He mentioned that he needed to get back home to do some laundry before getting up early for work, and I kissed him goodbye and watched him leave. I ran a bath in my tub and stepped into the water, praying for more cleansing and healing properties than tap water was equipped to provide.
I curled into a ball on my side, half of my face covered in water, half not, and let one large wail out, and then silently let my tears run and join the pool beneath me. In that moment, I did not miss Mason, I did not miss Fredrick, I did not want to talk to any man. I hated all the men in my life who had hurt me in different ways. Knowingly and unknowingly, they had all let me down.
Mason hurt me because he didn’t want me the way I wanted him. Fredrick hurt me not being faithful. Sebastian hurt me by not allowing me the platonic friendship that I desperately needed from him. But most of all, I hated myself for finding those situations where I knew I would get hurt. How could I be mad at Sebastian for wanting me more than I wanted him when I did the same thing to Mason?
I’d like to say this was rock bottom. I’d like to say I learned from all of this pain, lying in a tub of lukewarm water and tears. But my God, that would just be too easy for me to live and learn. I did two things that night after I got out of the tub and made my way to my bed; I began writing my own story, and I vowed to myself never to fake a good sexual experience.
If he wanted to have sex with me, then he was going to have to take me in honest form. No faking it.
My relationship with Sebastian lasted a whole month. I gave it the good old college try. We went on dates, we attended parties together, we had sex, and we talked. I really did love him, just not in the way he loved me. The funny part is he was the one to eventually break things off.
“Do you like being with me?” he asked one afternoon. We were lounging around all day in our pajamas and were cuddled up on the couch currently invested in a TV marathon.
“Of course I do,” I answered, turning to face him. I loved him as a person. I loved that he was invested in political matters I usually avoided. I loved listening to why he gave a fuck about those sorts of things. I loved that he had a great relationship with his younger sister and their parents. I loved watching television with him. I loved that he secretly loved romantic comedies most. I loved that he cared about what he looked like, but not because he cared about what others thought of him. He had a strong bone structure and beautiful blond hair that matched his blond, designer stubble.
He was the all American, blue-eyed boy, and he was gorgeous. He knew he was attractive, and he liked dressing to show off his looks. I loved that he was attracted to me and made me feel beautiful, always complimenting me on my outfits and hair.
“Are you sure you like being with me? Because sometimes I get the feeling you’re all these other places in your head, and you’re really not with me right now.”
“What do you mean? I’m not other places. I’m right here.”
“Not right now. Just in general. We used to get lost in conversation and laugh and have a good time. I think those are the moments when I fell in love with you. And now…I don’t know…”
“You don’t know what? What were you going to say?” I asked, and he shrugged.
“I don’t know. Now it just seems like formal and like you get a little distant and awkward when you’re around me.” It was time for a truth bomb.
“I think maybe things were easier before we were together. There’s more pressure now. We used to laugh and have fun because we were friends, Sebastian. We’re not friends anymore. Now I’m expected to be your girlfriend. I’m expected to agree with your social views, and now instead of just laughing at things, I silently worry about how that will affect our children if we have children one day. Now I worry if one day you’ll expect me to give a shit about the things you care so much about because we’re supposed to be partners now. It’s just different.”
“Children? Wow, baby, we don’t have to worry about that stuff right now though.”
“Don’t call me baby!” I snapped, and his eyes widened. He looked like he wanted to speak but was afraid I would attack him. That made me feel so small. Already, I felt like our friendship was ruined. Perhaps one day we would be friends again, but I had lost him as my best friend. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t realize how much I don’t like being called that until you started calling me it all the time.” He took a deep breath. His eyes drooped in pain.
“I see. Do you actually enjoy being my girlfriend though? Or is it all an act?” I shrugged and stared over at him. I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to hurt him. Unfortunately, my non-answer said enough. The damage was done.
He understood what I was getting at, and I think in a way, that moment put a lot of our relationship into perspective for him. I think he saw what I had always seen. That we were great friends, but bad lovers.
I don’t think you always have to be one or the other. Sometimes a really great lover can also be an amazing friend, even a best friend. You always hear people saying nauseating things like, “I’m so lucky I married my best friend…blah blah blah ... yada yada yada.” And I do think those things exist.
But the problem occurs when you try to force one or the other. That’s when it gets tricky. Because when you spend so much mental energy trying to be a lover to a person you do not love in that way, then you relinquish the ability to be a good friend to them.
To give them what they need in a best friend. It needs to occur naturally, not under pressure. Those relationships that are so perfect like that make me want to puke, but I understand they happen organically, and cannot be forced. That’s where I failed in trying to create this type of relationship. I didn’t let it thrive off of those few organic properties. I let it die on those forced, fake ones.
Nine
Sebastian and I agreed to stay friends. It took time before we could comfortably be around each other without feeling awkward, but we got there. I also knew I needed to live a little. I went on a handful of dates with men I met at school, work, and through friends on campus. None of them gave me the friend vibe like Sebastian did, but in the same light, none of them made me feel that burning passion like Mason, or the familiarity and contentment like Fredrick.
