“Wait. What? Are you…dumping me?” I gasp in disbelief, as I lean back against the cupboard to steady myself.
“I guess so,” he mutters, his shifty eyes sliding away.
“I guess so? What the hell does that mean? Are you, or aren’t you?” I demand incredulously.
His sullen face swings back to me. His fists are clenched by his sides as though he’s forcing himself to sit there and not bolt out of the front door. “All right, yes. Yes, I am.”
“That’s it? It’s over between us,” I say in wonder, just in case there is any doubt. It’s always good to be completely clear about these things. When someone says all right yes. It’s kind of a grudging agreement. It could mean no too.
He rolls his eyes. I hate when he does that. It makes him look like a dork. “That would be a safe assumption to make,” he says, with a little snigger. He’s loving this. This position of power. He told me that he’s never been the one doing the dumping before. Every woman he’s been with was smart enough to leave him first.
I shake my head as my brain tries to make sense of the thoughts flying through my head.
James and I have been together for two years. In fact, only two months ago he told me he was so grateful he had found me. We were perfectly matched and there would never be anyone else for him. However, our anniversary last week was kind of a mess. I somehow, convinced myself he was going to propose. Well, what would you think if you saw a bridal magazine stuffed under his pillow in his apartment?
When he didn’t pop the question, and came up with the lame suggestion we get chicken take-out and just hang out at my apartment for the evening, I was pretty gutted. But I’m not one to give up at the drop of a hat and I decided to somehow salvage the night. I slipped into some expensive lingerie and swayed towards the bed in what he used to call my sexy walk, but he turned out the lights and fucked me for five minutes. It could have been longer, but it felt like less.
Not exactly the romantic night of my dreams. I had half a mind to flip on my vibrator and masturbate right there in front of him, but he started snoring next to me. Since I wasn’t turned on anyway, there seemed to be no real point.
I stare at him now. “But it’s New Year’s Eve tomorrow.”
He has the grace to look shamefaced.
“Why?” I whisper.
“Does it matter?” he snaps, flying upright and crossing his arms. Like a child who has been naughty and doesn’t want to be told off. I’m so used to dealing with his tantrums and moods that I automatically reach out to comfort him, to make it all better even though he’s a grown-ass man, and I’m the injured party here.
He evades my touch as if it is a branch of poison ivy and moves out of reach. My hand falls back heavily against my thigh. The slapping sound reverberates inside my skull. Wow! He can’t even bear my touch. Okkkkkay. I take a deep breath and measure out my words slowly, clearly. “Yes, it does matter. I’d really like to know.”
He snorts. “What difference does it make?”
I swallow the pure rage stuck in my throat. This asshole thinks he can walk in here and break up with me after he’s wasted two whole years of my time, and not even give me a reason. I don’t know what gave him that impression because I’m absolutely determined to find out why. Heck, I’ll sit on his spineless back and squeeze it out of him if I have to. I straighten away from the cupboard. “Since it makes no difference to you, and as you don’t have anything to lose,” I point out through gritted teeth, “perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me what the fuck is going on here.”
He turns back to me slowly, looking me dead in the eye, a nasty expression in his eyes.
Suddenly, I know what this is about. When he arrived early this evening, I think I already knew what was coming my way. Especially, when he sat on the edge of the couch without taking his shoes or coat off. He had no intention of hanging around too long. He wanted to get in and out. Some confident part of me wishes that I could back out of hearing him say it. I would love to airily walk him to the front door, while telling him to keep his pathetic reasons and fuck off out of my life, I’m just not interested to know.
But I can’t do that.
I’m someone who needs to know. I need closure. If I don’t get it out of him now I’ll be calling him in a month or six months and asking him why then. So I’ll be damned if I don’t get him to spit it now. I square my shoulders. I’m a big girl. I can take it. Besides, I refuse to give him the satisfaction of thinking he crushed me like a bug under his shoe. After two years that’s not how I’m going to let this end. Me splattered under his clumsy big left foot. Actually, for a man with such big feet he has a very small dick.
“You really want to know?” There’s that ugly look again.
I nod.
He tosses his hands in the air in exasperation. “Just remember you wanted to go down this road.”
“Just, spit it out, James,” I growl.
“I met someone else, all right.”
Chapter 2
Dawn
I was expecting it, but my stomach still drops. I look down at the ground in front of me. Yeah, I knew in my gut he’d been pulling away from me. I even briefly wondered if it had something to do with the new girl at his work he kept talking about. The girl with the lap-dancer name, but of course, I convinced myself that he was not that type of guy. He was faithful. He was in love with me.
“The slut at work?”
He flushes a deep red. “There is no need to get judgmental.”
“Is it?” I demand, my anger boiling over.
“As a matter of fact, yes. Her name is Candy and she’s not a slut. She’s a great gal. She has a really lovely personality. She’s always helping everyone.”
My eyes widen. What is this fool doing now? He’ll be telling me she’s great in bed next.
“The first time we had sex,” he confesses enthusiastically. “She went down on me an…fuck, Dawn, she blew my mind. It was so much hotter than anything we ever had together.”
