she said gave hints of crazy: she talked a lot about wanting to find a soul mate, told me that i understood her even though i could hardly pay attention to anything she said and even told me that she thought i was special and unique.

“Are you ready?” i turned around and there she was, wearing one of my t-shirts. “i hope you don’t mind me wearing this,” she said. “i just like the way you smell.” as i shuddered in fear, the English guy laughed and spilled beer all over his chin again. “See?” he said.

“Yeah,” i said. “i’m ready. Let’s go.”

I knew i was getting into something bad, but she did look good… and hey, maybe she was just misunderstood.

“You’re bloody crazy, too, mate,” the English guy said, and downed the rest of his beer before letting out a loud burp. “Match made in fuckin’ heaven!” and with that, Marta and i boarded a bus, hand in hand.

Despite the initial trepidation, the next few days were fantastic and i completely forgot about the warning signs. we had a good time, spending days on the beach, evenings lounging in cafes and nights having satisfying, half-drunken sex. it was good. Very good. But it wasn’t love at all— and i wanted to go. Better to end things on a high note before they started getting low. Marta did not agree.

“You’re just gonna go, after all we’ve been through together?” she yelled. i tried to explain about my desire for independence on this trip, but that didn’t fly.

“You’re not supposed to do things like that,” she said. “You can’t do that!” her eyes got narrow and her fists were clenched. She wasn’t sad—she was pissed.

“I won’t let you do that,” she said. i was creeped out enough to console her and tell her i was wrong. and early the next morning, i grabbed my things and snuck out of the room to get on the next bus.

When i arrived in San Juan del Sur, a surfing town in southern Nicaragua, she was already at the bus station waiting. “i paid a private taxi to get here,” she said. “i thought maybe you forgot about me.” She said it without the slightest bit of sarcasm.

It’s times like these when you find out how much of an asshole you can be. to get out of these situations, you need to be an asshole and for many people that can be difficult. this is a different kind of asshole-being. this is dealing with abnormal emotional responses that might have been created out of some unfortunate, fucked-up childhood. in other words, this wasn’t a simple break-up. this wasn’t a simple “this isn’t working out, see you later, good luck” kind of thing. that wouldn’t be effective. this was a “leave me the fuck alone you crazy bitch!” kind of thing and i had never done that before. that’s what i had to do… but first we went to find a hotel room for a quickie.