I gave up one day and decided to take matters into my own hands and contact Fredrick. No, that’s a lie. I bought a plane ticket and showed up at his doorstep. I took it as a good sign when he opened the door with a look of a child on Christmas day.
He showed no nervousness or confusion. The second his eyes met mine, he grinned and crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. I was relieved when he invited me inside immediately. “Did I dream you up? This is amazing. What are you doing here?” I smiled.
“I came to see you.”
“Me? Really? I must be the luckiest man in all the land then. Am I the sexy mistress? Should I show a little more leg, or pull my top down?”
“You’re not the mistress. Sebastian and I broke up.”
His charm made me melt instantly. We sat at on the bar stools in his kitchen catching up for hours. I made the mistake of telling him how I actually felt being with Sebastian, and then got a little offended when he told me Sebastian must not be a real man if he let me fake orgasms and couldn’t satisfy me.
“He’s my best friend. I didn’t tell you that so you could make fun of him,” I said.
“Oh yeah? Why did you tell me that then?” Fredrick asked, placing a hand on my thigh suggestively. Gooseflesh covered my arms as dark eyes pierced mine.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I need to head to the studio in a few. But I’m not ready to let you go again just yet. Come with me, and then we can revisit this conversation after.” I nodded at his offer, knowing full and well he was going to make good on that promise.
Fredrick didn’t let me out of his sight for the entire four days I stayed in California. His roommate eventually made her appearance, and yes, as I predicted
she was all woman. She was also pissed as hell that I seemed to mean something to Fredrick. I hadn’t realized she was there until the morning after the first night I spent in his bed. I made my way into his kitchen in just panties and one of his oversized shirts, only to come to a full stop when I saw him standing at the stove with a woman next to him.
Long, lean legs clad in booty shorts stood before the man I had just spent the night with, and though I had a pretty good guess who she was, it was still hard to clamp down on that immediate jealousy.
“Why didn’t you go out with us last night, Freddy? I missed you,” the woman said, putting her arm up on Fredrick’s back.
“Scarlet and I just wanted to stay in and catch up.”
“Stay in…” She tested the word as if it was completely foreign. “Okay, well come out with us tonight.”
“I’ll ask Scar. We might go to the beach or something,” Fredrick said, lifting his eyes to mine as he backed away from the girl.
“Ahh, here she is now.” He lifted his hand to mine to introduce us. “Macy, this is Scarlet.” I held out my hand and the Victoria’s Secret model took it with confidence. Her hand was delicate and lithe, accented with bright red, manicured nails. Her fake breasts were almost completely in view behind a thin, white cotton blouse. I wasn’t usually one to judge or shame someone when I know damn well I’ve used my looks one too many times with men. But God, she would have been less obvious putting up a billboard sign in his window.
Macy turned fully to Fredrick, effectively dismissing me. “Like I said, when you’re done hanging out with her, come out with us tonight.” Then her arm slid across his naked torso, and she made her retreat back into what I’m assuming is her bedroom.
“Sorry about her. That’s my roommate, Macy. She doesn’t like new people.”
“She sounds lovely.” I grinned, and he grabbed me by my hips and lifted me to sit on the counter. I squealed, and he hushed me with a finger to my lips and a glance to his roommate’s bedroom. Then he planted his hands on my butt and kissed me, bringing my full attention back to him.
I never asked him if he was sleeping with her, and he never offered any information about their relationship. Every time Macy left her room during my four-day stay, she ignored me and made her way to the kitchen for food or out the front door. She never said a single word to me, but her eye rolls and huffs and puffs got increasingly more petty and noticeable as the weekend progressed.
Other than Debbie Downer Macy and her pouty childishness, the weekend was perfect and magical. Fredrick took me to work, he took me to the bar to watch his friend’s band play, he took me on dates to nice restaurants in his city, and he took me to his bed every single night. My body was good and satiated when I had to leave him sleeping soundly in his bed to catch a flight back home.
I left him with a note saying there was no pressure to make this a thing, but that I really enjoyed my time with him the entire weekend. The moment I knew he had evolved into a responsible man was days later when just like I had done the weekend previous, he showed up at my door out of the blue. Only he didn’t look as excited as I did.
“What the fuck is this note? I’ve been trying and trying to understand, and I don’t know, I just can’t wrap my head around this.” He held up the simple note I had left him when I left California days before.
“I didn’t want to make a big thing out of it, Fredrick. I came to see you because I missed you, and then I had a wonderful time with you, but I didn’t want you to think I wanted anything from you. You owe me nothing. We’re just living our lives.”
