He solidified my faith in him and our friendship that day. Too bad it all ended too soon.
1
Not-The-Side-Bitch—Rebel
Author Dating Rule #2: Don’t piss her off. She kills people all the time. Metaphorically, of course.
PRESENT
Rebel
Dispelling an anxious breath, I reached for my mug of coffee. Sipping my amazing Caramel Mocha Frappuccino, a tentative smile appeared on my face. The first taste was always the savoriest. It erupted on my taste buds, and its warmness tickled my insides while everything around me fell to pieces. Life didn’t exist until that first cup of coffee filled my stomach. Until then, leave me the hell alone.
How could anyone enjoy anything when their life fell apart right in front of them?
Stacy and I sat on the old-fashioned floral couch in my front room. I wasn’t sure why all homes had a room that no one utilized. We used it for writing, morning coffee, and right now to avoid seeing the pictures of mine and Carl’s marriage. I tried wrapping my brain around everything that went wrong, groveling over the loss of my marriage. You mean the win, right?
He’d been verbally abusing me for years. I thought I deserved it. Maybe If I was a better wife, he’d be nicer. Now, it blinked rapidly in my mind. Reality bitch slapping you in the jaw made you realize many things. If he wouldn’t have screwed up, I’d have toughed it out until the end. I’d been taught at a young age that marriage was forever binding. He didn’t stick to that concept though.
My mind tried reminding me we won when he left. We were better off without him. By we, I meant my mind and my heart…oh, and of course, my vagina. Not that his friend down below did much for my insatiable appetite. A ghost town, I tell you.
Spoiler alert! Only a week ago, I caught Carl fucking his secretary.
Yeah, a walking cliché, one I regularly wrote about in my books.
After that catastrophe went down, I kicked his ass to the curb. Not literally but I forced him to pack his bag and get the hell out. Surprisingly, he didn’t argue. He'd stuffed a bag and left without turning back. No apologies or heartfelt promises to be a better man. Not even a goodbye. I thought he’d at least try to fight for me.
I wrote about perfect men, but they didn’t exist in real life.
Carl could go whine to his mother about how I ruined his life for all I cared, and I didn’t, believe me. His mother was a witch with obsessive son issues. His mommy problems could very well be why he never found satisfaction in anything. Every step of our marriage had been babysat by her. She wanted to know every detail, even the creepy ones. “How big is his dick? Was it good?” Yeah, she fucking asked that once.
I, Rebel Payne, won’t be a side bitch to a side bitch.
I clutched my hair. It felt like silk on my fingertips. Bet that asshole Carl didn’t appreciate my hair hygiene. Needing to feel something real and graspable, I tugged it.
Have you ever caused a little pain to remind yourself that you’re alive? It was what you did when your life slowly unraveled around you. I found myself doing it often.
An exaggerated sigh left me. Love might not be for me. Maybe only my book characters deserved happiness.
Her light chestnut-colored eyes stared at me. She scrutinized me as if the metaphorical dam would break loose again. On the first day, I bawled like I when I lost my grandma. All I'd kept wondering was what the hell I did to deserve this.
The day after he left, it hurt a little less.
That was the beauty of time. You absorb more as it passed torturously slow. Our marriage ended up being a sham, a figment of my diluted dreams. Completely oblivious, I'd wanted those happily ever afters I read and wrote about. Stace tried convincing me for years, but when you believed in love, that consumed your every worry. I betrayed myself all these last ten years, turned my back on everything I’d learned. If Grams were here…
After the third day passed, I was smiling from all the names Stace came up with for Carl. We made a little book that contained funny puns, sexual innuendos, and names for asshats, Carl in particular.
When day four came, my heart felt better, clearer really. Every moment of every day, there was a constant reminder of the shit he put me through and how I'd been a fat bitch in his eyes. Believe me, he often pointed out how he perceived me. Why did I stay so long?
Don’t think about him a second longer. But I would, I couldn’t help but dwell.
I defended it for entirely too long. I had to remind myself his behavior wasn’t normal. The fresh burn of his belittling and hurtful words ate away at me daily. The bad memories dissolved the few happy ones. I was naïve to think I could find happiness in anything other than a bottle of wine.
“I never wanted you to write,” Carl looked toward me, frowning. I asked him what was wrong. I wanted to know what ate at him, because I always cared.
“Excuse me?” I barely whispered, stunned at his answer.
“I hoped you’d find a regular nine-to-five job, not sit on your ass and do nothing.”
My mouth was clamped shut, I’d ruin our marriage if I opened it and responded. This wasn’t the first time he’d belittled me, and it wouldn’t be the last.
“It’s not like you’re doing much.” He added, not noticing or caring about my unease. His jaw ticked, and his brows were drawn together, I wondered if he contemplated going further with his little rant.
“Writing isn’t an easy job, honey. I work hard to bring these characters to life. They’re my blood, sweat, and tears. I’m fucking proud to call myself an author.” I felt the pride swell in my chest, my statement was true in every sense of the word. Writing made me strive for better, to be more, and to change lives with my words. There was nothing he could say that would change my mind.
“You keep telling yourself that, Rebel. But everyone knows writing is a talentless career.”
I almost walked away that day, almost.
I tried not sparing him more thoughts, unwilling to let him own that much of me. I should be proud of my words, my books, and the characters I grew from nothing. He couldn’t take that away from me.
Stace placed a hand on top of mine, rubbing her thumb over my knuckles in a comforting gesture. She always knew when I thought of him.
“You’d think nice tits and a killer personality would be enough for a man,” I complained to Stace.
“Obviously, he’s a cunt-a-saurus rex. Don’t feel bad, Red,” Stacy rebutted.
“You’re right. After ten years, he was bound to mess up.” I said, more to myself than in response to her. My hands squeezed open and closed. Maybe getting married at eighteen wasn’t my best choice either.
“Babe, just think, you can write a story about a hot as hell man sweeping you off your feet, fucking you like a pornstar, and loving you for you. It’ll be cathartic,” Stacy said, attempting to change the subject.
Her Cheshire smile gave me motivation to try to move past Carl’s betrayal and idiocy. My confidence didn’t exist.
Only one person had ever brought it about. If only I saved everything he taught me. He never forgot to remind me how beautiful I was or how I’d always remained sexy to him. He’s long gone. He’s not coming back.