A few hours later, he texted me, saying that his mom was wanting him to move sooner and could he move in before then. I relented (my first mistake) and he moved in the last weekend of August. I was gone for Labor Day weekend, that very next weekend, leaving him to take care of my cats. They were fine when I got back so I told him that whatever compensation he gave me could be reduced by what I would have paid for someone to take care of them. He was very happy for that. He said he needed to pay his phone bill and this would really help. In hindsight, I have to wonder why his phone bill was an issue considering that his expenses were quite small. He has no car and, so, no car expenses. He made $10/hr and worked approximately 30 hrs/wk. With what he gave me in exchange for him staying in the spare room, he would still have plenty left over because I had agreed to accept a portion from each paycheck rather than one lump sum.
Anyhow, during the first few days of his stay, he presumed to borrow my brand new Amazon Echo and relocate it to his room. I discovered this when I came home on the day that this happened. I texted him and gave him shit for borrowing my stuff. He apologized and said he'd put it back; which he did. The next day, though, the same thing. I gave him shit again. In conversation, he explained that he thought that since we had talked about it, that that meant he could use it again. I told him "Never assume, especially with me."
He borrowed the Alexa (this is the wake word for it and so it's what the device came to be know as) with permission numerous times after that. It's really embarrassing when you realize, after all is said and done, that the early behavior was just grooming you for shit down the road.
As time went by, there was other stuff. He'd use my toothpaste or shower gel and then deny it when I called him on it. He'd use the Alexa and then "forget" to disconnect it from his phone. I quickly learned how to do that. He'd have guests over and they'd be listening to loud music late at night when I had class the next day. He'd ask me for a ride to work when, during the first time we met, he said it was because my house was so close to work that he could walk.
After about three weeks here, I really started to notice just how many DIFFERENT people were coming over to visit him. This wasn't like my friends who have a lot of different friends who come over, to their house, and shoot the shit for a few hours and talk about SCA stuff. This was different men who would come over, stay for a few hours, bed-squeaking would ensue, and then they'd leave. I brought up to him that I was uncomfortable with the number of different folks coming over. He tried to minimize my concerns by saying "Oh, so now I can't have hookups?" "Dude, I could give two shits if you have hookups. It's the sheer number of DIFFERENT people that are coming to my house, possibly casing my shit, that has me uncomfortable."
Mind you, it was within the first two weeks of him living here, that he disclosed to me that he was HIV positive. I immediately asked him if he told his partners. He said "No, they're just hookups." I was flabbergasted. He told me, someone who has no intimate contact with him, but he won't tell his partners? That's just crazy. Now, I can imagine just how scary that must be but DAMN! Is a nut really that much more important than telling folks what's the what? On more than one occasion, after that, I'd bring to his attention the concept of "informed consent". That fell on deaf ears.
One text exchange (all spelling, grammar, and punctuation is straight from the conversation):
Him: "Don't discredit me because we live two different lifestyles. Because I don't do you like that one but when I can I can"
Me: "I don't discredit you for your lifestyle. I lost respect for you when you told me that you don't tell ANY of your partners about being positive because they're "just hookups." They're people who deserve the right to make an INFORMED decision about who they fuck and your are disrespecting their humanity by deliberately NOT telling them. And you've further lost respect because you go to work not sober. Tough shit if you don't like what I'm saying. It's how it is. If you don't want that judgement, you have choices that you can make."
Him: "U don't kow what I do"
Me: "You TOLD me that you don't tell them and you just TOLD me that you've gone to work tipsy for the last month."
Him: "Sometimes they sometimes they don't I'm not telling a person that I just met that gave someone if we just hooking up and it's safe"
Me: "Again...removing, from them, the opportunity to make an INFORMED decision about consent. What part of INFORMED do you not understand?"