He crumpled the note up and tossed it to the floor. “But have you ever stopped to consider that maybe I wanted you to want something from me?” I shook my head in confusion. “Scarlet, you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever known. Being with you is different. It’s something I cherish. It’s something I want. And I want you to want it too. I’m not Sebastian. I’m not your fucking friend. I’m me and we’re us. We’re good together.”
I stepped toward him and kissed his lips. “I want nothing more than to be with you too Fredrick. You’re right, you’re not my friend. You’re my lover.”
He smiled. “I live and work in California. I can’t make any long-term promises. I also can’t say I won’t royally fuck this up because let’s face it, I fuck things up. It’s in my DNA. But I’d like to try to be with you for real this time.”
I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as I nodded eagerly at that statement. It was the most honest thing he had ever said to me, and at that point in my life, it was more than enough. I wanted a career and a hot boyfriend. I didn’t need anything more permanent than that.
* * *
Fredrick and I made it work, and I was happy for a very long time. I learned something in those months of bliss in my long-distance relationship with Freddy. I learned that the world loved happily-ever-afters, but they also craved heartbreak and misery.
I sat at my computer and wrote. I wrote things that moved me. In life, you get comfortable in a routine, and you forget to stop and feel life. It had been so long since I had felt, and writing opened those feelings back up.
I wrote about the woman with the abusive husband and the leather-clad lover, and I wrote about their lovechild. I gave her the ending I felt she deserved. I typed on my computer and cried and fell in love thinking of these people that wouldn’t let me live my life without putting their story on paper. I published my books for all the world to see, and Fredrick cheered me on from California.
It took no time at all for readers to start pointing out that my books were all very sad. The very first glimpse of my work I allowed the world to see was sad, and I didn’t try to hide it or sugar coat it. I just wanted to feel it. Heartbreak and misery. I wanted to be happy with Fredrick while writing about the endings I wish I had experienced instead. The endings I wished other people got to experience too. I wrote the strong heroines I wish I could have been, and the fairytale love stories that didn’t exist in the real world.
It came from the heart, and I poured a lot of love into it. And people took notice and responded. My book landed bestseller lists, and a fan even made a fan club for people to connect with over my art. It was all kind of surreal. I loved that my art brought people together. There is this blissful high you get when someone sees your art and says, “yes.” It’s more potent than cocaine and more addicting than heroin.
One minute I was working as a bartender to pay my rent and student loans, and another I was writing full time as my job. My book about Mason got put on the back burner. I knew I needed to finish it, but I just sat and stared at the page and couldn’t find the words. I could change sad stories into happily-ever-afters, but I couldn’t write a story as tragic and unfinished like ours. I couldn’t write my own pain, only the hypothetical, fictional kind.
But I pumped out other stories like a machine. When I wrote, it was like I blacked out and then woke up when I realized how long I had been writing. I often went back to read what I had written and didn’t remember writing half of what I read back afterward. It made me happy, and the absence of it spun me into depression real quick. So whether or not people bought it, I knew I couldn’t stop.
Fredrick found similar success in California. One of the songs he had written got sold to a big music producer and used by a very famous artist. Every time I heard the song on the radio, I turned it up and rocked out like I was hearing it live. I was a proud girlfriend. He had found the success he deserved from all of his hard work, and I had found mine.
Leah eventually finished college after years of hard work and moved back home. We were all ecstatic to have her home. I was especially happy when she moved back for the selfish reason that it allowed me to see her without seeing Mason. Once the excitement wore off that she was back home I saw her often and soaked up every moment. When she was living away, I had to share our time with Mason because he missed her just as much and wanted to see her.
The only problem was when Leah be
gan complaining about Mason’s girlfriend. I never knew what to say in those moments. “They fight all the time. He didn’t start dating again just to be with a controlling bitch like her.” I nodded and hoped she would change the subject, but she didn’t.
“I just feel bad for Eric and Alex, you know? They had to put up with this with their mom and dad before they got divorced, and now they have to put up with it again with my dad and their mom.”
“Have you tried talking to your dad about all this?” I finally asked, seeing that she wasn’t going to stop talking about them anytime soon.
“Yeah. He said adult relationships are difficult and that I just don’t understand. Like I’m not an adult?”
“You’re his little girl. You’ll always be a kid to him,” I said, the statement bringing up painful memories of him treating me like a child when all I wanted was to be with him. She was absolutely right, we weren’t children anymore.
The entire situation further proved that no matter how old I got, Mason would never think of me as old enough to be with him. Good thing I was happy with my life the way it was and didn’t need him anymore. Still, I found myself full of sorrow at the thought of Mason not being happy in the relationship he was in. Leah was right, he didn’t start dating again just to get stuck with someone that didn’t make him happy.
“You’re close to her sons then?” I asked, trying to make conversation.
“Yeah, they’re great! I hang out with them all the time. They’ve become close friends of mine. Speaking of great though, what is Sebastian up to tonight? We should all go out!” she said, shimmying like she was ready to go out on the dance floor. I ended up calling him and we did go out.
This is Not a Fairytale Page 8
