by J. R. Rogue
“Omg Gwen, I need to show you a picture of Connor. He is so hot. We have been talking a little and I just need to see him.” That was the sentence that was bouncing around in my tipsy brain the first time Connor Stratford smiled at me. The first time he smiled and made me blush. I was pulled in, but I promise I fought a little. Or maybe I just tell myself that.
I was at Carmichael Jazz with all of my guy friends that brisk spring night, a burgundy and purple place that pulsed, a place I liked to lose memories in. Danielle, my friend with a crush on Connor, couldn’t come because she was only twenty at the time.
The group that night consisted of me, Charlie, Connor, Blane, and Blane. Yes, I had two guy friends with a horrible 80’s bad boy name. But I was only sleeping with one of them.
Connor was the designated driver and this was the second time I had seen him. The first being the time Danielle dragged me to a party at our friend's house so I could give my blessing on his attractiveness.
Apparently, this was a thing some girls did. I personally didn’t give a shit if my friends thought the guy I liked was hot, but whatever, to each their own.
I thought he was cute, told Danielle so, and didn’t put much thought into it past that until I saw him again. He wasn’t blonde and reed thin like I liked. But if Danielle thought he was the cat’s meow, she could go for it.
I had never heard of him and suddenly he was just there, in our group, like he had always been, infiltrating my vision.
Apparently he knew the guys from high school and was back in town, hanging out with his old friends who were my new friends, and also texting my closest female friend.
A few people in our gang were playing pool at Carmichael’s that night so we met at Blane’s house – the Blane I had been sort of sleeping with – and piled into Connor’s car.
Blues nights were my favorite. They were downtown, and I hated my part of St. Louis. The trashy part, seedy and soiled.
Our bi-monthly blues nights meant singing, dancing, and good-natured chaos. I liked that kind of chaos. I needed that kind of chaos. It kept me from my own thoughts, my own drowning. My memory lane moments. I needed voices surrounding me, voices that sounded different than the ones in my head.
My friends were stolen friends. Friends I wasn’t meant to have.
They were all people I met while with my ex-boyfriend, Avery. Avery who had dumped me last summer, stolen the light I once wore.
I wasn’t supposed to get custody of these hooligans, but somehow I did. Now Avery was on the outside, and I had the buddies he grew up with. I didn’t feel guilty about it but some said I should have made new friends. Friends that were my own. Which I thought was a pretty raw deal. I did not leave Avery. I did not cheat on Avery. I was not having a child with some new replacement. That was all him.
Back then I would have traded these friends for a moment with him again, gladly. I would have traded the laughter we were sharing to unsee the image of Avery and his fiancée. I would have traded the jokes we were passing back and forth to be the one with Avery’s child. I would have traded anything to go back, to do things right. I was a moron back then to want those things. I know that now, but I was desperate, low, and living with a sea of doubt.
The world didn’t work the way I wanted it to, and he wasn’t the first man to break me for another woman but was the first man to leave me pathetically hanging on for seven months after a breakup. Hanging on despite the new life he was creating.
We were together for two years. Moved in together after six weeks of dating. Bought a house together after three months of dating. We talked about marriage. Kids. Our future. But I never got a ring.
She had a ring. And his child in her belly. I knew that was the only reason she had that 10k gaudy rock on her finger, but I still threw up in the street the day I found out.
We had only been broken up for two and a half months. The baby and the engagement had been announced together.
It wasn’t the way I wanted our story to turn out, but back then I would have taken theirs as our own if I had one wish. I was a pathetic masochist, but at least I was honest.
So yeah, I needed the chaos of those nights with the guys. Everything quieted then. Everything stilled. I needed shots and skin. Someone to numb me.
I didn’t know who it would be that night, but Connor’s smile caught me off guard. We had only talked casually throughout the night. He would join in a conversation I was having, or I would join in on one of his. We never talked one-on-one.
I was standing against a wall in warm lighting when his eyes caught me. I had a shitty malt drink in my hand and he raised his beer to me, smiled intimately. I felt it to my toes and I smiled back, hid my mouth with the neck of the drink, and looked away.
Danielle was right. So I pulled out my phone to tell her. To encourage her to go for it. Maybe I didn’t need a cheering squad behind me when I liked a guy, but whatever.
Once my text was sent, I rounded the corner to where the restrooms were. To the right was the women’s and to the left was the men's. I shoved my phone in the back pocket of my jeans just as Blane came out of the restroom.
He winked as he passed me so I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He had thin lips and a thin frame. He knew how to use his tongue and I appreciated the way it warmed my mouth.
I didn’t like Blane but he was a good time. My initial pursuit of him was just an act of revenge on Avery, but past that, it was fun.
Blane didn’t expect a relationship with me and I enjoyed his company. The first time we had sex, he couldn’t stay hard and ended up confessing that he felt like a shitty friend for wanting to fuck me. I appreciated the fact that he didn’t want to be a bad friend, but in the end, I convinced him to be. Besides, Avery gave me up. I belonged to no one.
When I made it into the restroom, I felt my phone vibrating in my back pocket. I found a stall and pulled up a message from Danielle as I sat down to piss. And she was pissed. Furious.