At that point, he'd been here just over four weeks. And, in that time, he'd had a different guest over every other day, on average; and sometimes more than one in the same day. Now, don't get me wrong. I can give two shits about how often a person has sex or how many different people that it's with but that mindset is all kinds of different when it's MY home: and MY belongings, MY cats, and MY house are at risk of getting injured or stolen because of someone else's behavior. And, seriously, I don't need to justify my feelings 'cause it's MY shit.
During all this, I was also dealing with him not putting the toilet lid down, not closing the bathroom closet door, him not closing the kitchen cabinets, him not closing the windows when the air was on.
Let's also throw in the fact that, he just happened to find a gutted, dead squirrel wrapped in twine, hanging from the front doorknob when he got home from work. And then, a few days later, he found a dead scorpion, wrapped in twine, hanging from the front doorknob when he got home from work. And then some sort of Death card a day or so after that. He was the one who found the critters but I was the one who threw them away. He said he thought I had put them there, trying to get him to leave. "Dude, if I wanted you to leave, I'd let you know," I said. I did end up filing a police report about them, just to have something on record in case anything else happened.
Two weeks ago, on Sept 27th, I'd had enough. By this time, he'd also broken my internet modem--thank goodness I had an extra--and used copious amounts laundry detergent and toilet paper. Now, you might be thinking "Why is that a problem?" Who uses a WHOLE roll of toilet paper in ONE day??? He'd also thrown up in the bathroom sink at some point and plugged it up; as well as left his colon cleanse tool in the shower. I couldn't deal with this any longer.
I sat him down and had a conversation. I can't recall all that was said clearly enough to retell it but, suffice to say, I let him know that he needed to move out. He tried to convince me to let him stay but I wasn't having it. Needless to say, things didn't get better. A week ago, on the 2nd, I discovered that he'd smoked in his room. He wasn't at the house at the time and so the door happened to be open rather than in the closed state that it is when he's in the room. Because the door was open, the smell was able to waft out. This wasn't the first time. I was pissed. I cleared the room of everything of mine that he'd been using: blankets, sheets, pillows, a candle (did I mention that he'd left one burning on more than one occasion when he wasn't at the house?). I even removed the modem--only one phone jack is wired for my DSL and it's in the spare room. At 3am, that night, I wake to someone pounding on the front door. It's him. Apparently, he lost his house key. I was having a WTF moment. I damn near fall over when he then says "That's okay. I'll have my mom bring over the spare tomorrow." "What spare???" I ask. "Oh, I made a spare the first week I was here." When I give him a look, he says "It's my mom" like that's going to make it better.
We were barely cordial in the morning.
A day or so after that, I received the Sewer & Water bill. I about had a heart attack.
This is my normal QUARTERLY usage:
This person couldn't leave soon enough. I can't imagine how much it would cost if he lived here any longer.
This past Monday--just two days ago--was the beginning of the end. Since Friday, he hadn't gone to work. I don't know if they cut his hours or just cut him but he was at the house all weekend, with various guests throughout. Hell, on one day, I think he even prostituted himself for a ride to the grocery store because a man showed up, they left for a bit (I was hoping he was going to look for a place to move), but came back just a few minutes later. His guest was here for about twenty minutes, with unmistakable bed-creaking, and then he left. Anyhow, Monday morning I left for work at 10:30am. The air conditioner hadn't been on all weekend and the temp inside showed 80*.
At 8pm, I returned home and saw that all the downstairs windows were closed--they'd been open all weekend--and that the windows in his room were partially open. I parked the Jeep and proceeded in the front door. Once inside, I caught a whif of something unmistakable. The asshole was smoking in my house again. I headed up the stairs and, at the landing, I saw the temp read 72*. Holy shit!! When I clicked the controller to "On" to see what it was set at, it showed 69*. Are you freaking kidding me?
