He Is Benching Me And I Know

He replies. That is the problem. If he vanished I could call it what it is and get on with my shift. Instead I get a goodnight at 23:47 and a photo of a pint that is not with me and a “week’s been mad” that explains nothing and still keeps the chat warm enough that I do not delete him.

I know what this is. I have known for weeks. I just keep pretending I am too cocky to clock it.

Benching. That is the word. Sounds like sport. Feels like being kept in a kit you never get to play in.

What benching actually is

Ghosting is rude and clean. One day he is there. Then he is not. You look mental checking the chat but at least the story has an ending.

Breadcrumbing is the little bits. A like. A song. A “you up” that goes nowhere. Annoying. Still obvious if you are honest.

Benching is sneakier. He does not cut you off. He does not take you out properly either. You are on the team. You are just not starting. He keeps you interested enough that you do not go and find someone who would actually book a table on a Thursday.

People online dress it up like a trend. Situationship. Talking stage. “We will see.” I am thirty. I work in a warehouse. I do not need a new name for a man who wants the option of me and none of the effort.

He is not confused. Confusion does not last six weeks with the same pattern. He has someone else in the game, or he likes the idea of me more than the reality of a Saturday that includes my face in public.

How it looks in my phone

He answers. Never first, unless it is late.

Plans stay vague. “Soon.” “After this week.” “When work calms down.” Work does not calm down. I know. I do the rotas. Life does not clear a space for you unless someone makes one.

When I suggest something specific, Tuesday, that pub by mine, after eight, he goes soft. Not a no. A fog. Then two days later he is funny again and I laugh at the voice note like an idiot.

Sex is easier to get than a calendar invite. I said it. That is the part that stings if I sit with it. I am good in the dark. I am apparently optional in daylight.

He will watch my story. He will not make one that includes me. Soft launching is not a compliment. A wrist and a pint glass is cover. If I am good enough for his bed I am good enough for a face.

Last month he cancelled twice and still texted at midnight like we were mid conversation. That is not chemistry. That is inventory. Checking I have not walked off the bench.

The bit I hate admitting

I stayed because the scraps felt like proof. Intermittent attention does something stupid to your head. Slot machine energy. You remember the good night and ignore the ten days of nearly.

I also stayed because I am proud. Walking away first feels like I lost. Staying looks, from the outside, like I am unbothered. I am very bothered. I just do it with lipstick on.

My flatmates clocked it before I said anything. One of them asked why I was doing my face for a man who could not pick a day. I told her to mind the bathroom queue. Then I sat on the loo and admitted she was right.

Quiet men still do my stomach in. Always have. If he goes silent I invent a whole plot. If he drips just enough back in, I call it hope. It is not hope. It is me filling a gap so I do not have to sit in the quiet.

Benching is not mixed feelings

Dating is allowed to be uncertain. First weeks are messy. People have jobs and kids and bad weeks. I am not asking for a speech and a key.

I am asking for a pattern that does not insult me.

If he wanted to see me, there would be a time. Not a vibe. A time. Even a rubbish one. Even “I can do Thursday for an hour after work.” That is a person trying. “Let me see” for the fourth week is a person keeping the door on the latch in case the other one falls through.

Clear coding is the phrase going round now. Say casual. Say dating. Say you are not in the headspace. I can work with a sentence. I cannot work with a maybe that only heats up after 11.

And no, being busy is not a personality. I do nights. I do earlys. I still manage to text first when I mean it. Meaning it is the whole job.

What I did when I stopped pretending

I stopped offering new dates like I was running a booking line. I matched his energy for three days and felt sick. Then I sent one message that did not joke.

I wrote: I like you. I do not like sitting in the maybe. If you want to see me, pick a day. If you do not, say that and I will leave it.

No essay. No accusation. No voice note I would regret on the night bus.

He took six hours. Then he said he did not want to mess me around. Which is what people say when they have already been doing it.

I put the phone face down. I did my makeup anyway. Not for him. For the version of me that does not wait on a bench in full kit.

Did I check if he viewed my story the next night? Yes. I am not a monk. I am a woman in London with a pulse. I still did not text.

If you already know

You already know. That is why this title works. The knowing is not the hard part. The hard part is admitting that almost is not a compliment.

Do not hold a tribunal in the group chat for three hours and then send him a soft “you okay?” That is how you end up benched and unpaid for the labour.

Do not sleep with him to force a decision. Sex is not a contract. I have tried that trick. It makes the night better and the morning worse.

Do not accept a last minute “come over” as proof you have been promoted. That is convenience wearing aftershave.

Ask once, clearly. Then watch what he does, not what he implies. If the answer is fog, you have the answer.

And if you stay after that, at least be honest with yourself about the deal. You are the spare. You can like the attention. You cannot call it dating and then act shocked when Saturday never arrives.

The bit I am still practising

I want a boyfriend. There. I said it in a blog like a coward who needs an audience. I also want sex and jokes and someone who does not treat my time like a reserve list.

Those things are allowed to exist in the same woman. Wanting effort is not me being difficult. It is me being thirty with rent and a rota and no interest in being anyone’s rainy day option.

He is benching me and I know. Knowing is the first useful thing I have done in that chat. Leaving is the second. I am doing the second now, slowly, with my chin up, checking the mirror on the way out like I always do.

The seat was never mine. I just sat in it long enough to get comfortable.