There were a few words misspelled in her text and that was unlike her. She was trashed at a party and my text surely had been met with blurry eyes and blurry comprehension.
Maybe I should have explained myself better. But short texts while drunk were the best way to go.
I looked over our conversation again.
Me: You’re right. Connor is cute.
Danielle: I can’t beleve you wuld do this to me. You’re supposed to be my frend.
Do what? What was I doing?
Me: What did I do? I didn’t say I liked him. I just said he was cute!
I sat on the toilet for a few minutes and stared at my phone. No little text bubbles popped up on my screen. No answer.
Someone banged on the door to my stall and I jumped. I pulled my pants up and banged on the metal door. “Calm the fuck down,” I said.
I didn’t look Connor in the eye the rest of the night, but I could sense his on me. It burned and I couldn’t take the fire, so I took shots instead. The kind of fire I could tame, could control.
Later on in the night, between the band’s sessions, I made-out with Blane in the alley outside, let him put his hands down my pants, pretending we weren’t surrounded by people walking by. As fun as that was, it didn't work to calm the buzzing just under the surface of my skin. He wasn't the vice I needed. He wouldn't work, so I sought someone else out.
Eventually, I found what I needed in my phone and ditched all of my friends for a guy I had been using for comfort since last summer, two weeks after Avery told me to pack my things.
Connor was playing pool when I walked out into the dark. He was leaning over the table, stick in hand, one eye closed. I let myself steal that look, pretend it was mine, then snapped my eyes ahead.
He didn’t hit the ball he had been aiming for, instead, stood straight, and watched me go past.
I wondered how red my cheeks were under his gaze.
I wondered if Danielle could win his affections after the way he had looked at me.
3
&n
bsp; Paper Beauty
“Was your heart open when you met your husband?”
I don’t like the way she says heart. As if she thinks I have one. As if she knows me.
“No, I was so stuck on Avery. I let it taint everything. Transform me into some pathetic version of myself. I was less guarded then. Still guarded, but just, less. I let myself feel more fully. I wanted to marry Avery. To have his children. My life would have turned out so differently if we had worked out.” I would have left him eventually. Just like the woman he left me for left him.
“Are you glad it didn’t work out?” she asks, reading my mind.
“Yes. He would have ruined me. I’m happier with the way things ended up. That I was the one to ruin me.” It’s always about control. I have to have it. I need to be the creator of the chaos that consumes me, kills me slowly. "Looking back, I have no idea why I held onto Avery for so long. Well, I know why early twenties Gwen did. But the woman I am now, she would have tossed him to the side. There was a time in my life when I enjoyed arrogance, conceit, ego. On paper, it all sounds pretty sad, but I know I am not alone in that. Avery was cocky and he wanted me. There was nothing else I desired more than to be desired by men. If I saw him now, I would laugh. He's still beautiful, of that I have no doubt. But it's paper beauty. I've seen what his soul looks like inside, and it's an ugly that is unlike mine. Maybe that's my own conceit talking, but I feel no shame saying I am too good for him. I was then. And I am now."
4
Blood Red Life
This shitty trailer is not my home. I can't make it feel warm. I hang pictures, light candles, fill it with books. Nothing is working. My home is with Avery, but he is a fucking bastard and I still can't believe he left me for that tall skinny blonde cunt he met the night before he dumped me.
The break-up was classy. He told me we were done while we were entertaining a party at our house. Dozens of people saw the end of our two-year relationship come crashing down. They saw it and they turned away. They poured another beer and kept on laughing and enjoying intoxicated conversations. They fucking carried on as I froze and nearly threw up on one of their shoes.
And Avery, bright and echoing Avery, just walked away, carried on entertaining.
There had been many events in my life that fried wires in my brain. Looking back now, this was definitely one of them. How do you function after that?
I walked around our beautiful home that night, the one we had lived in for two years, the one I had decorated and cared for. I watched strangers swing their legs casually as they sat on my countertop. I saw a card game being played at my dining room table. And I saw the love of my life through the sliding glass door, laughing with his friends. No care. No remorse.
I couldn't allow it.
I started walking around, pulling pictures off the wall. I knew I should just go lie down; my heartache mixed with all the alcohol I had consumed on the back deck was a deadly combo.
My hands moved of their own accord. I could feel eyes on me. The rubberneck fuckers who had watched my life be wrecked just moments earlier wanted to stick around to see how it would all unfold. Fine. I would give them what they wanted.
I didn’t feel the breaking of flesh. Suddenly, my exterior matched my interior. Blood red life was dripping down my wrist and it stilled me as I reached for another picture frame on the wall. I twirled, rabid, looking for the item that had done it. Looking for anything to fucking blame.
No one followed me to the bathroom to help me clean up. Where were my friends? Did I even have any anymore? My friends were Avery’s friends. And they had known him since childhood. Even though he just pummeled my heart, they would take his side. I just knew it. I'm glad I turned out to be wrong, with some.
After I bandaged myself up, I found myself in the kitchen. I may have imagined it but I think a few people left when they saw my crazy ass walking in.
