I stepped into the M train at Myrtle Avenue, took my seat, and began staring out the window at the vast reaches of Bushwick as the train began moving to its destination. I wasn’t looking at anything in particular, merely taking in all the scenery. It was nearly 1am, most of the inhabitants of the sea of rowhomes were asleep. I imagined all kinds of people who lived behind those walls. Old people who had been living in the neighborhood for decades, young wannabe artists from elsewhere who moved to the city in an attempt to be themselves, families raising children. Sat on the other side of the train was a man and a woman, obviously a couple. They looked like they were on their way home from a wild night out, probably at one of the many overhyped bars in the area. The woman was leaning on her boyfriend, they had their arms interlocked. I couldn’t understand what they were saying to each other, but they were laughing incessantly. He wore one of those beanies that didn’t even cover his ears, she wore a long brown teddy coat. They looked into each others eyes and kissed. I felt almost nothing as I looked at them. Years ago, I would have felt the familiar sinking feeling in my stomach. A longing for something that I desperately wanted, but would never have. I thought about the millions upon millions of couples exactly like them, happy and in love, committed, together. I kept staring at them, hoping that they would notice me in my obvious miserable state, but of course they didn’t. I needed someone to see my misery. “This is Knickerbocker Avenue”, the automated PA system chimed. The couple stumbled off, likely to their expensive apartment they shared together. I was the only one on the train now, save for an old woman with a grandma cart full of laundry bags. “Stand clear of the closing doors please.” That same chime played, the one that I heard countless times during my years of living in this city. My happiest day, my worst day, that chime always found its way into my life. My stop was coming up soon. I dreaded going back home. The place I lived in Ridgewood was my house, but it was not my home. I was likely going to be greeted at the door by Xander’s untrained dog. I made a plan in my head to grab a Lunchable and a can of wet food from the fridge, and quickly make my way to my bedroom before anyone had a chance to talk to me. The stupid leather harness that my partner made me put on over my chunky black sweater was stuffed into my Kavu bag. I hated that stupid with a passion. "You should wear something hotter!" I remember her saying. "If you do, then I'm sure a pretty femme would love to do a hot scene with you." I looked like an idiot. Walking into that place wearing an oversize black sweater and pants with a bag meant for hiking. I liked the practicality of it. I’m sure the people around me weren’t impressed. “This is Forest Avenue.” I step out of the train and into the cool early November air. Despite record warm temperatures, this was one rare night that reminded me of what autumn once was. Walking down the street past the endless rows of gated off storefronts reminded me of one of my earliest memories of living in New York City. I had just gotten off the bus after a night of dancing. Walking 7 blocks through Bed Stuy in the snow, feeling so optimistic about my future. I remember meeting Anya. We met through Tinder of course. We had instant chemistry and a list of shared interests. We fell in love quickly, and we were both so happy to have met someone who wanted monogamy. “Everyone in this city just wants to meet and fuck someone hotter every night.” one of us said during one of our early nights together. I arrive at our building. Fumbling with my keys, I find the right one and enter the warmth of our pre war dwelling. Right on cue, Xander’s dog comes running up to me, jumping on me with drool practically pouring out of her mouth. Xander emerges from their bedroom, fruitlessly imploring the dog to get off of me. “I’m so sorry.” they say. “I keep trying to get her to stop doing that with people but she won’t listen” This was a lie of course, Xander didn’t make any effort whatsoever to train their dog. I said nothing, instead trying my best to return to my original plan of grabbing sustenance for me and my cat with as little interaction with others as possible. “Full transparency, not trying to be rude, but my therapist told me that i need to work on setting boundaries with people. Anya is obviously important to both of us, and as one of her partners I feel like you’re not centering my feelings when I try to apologize to you.” I grabbed my lunchable and a can of wet food. I couldn’t bring myself to say much to Xander. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I said. It felt like an immense effort. I walk up the stairs. I entered my bedroom. My cat ran over to me, meowing with joy and rolling over at the sight of me. Seeing her brought a brief feeling of happiness. I pet her soft furry head and velvet ears as she purred. I sat on my twin mattress on the floor and ate my cold miniature pizzas. The sugary marinara sauce tasted terrible. I tried my best to find something to watch while I ate, that helped to lessen my sense of gloom. My phone vibrated, and for a brief moment I had the faintest hope it would be Anya, telling me she was on her way home. It wasn’t. It was a Tinder notification. “You got a new match! 