I feel as though I am going to throw up. I press my lips together determined not to show myself up. Anyway, vomit is murder to get out of cream carpets. He notices the horror in my face and resolves to rub it in, for reasons that I can’t quite figure out.
“I guess it’s because she’s hotter than you,” he continues, getting into it now, apparently reveling in the power he has over me, the power to devastate me. “She’s at least fifty pounds lighter than you…”
I can’t help wincing as those words come out of his mouth. I can’t believe he would say that to me. He knows how self-conscious I am about the way I look, and yet he can’t resist twisting the knife deep into the most painful of my insecurities. This is starting to feel like revenge. He doesn’t love me He hates me. An image of this woman pops into my head. She’s slim and tiny and cute, and next to her I am a great heaving mound of flesh. And he wants to have sex with her…with the lights on. For more than five minutes.
I wonder how long he’s been sitting on all of this, how many times he’d wanted nothing more than to tear me apart this way. I should just kick him out. And yet, I don’t. Not yet, anyway.
“What about our tickets for tomorrow night?” They cost an arm and a leg.
“Uh, I thought since you probably won’t want to go on your own anyway, I’ll just take Candy.”
I shake my head in wonder. What a bag of shit he turned out to be. I paid for half of those tickets. My brain shifts gear. I never knew him. Now I need to know if I should get tested for anything. “How long has your affair been going on?”
“A month or so,” he replies, and looks at me so brazenly, I wonder if he is even a little bit ashamed. Knowing he cares so little, that he’s so happy to rub all this in my face, sends a flare of fury through my system. I’m not going to let him walk all over me like this. To be honest this man has been nothing but a burden for the last two years. I’ve done everything I could for him. I put his interest before mine, and now he’s standing in front of me telling me he’s bet
rayed me, and instead of being apologetic, he actually sounds victorious and proud of himself.
I know for damn sure that if he was cheating on me he wouldn’t have used protection if he could avoid it. That’s just the kind of guy he is. I guess I had always seen it, but now that it’s laid out in front of me, so inescapably and utterly ugly, I have no choice but to accept that and try to protect myself as best I can.
“Did you use protection?”
He swallows hard. “No, but she’s clean-“
“You’re such a fucking piece of shit,” I shout, rounding on him. Any sadness and hurt in my heart is replaced with burning fury. “Clean? How clean can she be if she didn’t use a condom with you?”
“You’re just jealous,” he says smugly, and I think I see the hint of a smile on his face and it makes me so angry I actually want to scratch his lying eyes out.
“What is there to be jealous about?” I fire back, my voice lifting in volume. I don’t want this to become a yelling match, but if he’s going to keep being such a prick…
He frowns, as though caught off guard, and I decide to go in for the kill just the same way he did for me when he told me how much slimmer this new girlfriend of his happens to be.
“You’re a cheater,” I begin, lifting my fingers and ticking off all his flaws one by one. “You’re so cheap you used to make me cringe. You’re rude to waiters. You snore worse than a pig. This new girl is welcome to you. Though maybe I should call her up first and let her know what she’s getting herself into? Oh, and I nearly forgot. You’re garbage in bed.” There’s a twist of triumph to my voice as I finish up all the ways that he’s failed me over the last two years, all the ways he’s been a shitty boyfriend to me.
His jaw drops.
I know I’ve hit a nerve, and it feels good for a moment, but I’m not a cruel person at heart and any kind of joy I might have gotten from seeing him so upset soon becomes a sour taste in my mouth and I find myself staring at him with more sadness than anything else. I should tear the shit out of him, and God knows that he deserves it, but for whatever reason it’s just not fun right now.
I’m too hurt by his betrayal to really find any kind of consolation in the way he looks right now. I wish I could be a little more callous and cold and really go at him, chip away at his ego the way he’s done with mine for more than a year now, but I can’t. I’m just exhausted, and what I want more than anything in the world is for him to get the hell out of my apartment so I never have to see him again.
“If I was garbage in bed it was because I had a lump of whale meat in bed with me. Who can get turned on by that?” he yells.
“I hope I never see you again,” I say slowly, and I really mean it too.
He opens his mouth to speak, but I’ve had enough. “You should leave,” I point to the door, leaving no room for discussion.
“With pleasure,” he sneers. Turning for the door, he walks out, and slams it so hard the walls rattle.
I close my eyes to quell the next wave of anger that overtakes me. I just want to run out there and scream at him for being such an asshole. The kind of idiot who seriously believes that slamming someone’s door at this time of the night was a good way to make a statement.
What a fucking jerk.
Chapter 3
Dawn
I stand frozen, listening to his footsteps echo down the corridor. As soon as the entrance door of my apartment building closes, I find myself sinking into the couch. I stare blankly into space.
So this is what it feels like to be dumped. Well, I have been dumped before, but never by someone I’ve been with for so long, and not for another woman.
To my surprise there is more anger than heartbreak pulsing through my veins. Maybe the sadness will come later, but for now, all I can feel is a deep sense of betrayal. I trusted him. I thought we were both society’s rejects who had found each other. Nobody wanted me and nobody wanted him and we had found a way to be good together. We once talked about making children. That was the first time I agreed to do it with him without a condom. I frown. Was he manipulating me even then? Because he never spoke about kids again after that.
