Moving Out Sex

For the New Year, a short story about ending bad things

photo via

We were together for five years, and the whole time, both of us knew it wouldn’t last. But we stayed together, despite the fights and the different wants out of life, because both of our names were on the lease of a really cheap apartment in Washington Heights.

You have to understand that this apartment was amazing for the price. We both made shit but we afforded the place easily and had money for other things, which made us happy with our lives despite hating each other. Look, this apartment  had two full bedrooms - not those walk-in closet bedrooms like many NYC apartments have. Kitchen was a little small, but we never cooked anything big, so that was fine. And it was a five minute walk to the subway.  

But check this out: This apartment had a living room with a beautiful view of Fort Tryon Park, which you never heard of unless you were from around there, but trust me - it would be the most beautiful park in any other city that wasn’t New York. I never went in it, but that was only because I could see its trees and everything from our living room.

Both of us were fine with losing each other, but neither of us wanted to lose that damn apartment. Whenever we said we loved each other, we were really declaring love for the apartment. A cheap rent can keep even the most unhappy couples together.

Not to say we were that bad. We didn’t hate each other. We mostly liked each other. I just sometimes didn’t like the way she talked or thought. She didn’t like the way I talked or thought, either. But we made it work. The sex helped. Other than our love for the apartment, our love for staying at home and avoiding other people was what we had in common. It wasn’t that we were weird or any of that. Well, maybe a little. But seriously, we were introverts. We did what we had to do among the people during the day, but at night we wanted nothing to do with them and just be by ourselves. But even introverts get horny. So we had sex. 

A place to live and a person to have sex with. That’s most of what love is. We had that. We just didn’t have that last ingredient, whatever that is, to make it complete. And then the sex ran out.

It happened suddenly like a flip of a switch. And believe me when I say this switch-flipping illuminated a whole lot of heretofore darkness. It was like I thought I was walking on a nice grass lawn but looked down and saw I was actually walking on old, dry shit. 

It was when we were on vacation. We weren’t at the apartment we both loved, so that might be why. Maybe the apartment was a Stockholm Syndrome kind of place. I don’t know. But I know that being outside of the apartment and having sex in a place neither of us cared for, we realized how disgusting we saw each other. Not in a visually aesthetic way. We were both okay - not great, but okay. But in a feeling aesthetic kind of way. 

I can tell you the exact point we both realized. It was so strange, I’ll never forget. It was like this amazing telepathic thing that happened. We were in the middle of the process and I realized I felt nothing and was really just wanting to go to the grocery store for some ready-made popcorn. But I really just wanted buttery popcorn - and the ready-made kind in the bag is always dry. So I figured I should buy some butter. But if I did, how was I gonna melt it because we were in a kinda cheap hotel room that didn’t have a microwave. And then I was wondering if the front desk would have one and if they would melt the butter, but I didn’t want to come across like an asshole because I worked customer service, too, and hated that guy, and didn’t want to be that guy.

That’s when she shuddered - as in, her shoulders actually shook - and she said, “Oh my gaaaaaaawd!”

I knew this wasn’t orgasm behavior because her orgasm behavior was more reluctant.

I asked her what happened. She said, “We’re only fucking because of that damn apartment!”

I got up and put on my pants. I went out and got popcorn. The downstairs desk didn’t have a microwave, but they did have a metal spoon and I had a lighter, so I melted the butter on the spoon like I was making crack, as me and her talked about what we were gonna do about the apartment. 

We didn’t talk about the previous five years. We didn’t have to. We knew we never had that last ingredient. It had to end.

But damn, that apartment was a good deal.