“This is my girlfriend, just go.. go away please,” Cash said, turning away from her again. The woman finally stormed off, and started flirting with a man twice her age at the other end of the bar.
“Did she really give you an STD?” I asked.
“No. But she’s one of those girls that you need to wrap it twice and then go ahead and wrap it a third time if you’re going to venture down that dark alleyway,” he laughed.
“That’s so gross. Why would you sleep with her? She’s a damn mess, who just throws themselves at people like that,” I wondered.
“I don’t know. I was drunk and lonely, I make bad decisions sometimes, I’m human,” he laughed.
“Weren’t you in town for Thanksgiving? Did you fuck her over Thanksgiving? I’m gonna fucking murder you in your sleep!” I exclaimed.
“No! I mean yeah I was here for Thanksgiving but she doesn’t know that. I haven’t been to this bar in forever. It was a couple years ago when I threw her a pity fuck. I would never, ever, ever cheat on you with some townie bar slut that peaked in high school,” he promised. I’m starting to notice that Cash kind of holds women in low regard. If they’re not benefiting him, they’re disposable. I shrug it off.
“Why do you have groupies?” I quipped.
“Have you seen me?” he boasted. I rolled my eyes.
“Her outfit was what’s really tragic, who wears short shorts, a crop top and cowboy boots in December?” I observed.
“She’s got two kids at home and is out trying to find them a new daddy, she’s got to market herself. Don’t hate,” he claimed. I shrugged my shoulders and watched her scoot around the dance floor with a chubby man in a sweater vest, who was probably here avoiding his in-laws.
“You’re right. This is super depressing. Let’s go back to you mom’s and sneak bourbon into our hot chocolate. I might even get drunk enough to sleep with you, you never know,” I baited.
“Yes. Yes let’s do that. We’ve only got like fifteen minutes until the liquor store closes. Race you to the car,” Cash said, jumping from his seat.
I did get drunk enough that night to lose my nerves, and we made love soft and slow. The rest of the weekend was warm and friendly and I felt at home with these strangers. Even Beth started to warm up after receiving a very thoughtful gift from Nancy. The holiday spirit was in full effect, and come Sunday, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay in this little lull in time surrounded by food and twinkling lights. Cash let me listen to whatever I wanted on the drive home, and never let go of my hand.
Chapter Nineteen
Cash spent every evening for the next week hauling my crap over from next door. He was super disappointed that I wouldn’t actually let him throw my furniture away; he said he wanted to drop it out the window and watch it crash on the ground. I suggested that we shove it all in the corner of his sex room instead. He reluctantly complied. He took apart the queen bed to convert the bedroom into storage.
“Why do you want to keep this shit Lilly?” he asked, balancing my mattress against the wall.
“Because, I just don’t want to have to buy it again if I find myself in a situation that requires me to own things to sit, eat, and sleep on,” I replied.
“So, what you’re really saying is that you need to hang on to them in case you decide to break up with me,” Cash accused.
“No, not… not… why you gotta take it there? Shit happens, I don’t want to be on the ‘completely fucked,’ side of that shit, whatever it may be. I’ll get a fucking storage unit if it’s an issue. Did you need that space for something? Are you still using that room? If that’s the case you can march my shit right back over there,” I asserted.
“No, I just find it kind of odd, as if you’re… I don’t know. Expecting this not to work out, you kind have to see where I’m coming from, right?” he laughed.
“Your insecurities are not my fucking problem,” I snapped. I am not in the mood. I realize I might seem a little reluctant to “take the next step,” but only because I think it is absolutely fucking nonsensical for me to break my lease and move all my shit over here. Cash sees it as this big gesture of commitment and I see it as an absolute waste of time and energy. I’m sure that the fact that I’m turning Cash’s spare bedroom into storage probably makes it look like I don’t have high hopes for this lasting. I’m just trying to be practical. Cheap furniture is not actually inexpensive, and I don’t want to have to put that kind of dent in my bank account again. There’s only two possible outcomes in a relationship, you either break up or stay together until you die.