I don’t know why the forks and spoons became the victims of my torment. I reached into a drawer and grabbed something, ran my thumb over the smooth surface. It was a spoon. Closing my eyes and praying the tears away wasn’t working. So I bent the spoon in my hand and felt a release inside of myself. I wanted to torch the entire fucking house. I would make sure everyone got out, the dog and cat, but I wanted mother fucking Avery inside. I wanted him to feel the pain burning my body from the inside out.
Before I knew it, a pile of bent silverware was sitting at my feet. I saw someone walk from the living room to the sliding glass door in our dining room, their eyes shuffling to the pile of folded cheap metal at my feet, never meeting my own bloodshot eyes.
Fuck ‘em. Let them worship at his feet. Let them see my crazy.
I sank to the floor and hugged my knees, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.
Thursday, on my day off, we had gotten into a fight on the phone. I hung up on him and threw our cordless phone into the yard. Avery loved giving me chores on my day off, and I hated it. I felt like he was my father and I was his daughter. We were supposed to be partners, equals, lovers.
He texted me after the phone call.
Avery: I told you to never do that to me again.
He never came home. He stayed at his boss’s house. His boss used to be his stepfather and still treated him like a son.
The freeze-out was jarring. We had fought plenty in the past, but nothing felt like this. I felt like I had been dropped off a tall building. Avery was cold, done with my bullshit.
He went out drinking after work on Friday, and didn’t come home.
All day Saturday, he spent his time cleaning our new boat in the driveway. He would barely speak to me, but I couldn’t stop loving him. I sat in the grass watching him, hoping he would drop down to the ground, and pull me to him.
It should have been obvious then, what had happened Friday night. But denial and I were best friends and she liked to coddle me. That bitch.
The morning after the party, the house was trashed and I woke up in the spare bedroom. Maybe I knew deep down that it was over.
I walked from room to room looking for Avery, and couldn’t find him. I started to clean up. Numb.
I called Avery and it went straight to voicemail.
I cleaned some more. Someone had ripped our bathroom mirror off the wall and stuck it in our bed. The covers had not been moved.
Where did Avery sleep? My entire body shook with dread. I knew it was the end, but I lived with almost-acceptance for many months after. I lived there after he told me we were done. After I moved out. After he got her pregnant. After he fell in love again.
I was stuck, still, standing in our kitchen, where we had cooked dinner together, made love on the counter. I was still there, salt-stained, a pile of bent silverware at my feet.
I felt some of that denial slip away the morning after our blues night. Connor’s eyes flashed in my mind. I saw his hands on the pool stick. The way he walked from his car. I remembered the way he smelled.
There is little life in waiting for someone who is never coming back. So I liked to pretend. Pretending was easy, and I was good at it.
I pretended I didn’t like the fact that I left my purse in Connor’s car last night. I pretended it was an inconvenience to text Blane, asking for his phone number, so I could retrieve it.
Danielle texted me as I was riding home with Joe, the guy I ran off with, the guy I ditched my friends for. She apologized for getting mad at me and told me she was drunk. That she misread my text. I felt a pang of guilt because I knew I was attracted to her crush. I had to run away with another guy because I couldn't trust myself when I was drinking.
I couldn't trust myself around a guy with a smile like Connor's.
5
Hot Tongue
“Connor didn't have a rich kid air about him. It wasn't obvious that he had money when I first met him. Or that his parents did. I think this was why he had an attitude toward Joe, whose wealth was apparent.”
"Joe, the guy you ran away with that night to stay away fr
om Connor?" She sips her drink. There is no judgment in her voice, but I pull it out because I want it. I want to punish myself, as always. It’s familiar and I need that.
"Yes. He'll make another appearance in this story." I smile, trying to hide my shame. So many men. Too many in this story. "With Joe, you could see his money in the little details. His watch, his cufflinks, the cars he drove. Both Connor and Joe came from old money. They were more alike than Connor would care to admit. And I let him have his hate. It was born of jealousy and had nothing to do with the money, or how it was displayed. It was because of me. It was because of my ties to his family. I thought they were flimsy, easily breakable. Nothing to bat an eye over, and I would turn out to be right. But it caused bumps along the way."
The silence between us is heavy. I wait for her to fill it. When she doesn’t, I let words tumble out, sloppy and ugly.
"When I tell you I am the villain, I am not being cute. I don't want to be cute. I just want to be honest about all of this." I twirl the coaster in front of me.
"Are you being honest with me?"
"As honest as I can be. I wasn't always a liar. I think it happened slowly. I wasn't prepared to handle conflict as a little girl. We ran from it, my family. We pretended it didn't exist." I hid in my room from all that was said out loud, in the kitchen, in the bedroom. From the hateful voices and the violent tones. I shook my head, pushing the thoughts away. I didn’t want to talk about my childhood. Not yet. We would get there. "My job, working for Joe's family, put me in direct contact with the one kind of human I disliked spending time with the most – older men. It was a constant battle. Suppressing gut-churning anxiety, the kind that made me sweat. Choking down a hot tongue, violent words, when some old man eyed me up and down. I never understood what it meant, not for many years. This is the life we are supposed to live, right? Women?”
