I’d also screamed, moaned, and groaned. I’d been insatiable. I hadn’t even cared what I looked like. There was something about Christopher that had made me want to come again. And again. And again.
Just shoot me.
If I’ve learned anything from my long list of humiliations, it’s that when you slut it up with a guy the first night you’ve lost their respect. But, how was I to know he’d turn me into a raving sex maniac?
He’d been so cute! He looked liked he’d be a puppy dog in bed—which is honestly why I’d glommed onto him. I thought he’d be eager and playful and cuddly. I thought I’d have to give him instructions. Show him where the clitoris was. Make him think about baseball so he wouldn’t come too fast.
I thought he’d make me feel good about myself again.
I was wrong.
We’d had super-dirty, porn sex. Like, insane, embarrassing sex. It was the best I’d ever had.
There’s no coming back from that.
So I’d crawled out of his bed, crept through his apartment, and left.
Now, here I am. Clearly, I’ll never be able to face him again. I’ll have to somehow come up with an excuse for why I can’t go to Chad and Ruby’s wedding.
My head is pounding. My body sore from the workout I’d given it last night.
This is wrong. I have to make some changes. I can’t keep going on like this. I can’t keep looking outside myself for validation. For acceptance. I can’t keep expecting some guy to fill me up and make me whole. I remember the words Christopher’s brother, Chad, spoke to me so long ago, a man won’t fix what’s broken inside you. And this morning, after sleeping with Christopher, I finally understand what he meant.
I have to change. I need to find peace.
I can’t keep searching for someone else to fill what’s missing inside me.
I straighten on the bench. A surge of empowerment washes over me despite the strength of my hangover.
Since men are my drug of choice, and the source of all my poor decisions, there’s really only one place to start.
I’ll need to take a vow of celibacy.
The thought both terrifies me and thrills me. If I want to find myself, I can’t keep using guys to distract me. I’ll need to quit them. Not forever, just until I learn not to use them as validation.
How long does it take to find yourself?
I frown. At least a year I’d think. I nibble my lower lip.
Yes, I can do this. A year without men. I’ll be like that Sex in the City episode I’d watched on HBOGo where Carrie decides to date New York.
But instead of Chicago, I’ll date myself.
I’ll take myself out. I’ll read on the beach. Go to concerts. Movies. Spend time with my girlfriends. Discover new hobbies. Concentrate on my career. Go to yoga.
I look up into the sky. The sun is rising, all fiery red orange, breaking across a billboard. A picture of a beach, a tropical drink, and a hotel with the words, Come to Belize, scrolling across them.
I suck in a breath and something niggles inside me.
I could travel. By myself.
That would be daring. What better way to start out a year of celibate, self-discovery than with a solo trip? I could do it. I have plenty of vacation time and my boss loves me. She’s always trying to get me to take more time off.
I could leave tomorrow.
I’d be entirely by myself. I can think. Plan. Look out on the horizon and reflect on my choices. Figure out who I am instead of using some guy to define me.
Yes, Belize, I will come to you.
Ashley May Hill, you are on your way. By this time next week I’ll be a brand new person.
Someone better. Stronger. And, most important, male-free.
About the Author
Jennifer Dawson grew up in the suburbs of Chicago and graduated from DePaul University with a degree in psychology. She met her husband at the public library while they were studying. To this day she still maintains she was NOT checking him out. Now, over twenty years later they’re married, living in a suburb right outside of Chicago with two awesome kids and a crazy dog.
Despite going through a light FM, poem writing phase in high school, Jennifer never grew up wanting to be a writer (she had more practical aspirations of being an international super spy). Then one day, suffering from boredom and disgruntled with a book she’d been reading, she decided to put pen to paper. The rest, as they say, is history.
These days, Jennifer can be found sitting behind her computer writing her next novel, chasing after her kids, keeping an ever watchful eye on her ever growing to-do list, and NOT checking out her husband.
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