Page 111 of Sour Notes

Sliding down to the floor, I let go and cry.

My head hurts, my body hurts, my heart really fucking hurts.

I don’t remember a time when it didn’t hurt.

I’ve been here before. I trusted someone to love me and he destroyed every fragment of my soul. He tore me down with his words, cheated on me, and made me feel like it was all my fault.

That I wasn’t good enough.

That I wasn’t ladylike enough.

That I was depraved and degenerate, an embarrassment to my whole family.

I asked him once if he’d consider exploring in the bedroom with me and he lost his shit entirely. Told me there was nothing to explore because I had the sexuality of a damn dishcloth.

He hated my job because it involved writing about sex. He’s the reason my family doesn’t know what I do.

I almost quit because by that point he was controlling every aspect of my life in some way and threatened to leave me if I didn’t. I’d drafted the email to send to Jen and everything. The day I was going to send it, I walked into our apartment and found him balls deep in my cousin on our bed.

My laptop sat right beside them.

That was my rock bottom.

My sign that I’d let this man almost destroy everything I was when he gave nothing in return.

You know what he did when I calmly walked up to the bed and grabbed my laptop?

His eyes connected with mine and he told me that this was how a real lady behaves.

And if I let go of all my vile ideals, he’d give me another chance to prove myself to him.

To prove myself to a cheater.

Because a real lady sure as shit shacks up with another woman’s man, right? Her own flesh and blood’s man at that.

I promised myself then, I’d never do that again. I’d never let anyone close enough to hurt or judge me. I could have fun, but that’s where it would always end.

No strings, no relationships, no love.

I’d love myself and that would have to be enough.

So why am I letting Swayze get too close? This isn’t supposed to feel real. We aren’t supposed to be like this.

He’s my friend. A charmer. A player.

He’s supposed to be putting on an act.

But his face, his words, his actions… none of them seem like they’re for show.

I think he sees me.

I’m pretty sure he always has, but this is different.

We’re being different. Like we’re a team. Pete and I never had that connection in all the years we were together.

Hell, not only did I let Swayze fuck me bare, which I categorically don’t do, but we’ve even spooned naked the entire night. I’ve only ever slept nude alone. The toad would constantly criticize me, point out a stretch mark here, or poke some flab there so I never trusted him enough to sleep that way.

I’m already burned, so why do I keep playing with fire?