God, how much time I’ve wasted on him.
My mind drifts back to when we first met. I was fresh out of college and had just started the internship that would one day become my full-time job. I was so confident, so passionate, so ambitious, and then I ran into this guy who had seemed so perfect for me. I was in advertising, he was in marketing. I actually saw us as a power couple. What a laugh. Thinking back now, I can see clearly that we were only a perfect couple for the first few months. After that all those subtle comments started. About my looks in general, my unfeminine laugh, but mostly my weight. All the little jokes. Once when we were going on vacation, he joked with the airline staff to seat someone equally heavy on the other side of the plane so that I didn’t tilt the plane, and make it fly lopsided.
Slowly, with every strike he chiseled away at my confidence. Over time I no longer felt like a full-blown raging fire, I hated it, but I was slowly but surely being turned down to a fickle flame of my former self. I can still remember how it felt to be so full of light and energy, even if I can’t muster up a drop of it for myself at this very moment.
I sit forward.
No, I’m not going to sit here feeling sorry for myself, and hope that somehow my life is going to get itself back on track. I’ll do something about this. It’s scary as hell, looking out on a life you never thought you’d face, but I can handle it. I can be single again. Maybe the lap dancer did me a favour when she went down on him.
I force myself to my feet and sway with the strong emotions running through my body.
Ignoring the voice in my head that seems intent on repeating the cruel words, specifically, about how much lighter his new girlfriend is than me, I begin to pace the floor of my apartment. I try to focus my mind on one thing at a time.
But those negative words nag at the back of my head. I have to address them.
What did I expect? I was making him feeling guilty and he needed an excuse. Attack is the best form of defense, and he knew exactly where to stick the knife to make sure that I’d bleed for hours afterwards. My weight is a sore point for me.
I’ve always been a buxom gal, but while I was with him I just couldn’t stop the weight from piling on. To be fair it was partly his fault. I’d always stopped eating before seven, but he liked to eat late so he would often order fried chicken, or pizza late at night. He would have a couple of pieces, then he would force me to finish it, because he would make me feel as if wasting the food would somehow impact the starving children in Africa.
But now that I think about it. He was funny about my weight even when we first got together and I was still full of lovely curves, he never really paid me any compliments, or was positive about the way I looked. He preferred to make love with the lights off and it would often feel like he was trying to touch as little of my body as possible. The sex wasn’t awful at the start, when the two of us were still getting to know each other, our likes and dislikes, but in the last six months it’s been terrible.
I tried everything I could to switch things up, doing whatever I could in the vain hope that it might turn him on or get him to do more than roll on top of me, thrust for a few minutes, and then roll off. Oh, and of course he always loved his blowjobs. Those he had as regular as clockwork. Three sometimes four times a week. To the point, I felt that was all I was good for.
Filling my belly with his slightly bitter cum.
He would lay there with his eyes shut, groaning, “oh baby yes, yes, just like that,” while I worked on him. I tried to pretend he was encouraging me, but I knew in my heart he was imagining some other woman. A woman he was actually attracted to. A thinner, sexier woman. One of those women I had caught him looking at. Women who weren’t anything like me.
I guess even that should have been enough, over the last two years, to completely crush my self-esteem. I look down at my body
now, in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and run my hands over it. I don’t like what I feel. The lumps and bumps. They were not there before I started eating his leftover pizzas and chicken.
I know I want to change, to forge a new life for myself. But his words are still ringing in my ears, along with every barbed comment he’s made to me about the way I look. The comparisons to his friend’s girlfriends, leaving pictures of slim, toned women on his computer, buying me clothes a few sizes too small for my birthday because he wanted to give me something to work towards.
But I can do this for myself.
That’s what I have to keep reminding myself. If I want, I can lose this weight and get in shape. I know my thighs will never touch unless I starve myself, but I don’t actually want that. I just want to be a size where I can be happy and feel beautiful.
I’ll start again. I’ll go out there and just be me for a while. Eat when I want to, have great sex with a man who actually thinks I’m attractive, and control my own television’s remote. It’ll be great not to be putting down the toilet seat every time I want to pee and cleaning urine off the floor every damn day. I won’t have to hear his relentless disapproving voice every single time I do anything that he doesn’t like, and quite frankly, that has become almost everything I do. God, the other day, he was complaining about the way I breathe. I can just do one load of washing a week instead of three. I won’t have to suck his small cock again.
Yes, enough of being a doormat.
As I pace up and down the apartment, a smile forms on my face. I don’t want to do this for revenge. I don’t want to do this for him. No, in fact, if he had been a little kinder to me about all of this over the course of our relationship maybe I’d have been more inclined to do something about it before now. I stop pacing suddenly. I never thought about it before, but every time I so much as hinted that I was thinking about losing weight, he did everything in his power to covertly and subtly sabotage me. He brought sweets into the house, he ordered even more take-out at night and he made plans for us to go out for dinner when he knew I was planning on hitting the gym. Or he would suddenly want to cuddle on the couch with a movie.
Kissing Booth Page 57