😍😍😍” it said. “Ember sent you a new message” the next notification said. “Hey” this person wrote. I tapped on her picture. “Kinky Poly queer trans creature in Bushwick with two nesting partners” her bio read. “Experienced true switch looking for cute Fall themed dates with queer humans. ACAB and Free Palestine.” I scroll through her pictures. One photo dressed in various leather straps with metal studs and spikes. A mirror selfie in a short dress. A close up photo of her face. Bright red lipstick against five o clock shadow. I don’t remember why I swiped right on this person during my many hours on Tinder, one of my strategies for lessening my sense of loneliness while Anya was out with others.I throw my phone across the room, the noise startling my poor cat. I pick up my phone, the screen black and cracked. It wouldn’t turn on. I turn the lights off and try to sleep after crying hard for who knows how long. My phone didn’t fucking deserve my anger. The next morning i awake to my cat laying on my chest. I scratch her head and get up to serve her breakfast. I open my laptop to see if I received any messages from Anya overnight. Of course I hadn’t. I checked instagram and my heart skipped a beat to see that she had posted a Close Friends Story. Part of me was happy that I had the honor of being one of her Close Friends. There were three stories. One of her dressed in her revealing black lingerie dress. The same one she once wore for me one night when we were first together, years ago. The next was a picture of the sex swing with a few 🔥 emoji for good measure. The good memories of our early relationship faded. The final picture was posted 5 hours ago, approximately 3am. I saw a person dressed in a frilly top and a black leather skirt, body hair all over. Their instagram handle was included. My heart sinking, I looked at their profile. “Mistress Maya” was her name. “Femme Domme in training” her bio read. I desperately wanted to know more, but her profile was set to private. I got up quickly. I desperately wanted to know if Anya was home. I walk down stairs to see Xander, their partner Sage, and Ryan, our other housemate and partner sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast. “Is Anya here?” I ask. “Listen” Xander says, “we would very much like to have an open discussion about your recent behavior and the energy you have been giving to these folks who share space in our house that has been given to us. We are trying to cultivate a welcoming space for all queer folks, and since we are all trans in this house, we are disappointed that you don’t seem to recognize when you yourself are harming other trans folks.” Ryan nodded, his/their bearded face stuffed with scrambled egg substitute on toast. I looked at Xander’s smug face. They loved doing these group discussions more than anything. “I just want to know if my partner is here. I want to talk to her.” Xander replied “I hear you. Your feelings are valid. But you need to remember that calling Anya your partner is hierarchical. You dont own a body, and Anya is an adult.” “You are seen, you are heard” Sage continued as they clapped their hands. “However, point of neurotypical privilege, I think you need to really work on these possessiveness issues with your therapist.” I wasn’t in therapy of course, I couldn’t afford it unlike my housemates. “Also, point of privilege as someone who is seen by society as a white man, you have been referring to me exclusive with he/him pronouns when I make it very clear my pronouns are he/they.” I retreat back into my room. I had a bottle of Ambien on my nightstand. I wanted to take all of it, but my cat would jump on my lap as soon as my thoughts got too loud. I sit like this, contemplating for hours until i am interrupted by a knock at my door. It’s Anya, still dressed in the outfit she wore the night before. “Hey” she said. “We need to talk.” She sat next to me on my bed. Internally, I was so grateful to be this close to her. We hadn’t had sex in months. Rather, any intimacy we had was replaced with brutality against each other, hitting, biting, verbal degradation, all in the name of sexual liberation. I hated it all but I was so in love with her. “I don’t think you should live in this house anymore” she said blankly. “We opened our relationship almost a year ago, and you’re not getting along with our partners”. “No, what are you talking about?” I stammer. “I get along with them fine. Do you want me to move out? Where am I going to go? Are you breaking up with me?” I was frantic, my mind racing. “I am not breaking up with you. I would be open to the idea of continuing a kink-based entanglement with you. However, I feel that we can no longer continue at this time.” she said. “You can continue to live here for two weeks. However, beyond that, it will be up to you to find your own accommodations. I wish you the best.” she said while closing the door behind her.