“I’m not… I’m not insecure. I’m just trying to tease you, Jesus,” he replied.
“Really? Because you seem super fucking serious, and super insecure. I agreed to move in here even though it’s absolutely fucking ridiculous and we haven’t even talked to the landlord yet, so I’m probably going to be stuck paying off the rest of my lease anyway, I really don’t get what the big fucking deal is about me keeping my fucking furniture,” I fumed.
“Babe are you like… hungry or something?” Cash asked cautiously.
“Why the fuck…what? Why would… are you calling me fat?” I stammered.
“No, you’re just being really unnecessarily aggressive,” he noted.
“Don’t fucking call me aggressive! I’m not being aggressive! What, so because I have a fucking opinion that makes me aggressive?” I barked.
“So, uh, I’m just gonna just… um, go get some cheeseburgers. And liquor. And I’ll be back in a few love you text me what you want,” he blurted, skirting past me and out the door. I’m not fucking hungry. I mean- I could eat. That’s not the point.
Cash returned with food and soda and whiskey. We ate in silence.
“Are you… are we still angry? You good?” he prodded.
“I wasn’t fucking hangry. Thank you for going and getting me food, I appreciate that but I do not appreciate that you dismiss my emotion as some physiological side effect,” I snapped.
“Okay. So then talk to me. Why are you so fucking mad? What the fuck did I do?” he queried.
“I don’t know. You didn’t really do anything. I’m just in a shitty fucking mood, okay? I don’t know why. I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my temples.
“How are you going to sit there and condemn me for not validating your super serious emotional response to something totally reasonable and important when it’s… that’s not even what’s going on, you basically just admitted that you’re being irrational like five seconds after accusing me of belittling your emotions… like…” Cash trailed off, seeing my brow furrow deeper with every syllable.
“Go on…” I challenged.
“No, I’m… Sorry. Will not engage. What… what can I do? How can I help you feel better?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I bellowed, falling forward and burying my face in the couch cushion.
“Do you need some Lilly time? Is this why you wanted to keep your apartment? Do you need to go take a bubble bath and listen to Adele and drink a bottle of Chardonnay?” he suggested.
“Are you making fun of me? Because I feel like you’re making fun of me,” I whined.
“No! Babe, I’m not making fun of you. I’m just trying to help. I want you to feel better,” he insisted.
“Maybe I just need to get like… fucked stupid. You know where I can’t talk for like 45 minutes afterwards. Wouldn’t hurt to try that, endorphins and shit,” I suggested.
“I mean I can accommodate that, probably. But we should really write all those feminist blogs you follow and let them know the cure to irrational bad moods is a penis. I think they will just be overjoyed to gain this information,” he teased.
“Do you ever just want to stab someone, like, right in between their eyes? Do you think that the skull would stop it? Is it sharpness of the blade or like power of the thrust that really gets it in there?” I said, miming a stabbing motion with my fist.
“Am I going to have to tie you up for my own
safety?” Cash asked with a smirk.
“Yes, probably. Please do that actually,” I insisted.
“You really want to go there? It might get kind of intense. It’s been kind of a long time. And you’re really fucking pissing me off. Maybe we should deal with these super serious emotions in some kind of normal, healthy way instead,” Cash contended.
“That sounds fucking terrible,” I mused.
“It really does, doesn’t it?” he agreed.
“Why don’t you tell me what you want to do to me?” I suggested, “Then we can decide if we want to do that or like, talk about our feelings and cry.”
“That kind of takes the fun out of it,” Cash said, smirking.
“Show me then,” I insisted.
“Meet me in the bedroom,” he said. I stripped my way to his room, our room, I guess, leaving a trail of clothing behind me on the floor. I expected Cash to stroll in with his arms full of toys and tools, but came in carrying only a roll of electrical tape.