He poked his head out of the room, while also on the phone with the pizza place. "What's that smell?" I asked. "Oh, it's weed but we weren't smoking inside. It's just 'loud', if you know what that means," he responded. He's obviously high and drunk, as evidenced by his heavily lidded eyes. Then he popped his head back in the room and closed the door. I took care of some things and then knocked on the bedroom door. "Hold on, I have to get dressed!" Dude, you were just talking to me. How undressed did you get in the space of five minutes? Mind you, this is totally rhetorical. I'm well aware of the fact that they were actually making the air clear so that he could open the damn door. He comes out, closes the door, and gives me attitude. Now, before he had opened the door, while he was still in the room, I could hear a part of the conversation between him and his guest, Jamie. "What does she want? Why is she doing this?" "I know she's doing it on purpose." Which irked me even further. Anyhow, when he comes out, he suggests we take the conversation downstairs. Whatever dude.
I lay into him. What's frustrating to me, is that, in his high and drunk state, he couldn't seem to understand how I could make any sort of connection between his smoking and the windows being open with the air conditioner on. He tried to tell me that the air was on for only a couple hours. Dude, I'm not stupid. It takes more than a couple hours to cool a 200 year old house from 80+* to 72*. He continued to deny smoking in the house. Whatever, dude, I know what I know. He went back upstairs. Came down when the pizza arrived then headed back upstairs. A few minutes later, Jamie comes downstairs and heads out the front door with the pizza and his stuff. Dominique follows soon after, with his backpack on his shoulder. He paused at the door which caused me to look up from what I was reading.
"Can you do me a favor?" he begins.
I look at him.
"Can you not go in my room?"
"Why? You afraid I'm gonna find some weed?" I ask.
"No, I just don't want you to go in the room."
"It's my house," I rebutt.
"Yeah, but I have 30 days."
Dude, don't challenge me. There is no lease. There is no contract. I just looked at him.
As soon as he left, I texted a friend:
"If weed isn't lit, would I smell it from the first floor, when I walk in the house, if he has it in the room he's in?" I asked her. She confirmed what I already believed: You don't smell unlit weed.
I called her and discussed the situation with her. I called another friend and discussed it with her too. They each said, pretty much, the same thing about everything.
I changed the deadbolt when I got off the phone. I then put on gloves and put all his stuff in bags and took it out to the back end of the driveway. The parking area is behind my house and accessible but I knew that the stuff wouldn't get stolen from back there. It'd be a different story if I put it on my porch. Ten trash bags, a tv, and a dresser and its five drawers later, my spare room was empty save for the bed.
At 3am, they returned. They were pounding on the door with such force that I ended up calling the police. I wasn't going to deal with them. I was not going to deal with two drunk/high men at 3am. No, I was not. The police came shortly thereafter--thank goodness for living in a small town. The officer was here long enough to watch them transfer the tv from the collection of stuff to the car and then leave. Then he knocked on the door. He explained that when they came back to get the stuff, they had been told to ensure they had a police escort with them. There was more conversation but that was the important part.
Yesterday, they came to get the rest of the stuff. He knocked on the door but, again, I wasn't having the conversation. I ignored the knock. There was no police escort. I called the cops and explained the situation. They sent an officer. He was here a few minutes later and stayed until they left. They took everything except some trash that they purposely left, scattered, on the driveway and the dresser and its drawers.
This morning, it rained. Who knows if they'll come back to get the dresser.
In the meantime, I'm trying to get back to myself. It's funny how you don't realize how stressful a situation is until it's over. I feel like I'm recovering from trauma. Mental trauma. This person took advantage of me and my generosity in letting him stay here. He brought upwards of 30 strangers into my home. He ran up my utilities--oh, I checked the electric website...the usage for Monday was super heavy from noon to 8pm...a "couple hours" my ass!! He broke things. He borrowed things and then denied it. He smoked in my house despite me asking him not to. He is not a nice or ethical person. I can't be around that kind of person.
I can only work towards making my home mine again. The room he was in currently smells like weed and other people. It doesn't smell like my home. I washed the linens that were in there. I've arranged for a house cleaner to come early next week. And I chant to help learn whatever lesson that this was supposed to teach me.