“I blocked myself off from the closet in there and don’t want to move everything, we’re going to have to improvise,” he said. I shrugged and nodded. He grabbed my hair and pulled me upright on the bed, laying a firm slap across my ass. He pulled my arms behind my back and bound them with tape. He pulled my ass to the edge of the bed and entered me.
“That’s... really? No foreplay or anything? You were right this is so intense,” I yelled over my shoulder. He pulled a strip of tape off the roll and pulled my head back to wrap it around my mouth. Then he stopped and let go of my hair.
“Uh, Lilly? We have a… there’s… there’s a lot of blood happening,” he stammered.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” I groaned.
“Is it like, your period?” he asked.
“Yes it’s my fucking period. Fuck,” I cursed.
“Well. That explains a lot,” he snickered.
“Didn’t we just talk about not reducing me to hormones? Fuck you. Can you undo my arms please,” I snapped.
“I mean, I’m still down if you’re still down, I can get a towel or…”
“No, I am not still down,” I said, breaking myself free from the tape.
“Okay, yeah, uh… where do you keep your… things,” he asked.
“I don’t have any. I’m going to have to go to the store. I haven’t had a period in like two and a half years. Have you not noticed I don’t spend a week out of every month on the couch in sweatpants?” I laughed. I am fucking mortified.
“Then why are you having one now? Is that… is that normal? Are you okay?” he asked.
“My birth control shot keeps me from having periods. And I forgot my shot. Because I am a fucking idiot,” I exclaimed.
“So it makes you just stop having periods? That doesn’t sound healthy. Wait holy shit if you forgot it does that mean you might be pregnant?” he asked frantically.
“No. You have a fundamental misunderstanding of how the female body works. The public school system has failed you. Can you just get me some paper towels or something, I have to go to the store,” I scoffed.
“Why don’t you go take a nice, long hot shower, and I’ll go to the store for you. Just… where’s your phone? Text me what you need me to get,” he offered.
“Thank you, it’s in my jean pocket, in the hallway. I’m so sorry,” I said. He retreated to the hall and brought me my phone.
“Don’t be sorry. I’ll be right back,” he assured, kissing me sweetly on the forehead. I waited until he left and waddled to the bathroom. This is hands down probably the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me, and I accidently sent a nude to my boss one time. I texted Cash a screenshot of what I needed and hoped for the best.
I jumped in the shower and turned it as hot as it could go. I feel awful. I was so mean. I am not a ray of sunshine; this is nothing new. But why was I so irritated that Cash wanted me to move in with him? Shouldn’t I be ecstatic and mushy and doe eyed? I don’t understand why I’m holding onto all this skepticism. This feeling that if I give in and be happy, something is going to happen and all the walls are going to come crashing down around me to expose a much more dismal reality than the one I’ve been believing. I’m trying so hard to maintain a modicum of control over my own feelings that I’m pushing him away. He’s trying really hard to make me happy. I’ve been doing the bare minimum to keep him from prying too deep into how I’m really feeling. That’s not sustainable.
I don’t want to tell him that he terrifies me. That I hang on his every word, that his voice makes me tingle, that he occupies my every waking thought. He tells me these things. Late at night when we’re falling asleep, he’ll whisper in my ear how much he loves me. He’ll put his hand on my chest, feeling it rise and fall, and tell me he’s intoxicated by even the sound of my breathing. He’ll tell me he’s never felt this way before and that it scares the shit out of him, but it’s the exhilarating kind of fear that you feel right before the big drop on a rollercoaster. He’ll tell me I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He’ll tell me I’m perfect. I pretend to already be asleep most of the time. The rest of the time I’ll roll my eyes and change the subject. All I’ve ever wanted out of a relationship was to be appreciated. Here he is, appreciating the fuck out of me, and I’m taking it for granted. I’m too busy trying to stay indifferent and unattached to protect myself. I forgot somewhere along the line exactly what it is I’m trying to protect myself from.
I guess I was afraid that Cash’s phone would ring in the middle of the night, and Claire’s face would pop up on the screen. I would reach across him and silence it. She would call again. This time, he would wake up and groggily answer the phone. She would bait him with some sob story emergency and he would promise to come to her aide. I would protest, but he would say, “She doesn’t have anybody else,” and take off anyway. I’d sit there, waiting, fuming. He’d finally come home in the grey light of dawn, reeking of her stale cigarette smoke, and we’d get in a huge argument. I’d say things I don’t mean out of anger and drive him right back into her arms. If it seems like I’ve put way too much thought it this, it’s because I have. Of all of the scenarios that have invaded my mind and grown into nightmares, this one is probably the worst, because it’s not black and white. It’s another grey area, just like the shit that happened when we first started dating. It’s a situation that makes you question yourself. Am I overreacting? Will I regret it if I leave? Of course this situation would probably never happen. Cash has given me no reason not to trust him. He’s been nothing but amazing to me. This fear and paranoia needs to stop, I’m holding myself back from what could be the most beautiful thing I’ll ever experience. I shudder as I notice the water has gone cold.
I step out of the shower and notice a grocery bag near the sink. I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn’t even notice Cash come in. He left me clothes folded on the counter, too. There was a note telling me to go to the kitchen. Embarrassment floods over me once again. I quickly get dressed and tousle my hair. I don’t want to talk about what happened. Ever again. I ease my way down the hall and into the kitchen. On the counter were a convenience store bouquet of rainbow carnations, a box of snack cakes, and a card with penguins in hats and scarves on the front. I opened the card to find that he had scratched out the “Merry Christmas” inscription and scribbled:
I love you on your best days and I love you on your worst days. Even if it’s a cranky day, I’m grateful to spend it with you. But please eat some chocolate and come back to bed when you’re done being sassy <3
I can’t help but smile stupidly. I’m can’t let these moments to continue to pass by unappreciated because of my own anxiety. If I keep pushing him away, it will be a self-fulfilling prophecy. I need to start trying as hard as he does. I grab a pack of Swiss Rolls and dance back to the bedroom. I peek my head through the doorframe. Cash is propped up against the headboard watching TV.
“Thank you,” I said, “you didn’t have to do that. But thank you, and I’m
sorry.”
“You’re welcome. You don’t have to be sorry. It’s just… it’s a part of life it is what it-“
“Oh my god stop talking,” I interrupted, “I’m not sorry about that. Well I am sorry about that too that was fucking disgusting but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m sorry for being so shitty to you. Not just today, I mean, like, all the time.”
“It’s really not that disgusting though,” he laughed.
“Could you not? Could you just not,” I said, falling onto the bed and burying my face in the pillow.
“Okay, okay. But, seriously it’s fine. And you’re not shitty to me all the time,” he said.
“I am though. It’s shitty that I didn’t want to meet your family, and it’s shitty that I didn’t want to move in with you and it’s shitty that I’m keeping furniture I don’t want or need, and it’s shitty that I don’t tell you how much you mean to me or that when I’m with you I feel like I’m on fire or that I am absolutely terrified of how much I love you because I’ve never really had my heart broken, and you make me feel vulnerable and it’s fucking scary to love somebody this much,” I confessed.
“It’s scary for me too. But I know that there is nowhere I would rather be than right here, with you, right now. I see through your bullshit. You put on this big front with all of this attitude and fucking eyeliner but it’s not as bulletproof as you think it is. You don’t have to tell me how you feel for me to know how you feel. Words are cheap anyway. I’d rather feel it, and know, than hear it and question,” he explained.
“Yeah, actions speak louder than words, but I’ve been acting standoffish and non-committal too,” I objected.
“That’s all part of your façade. You think you’ve got these masterfully built walls up when really they’re drafty as fuck. It’s all over your face when you see me; it’s in your eyes when you look at me. I feel it in the way you kiss me; I see it in the way you writhe when I touch you. It’s there in the way you breathe when I fuck you and the way you melt into me when I’m done. You’re not as slick as you think,” he professed, stroking my collarbone. His fingertips sent shockwaves through me and his words made my groin ache.
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